Just as soon as possible I hurried over to Berkeley. I went straight to
the bungalow on Dwight Way; I inquired for Miss Holcomb. She was a woman
now in her late twenties, decidedly pretty, a blonde, and of intelligent
bearing.
Coming on such an errand, I was at a loss just how to approach her. I
noted the little lines about the corners of her eyes, the sad droop of
her pretty mouth. Plainly she was worried. As I was removing my hat she
caught sight of the ring upon my finger.
“Oh,” she said; “then you come from Mr. Watson. How is Chick?”
“Mr. Watson”--I did not like lying, but I could not but feel for
her; she had already lost her father--“Mr. Watson has gone on a trip
up-country--with Jerome. He was not feeling well. He has left this ring
with me. I have come for a bit of information.”
She bit her lips; her mouth quivered.
“Couldn't you get this from Mr. Watson? He knows about the stone. Didn't
he tell you? How did it come into your possession? What has happened?”
Her voice was querulous and suspicious. I had endeavoured to deceive her
for her own sake; she had suffered enough already. I could not but wince
at the pain in her eyes. She stood up.
“Please, Mr. Wendel; don't be clumsy. Don't regard me as a mere baby.
Tell me what has happened to Chick. Please--”
She stopped in a flow of emotion. Tears came to her eyes; but she held
control. She sat down.
“Tell me all, Mr. Wendel. It is what I expected.” She blinked to hold
back her tears. “It is my fault. You wouldn't have the ring had nothing
happened. Tell me. I can be brave.”
And brave she was--splendid. With the tug at my own heart I could
understand her. What uncertainty and dread she must have been under! I
had been in it but a few days; already I could feel the weight. At no
time could I surmount the isolation; there was something going from
me minute by minute. With the girl there could be no evasion; it were
better that she have the truth. I made a clean breast of the whole
affair.
“And he told you no more about the ring?”
“That is all,” I answered. “He would have told us much more,
undoubtedly, had he not--”
“You saw him go--you saw this thing?”
“That is just it, Miss Holcomb. We saw nothing. One minute we were
looking at Chick, and the next at nothing. Hobart understood it better
than I. At least he forbade my crossing the room. There is a danger
point, a spot that may not be crossed. He threw me back. It was then
that the Rhamda came upon the scene.” She frowned slightly.
“Tell me about the Nervina. When Chick spoke of her, I could always feel
jealous. Is she beautiful?”
“Most beautiful, the most wonderful girl I have ever seen, though I
would hardly class her as one to be jealous of. But she wants the ring.
I've promised Watson, and of course I shall keep it. But I would like
its history.”
“I think I can give you some information there,” she answered. “The
ring, or rather the jewel, was given to father about twenty years ago by
a Mr. Kennedy. He had been a pupil of father's when father taught at a
local school. He came here often to talk over old times. Father had the
jewel set in a ring; but he never wore it.”
“Why?”
“I do not know.”
“How did Watson come to link it up with the Blind Spot?”
“That, I think, was an accident. He was in college, you know, at the
time of father's disappearance. In fact, he was in the Ethics class.
He came here often, and during one of his visits I showed him the ring.
That was several years ago.”
“I see.”
“Well, about a year ago he was here again, and asked to see the jewel.
We were to be married, you understand; but I had always put it off
because of father. Somehow I felt that he would return. It was in late
summer, about September; it was in the evening; it was getting dark. I
gave Chick the ring, and stepped into the garden to cut some flowers. I
remember that Chick struck a match in the parlour. When I came back he
seemed to be excited.”
“Did he ask you for the ring?”
“Yes. He wanted to wear it. And he suddenly began to talk of father. It
was that night that he took it upon himself to find him.”
“I see. Not before that night? Did he take the ring then?”
“Yes. We went to the opera. I remember it well, because that night was
the first time I ever knew Chick to be gloomy.”
“Ah!”
“Yes. You know how jolly he always was. When we returned that night he
would scarcely say a word. I thought he was sick; but he said he was
not; said he just felt that way.”
“I understand. And he kept getting glummer? Did you suspect the jewel?
Did he ever tell you anything?”
She shook her head.
“No. He told me nothing, except that he would find father. Of course, I
became excited and wanted to know. But he insisted that I couldn't help;
that he had a clue, and that it might take time. From that night I saw
very little of him. He leased the house on Chatterton Place. He seemed
to lose interest in myself; when he did come over he would act queerly.
He talked incoherently, and would often make rambling mention of a
beautiful girl called Nervina. You say it is the ring? Tell me, Mr.
Wendel, what is it? Has it really anything to do with father?”