Watson's story was now completed. During the entire recital his auditors
had spoken scarcely a word. It had been marvellous--almost a revelation.
With the possible exception of Sir Henry Hodges, not one had expected
that it would measure up to this. For the whole thing backed up
Holcomb's original proposition:
“The Occult is concrete.”
Certainly, if what Watson had told them was true, then Infinity had been
squared by itself. Not only was there an infinity that we might look up
to through the stars, but there was another just as great, co-existent,
here upon the earth. The occult became not only possible, but unlimited.
The next few minutes would prove whether or not he had told the truth.
It was now close to midnight.
Jerome and General Hume had returned from Berkeley. Their quest had been
successful; Watson now had the missing green stone. A number of soldiers
were stationed about the house. Watson noted these men when he had
finished his account, and said:
“Good. We may need them, although I hope not. Fortunately the Spot is
small, and a few of us can hold it against a good many. What we must do
is to extricate our friends and close it. Afterward we may have time for
more leisurely investigation. But we must remember, above all things,
that black case of Professor Holcomb's! It holds the secrets.
“Now I must ask you all to step out of this room. This library, you
know, is the Blind Spot.”
He directed them to take positions along the balustrade of the stairway,
out in the hall--through the wide archway, where they could have a clear
view, yet be safe.
It was a curious test. With nothing but his mathematics and his drawing
to go by, Watson was about to set the three stones in their invisible
sockets. He spread the map out carefully, likewise his calculations;
they gave him, on this floor, the precise positions that he charted
on the earth of the cellar. A glance toward the front of the
house--north--then a little measuring, three chalk-marks on the carpet,
and he was ready for the final move.
He took the fateful ring and with a penknife pried up the prongs that
held the stone. As it popped out he caught it with one hand. Then he
looked at the row of wondering faces along the stair.
“I think it will work,” he said. “But, remember--don't come near! I
shall get out as best I can myself; don't try to save me.”
With that he held the jewel on the first of the three chalk-marks on the
circumference of the great circle. He held it tight against the carpet
and then let go. Up it flashed about one foot--and disappeared.
There was no sound. Next Watson took the red stone. With it, the process
was inverted. Instead of holding it to the floor he raised it as high as
he could reach, directly above the second mark. Then he let it drop.
It did not reach the floor. It fell a little more than halfway, and
vanished.
The third stone, the green one, was still remaining. Watson took it to
the third and final mark on the circle, taking care to keep outside the
circumference that marked the Spot. This mark was directly in front of
the archway. He turned to them.
“Watch carefully,” he spoke. “I do not know what has transpired in the
temple during the past few hours. Be ready for ANYTHING. All of you!”
He dropped the stone.
With the same motion he dodged out into the hall.
Though there was no sound there was something that every one felt--a
sibilant undertone and cold vibration--a tense flash of magnetism. Then
the dot of blue--a string of incandescence; just as had been spoken.
The Blind Spot was opening.
Watson silently warned the others to remain where they were and
himself crowded back against the stair. And as he did so, someone came
noiselessly down the steps from the floor above, passed unnoticed behind
the watchers and thence across into the hall.
It was a slender, frail figure in white--the Aradna, walking like one in
the grip of a higher will. Before they could make a move she had stepped
into the Blind Spot, under the dot of blue, and into a string of light.
And then--she was gone.
It was as swift as a guess. It was inexorable and unseen; and being
unseen, close akin to terror. The group watched and waited, scarcely
breathing. What would happen next?
There came a sudden, jarring click--like the tapping of iron. And next
instant--
The Spot opened to human sight.
The library at 288 Chatterton Place was gone. Instead, the people on
the stairs were gazing down from the Spot of Life, straight into the
colossal Temple of the Jarados.
It was as Chick had described it--immense--beyond conception. Through
the great doors and out into the plaza beyond was gathered all
Thomahlia, reverent, like those waiting for the crack of doom.
Above the horde, high on the opposite wall, stood out the monster Clover
Leaf of the Jarados; three-coloured--blazing like liquid fire; it was
ominous with real life.
