“I'm going to open the door, Hobart,” I spoke. “The front door, and look out into the street.” “Don't blame you much. Feel a bit that way myself. About time for Dr. Higgins. Here comes Chick again. Take a look outside and see if the doc is coming.” I opened the door and looked out into the dripping fog bank. What a pair of fools we were! We both knew it, and we were both seeking an excuse. In the next room through the curtains I could see the weak form of Watson; he was bearing a light. Suddenly the light went out. I was at high tension; the mere fact of the light was nothing, but it meant a world at that moment--a strange sound--a struggle--then the words of Watson--Chick Watson's: “Harry! Harry! Hobart! Harry! Come here! It's the Blind Spot!” It was in the next room. The despair of that call is unforgettable, like that of one suddenly falling into space. Then the light dropped to the floor. I could see the outlines of his figure and a weird, single string of incandescence. Hobart turned and I leaped. It was a blur, the form of a man melting into nothing. I sprang into the room, tearing down the curtains. Hobart was on top of me. But we were too late. I could feel the vibrancy of something uncanny as I rushed across the space intervening. Through my mind darted the thrill of terror. It had come suddenly, and in climax. It was over before it had commenced. The light had gone out. Only by the gleam from the other room could we make out each others' faces. The air was vibrant, magnetic. There was no Watson. But we could hear his voice. Dim and fearful, coming down the corridors of time. “Hold that ring, Harry! Hold that ring!” Then the faint despair out of the weary distance, faint, but a whole volume: “The Blind Spot!” It was over as quickly as that. The whole thing climaxed into an instant. It is difficult to describe. One cannot always analyse sensations. Mine, I am afraid, were muddled. A thousand insistent thoughts clashed through my brain. Horror, wonder, doubt! I have only one persistent and predominating recollection. The old lady! I could almost feel her coming out of the shadows. There was sadness and pity; out of the stillness and the corners. What had been the dirge of her sorrow? “NOW THERE ARE THREE!” X MAN OR PHANTOM It was Hobart who came to first. His voice was good to hear. It was natural; it was sweet and human, but it was pregnant with disappointment: “We are fools, Harry; we are fools!” But I could only stare. I remember saying: “The Blind Spot?” “Yes,” returned Hobart, “the Blind Spot. But what is it? We saw him go. Did you see it?” “It gets me,” I answered. “He just vanished into space. It--” Frankly I was afraid. “It tallies well with the reports. The old lady and Jerome. Remember?” “And the bell?” I looked about the room.