And Chick had only a flash of a second for a glimpse of the startled faces of Harry, the Nervina and the Geos, the huge multitude below the stair, Queen on the other side, and the fateful Prophecy on the walls above him, before-- A figure came into existence at his side. It was that of a powerfully built man, on whose wrists were curious red circles. And Chick shouted in a great voice: “Hobart!” And then came blackness. XLVII THE LAST LEAF 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.”