At that moment the whole concourse rippled with commotion. Arms were
uplifted; one and all pointed towards the dais. They, too were looking
through the Spot. Then the multitude began to move.
It heaved and surged and rolled toward the centre. The guards were
pressed in upon the Bars, the Bars upon the Rhamda-lined stair. There
was no resisting that flood of humanity. On and up it came, sweeping
everything before it.
Directly in the foreground lay the snow-stone. On its centre stood
the dog Queen, crouching, waiting, bristling. By her side Harry Wendel
crouched on one knee, as if awaiting the signal. Behind him, the
Nervina, supporting the awakening Aradna. And in front of all, the
powerful bulk of Hobart Fenton, standing squarely at the head of the
stair, ready to grapple the first to reach the landing.
But most important of all, there stood the doctor himself. He was at the
Nervina's side; in his hand, the case of priceless data. He was gazing
through the Spot and making a signal of some kind to Watson, whereupon
the latter leaped to the edge of the unseen circle.
Something had gone wrong. The Spot was not fully open. Nothing but sight
could get through.
Yet there was no time for anything. Up the stairs came the Bars, leading
and being pressed forward by the horde. At their head dashed the Bar
Senestro, handsome as Alexander. Hobart stepped forward to meet him, but
the doctor stopped him with a word.
Only a few seconds elapsed between death and salvation. Again Dr.
Holcomb signed to Watson; not a sound came through. Watson hesitated.
The dog Queen shot to her feet. Then the Senestro, out-distancing all
the rest and dodging Hobart, had leaped upon the dais.
Upon the wall across the temple the great Leaf of the Jarados stood out
like sinister fire. It pulsed and vibrated--alive. The top petal--the
blue one--suddenly broke into a seething wave of flame.
Still Watson held back. He could not understand what Holcomb meant.
Queen waited only until the Senestro set foot on the dais. She crouched,
then leaped.
It was done.
With a lightning shift of his nimble feet, the high-tempered Bar
kicked the shepherd in the side. Caught at full leap, she was knocked
completely over and fell upon the snow-stone.
It was the Sacrilege!
Even the Bars beyond the Senestro stopped in horror. The Four-Footed
One--sacred to the Jarados--it was she who had been touched! Had the
Senestro undone all on the Spot of Judgment, What would be the end?
Fenton acted. He caught the Senestro before he could get his balance and
with a mighty heave hurled him over the side of the stair. A second, and
it was over.
Another second was the last. For the great Leaf of the Jarados had
opened.
The green and red stood still; but out of the blue came a dazzling
light, a powerful beam; so brilliant, it seemed solid. It shot across
the whole sweep of the temple and touched the Prophecy. Over the golden
scrolls it traced its marvellous colour, until it came to the lines:
Beware ye of sacrilege! Lest I take from ye all that I
have given ye, and the day be postponed--beware ye of
sacrilege!
For a moment the strange light stood still, so that the checked millions
might read. Then it turned upon the dais.
There it spread, and hovered over the group, until it seemed to work
them together--the Nervina to Harry, the Aradna to Hobart. Not one of
them knew what it was; they obeyed by impulse--it was their destiny; the
Chosen, and the queens.
The light stopped at the foot of Dr. Holcomb. Then the strangest thing
happened.
Out of the light--or rather, from where it bathed the snowstone--came a
man; a man much like Holcomb, bearded and short and kindly.
He was the real Jarados!
Unhesitatingly the professor stepped up beside him. Then followed Hobart
and the Aradna, Harry and the Nervina, and lastly, from the crowd of
Bars, MacPherson. The whole concourse in the temple stopped in awe and
terror.
Only for a second. Then the Jarados and all at his side--were gone.
And upon the snow-stone there stood a sword of living flame.
It stood there for just a breath, exactly where the group had been.
And it was gone.
That was all.
No; not quite all. For when the Blind Spot closed that night at 288
Chatterton Place, there came once more the deep, solemn peal of the Bell
of the Jarados.