Chapter XX: The House of Miracles

Looking back over what has just been written, I am sensible of a profound gratitude. I am grateful, both because I have been given the privilege of relating these events, and because I shall not have to leave this wilderness of facts for someone else to explain.

Really, if I did not know that I shall have the pleasure of piecing together these phenomena and of setting my finger upon the comparatively simple explanation; if I had to go away and leave this account unfinished, a mere collection of curiosity-provoking mysteries, I should not speak at all. I should leave the whole affair for another to finish, as it ought to be finished.

All of which, it will soon appear, I am setting forth largely in order to brace and strengthen myself against what I must now relate.

Before resuming, however, I should mention one detail which Harry was too modest to mention. He was--or is--unusually good-looking. I don’t mean to claim that he possessed any Greek-god beauty; such wouldn’t gibe with a height of five foot seven. No; his good looks were due to the simple outward expression, through his features, of a certain noble inward quality which would have made the homeliest face attractive. Selfishness will spoil the handsomest features; unselfishness will glorify.

Moreover, simply because he had given his word to Chick Watson that he would wear the ring, Harry took upon himself the most dangerous task that any man could assume, and he had lost. But had he known in advance exactly what was going to happen to him, he would have stuck to his word, anyhow. And since there was a sporting risk attached to it, since the thing was not perfectly sure to end tragically, he probably enjoyed the greater part of his experience.

But I’m not like that. Frankly, I’m an opportunist; essentially, a practical sort of fellow. I have a great admiration for idealists, but a much greater admiration for results. For instance, I have seldom given my word, even though the matter is unimportant; for I will cheerfully break my word if, later on, it should develop that the keeping of my word would do more harm than good.

I realise perfectly well that it is dangerous ground to tread upon; yet I must refer the reader to what I have accomplished in this world, as proof that my philosophy is not as bad as it looks.

I beg nobody’s pardon for talking about myself so much at the outset. This account will be utterly incomprehensible if I am not understood. My method of solving the Blind Spot mystery is, when analysed, merely the expression of my personality. My sole idea has been to get RESULTS.

As Harry has put it, a proposition must be reduced to concrete form before I will have anything to do with it. If the Blind Spot had been a totally occult affair, demanding that the investigation be conducted under cover of darkness, surrounded by black velvet, crystal spheres and incense; demanding the aid of a clairvoyant or other “medium,” I should never have gone near it. But as soon as the mystery began to manifest itself in terms that I could understand, appreciate and measure, then I took interest.

That is why old Professor Holcomb appealed to me; he had proposed that we prove the occult by physical means. “Reduce it to the scope of our five senses,” he had said, in effect. From that moment on I was his disciple.

I have told of hearing that sharp, welcoming bark, emitted either from the gem or from the air surrounding it. This event took place on the front porch of the house at 288 Chatterton Place, as Charlotte and I sat there talking it over. We had taken a suite at the hotel, but had come to the house of the Blind Spot in order to decide upon a course of action. And, in a way, that mysterious barking decided it for us.

We returned to the hotel, and gave notice that we would leave the next day. Next, we began to make preparations for moving into the Chatterton Place dwelling.

That afternoon, while in the midst of giving orders for furnishings and the like, there at the hotel, I was called to the telephone. It was from a point outside the building.

“Mr. Fenton?”--in a man’s voice. And when I had assured him; “You have no reason to recognise my voice. I am--Rhamda Avec.”

“The Rhamda! What do you want?”

“To speak with your sister, Mr. Fenton.” Odd how very agreeable the man’s tones! “Will you kindly call her to the telephone?”

I saw no objection. However, when Charlotte came to my side I whispered for her to keep the man waiting while I darted out into the corridor and slipped downstairs, where the girl at the switchboard put an instrument into the circuit for me. Money talks. However--

“My dear child,” the voice of Avec was saying, “you do me an injustice. I have nothing but your welfare at heart. I assure you that if anything should happen to you and your brother while at Chatterton Place, it will be through no fault of mine.

“At the same time I can positively assure you that, if you stay away from there, no harm will come to either of you; absolutely none! I can guarantee that. Don’t ask me why; but, if you value your safety, stay where you are, or go elsewhere, anywhere other than to the house in Chatterton Place.”

“I can hardly agree with you, Mr. Avec.” Plainly Charlotte was deeply impressed with the man’s sincerity and earnestness. “My brother’s judgment is so much better than mine, that I--” and she paused regretfully.

“I only wish,” with his remarkable gracefulness, “that your intuition were as strong as your loyalty to your brother. If it were, you would know that I speak the truth when I say that I have only your welfare at heart.”

“I--I am sorry, Mr. Avec.”

“Fortunately, there is one alternative,” even more agreeable than before. “If you prefer not to take my advice, but cling to your brother’s decision, you can still avoid the consequences of his determination to live in that house. As I say, I cannot prevent harm from befalling you, under present conditions; but these conditions can be completely altered if you will make a single concession, Miss Fenton.”

“What is it?” eagerly.

“That you give me the ring!”

He paused for a very tense second. I wished I could see his peculiar, young-old face--the face with the inscrutable eyes; the face that urged, rather than inspired, both curiosity and confidence.

Then he added:

“I know why you wear it; I realise that the trinket carries some very tender associations. And I would never ask such a concession did I not know, were your beloved here at this moment, he would endorse every word that I say, and--”

“Harry!” cried Charlotte, her voice shaking. “He would tell me to give it to you?”

“I am sure of it! It is as though he, through me, were urging you to do this!”