We know now that the great lecture was never delivered.  Immediately the news was scattered out of the class-room.  It became common property.  It was spread over the country and was featured in all the great metropolitan dailies.  In the lecture-room next morning seats were at a premium; students, professors, instructors and all the prominent people who could gain admission crowded into the hall; even the irrepressible reporters had stolen in to take down the greatest scoop of the century.  The place was jammed until even standing room was unthought of.  The crowd, dense and packed and physically uncomfortable, waited.

The minutes dragged by.  It was a long, long wait.  But at last the bell rang that ticked the hour.  Every one was expectant.  And then fifteen minutes passed by, twenty—­the crowd settled down to waiting.  At length one of the colleagues stepped into the doctor’s office and telephoned to his home.  His daughter answered.

“Father?  Why he left over two hours ago.”

“About what time?”

“Why, it was about seven-thirty.  You know he was to deliver his lecture today on the Blind Spot.  I wanted to hear it, but he told me I could have it at home.  He said he was to have a wonderful guest and I must make ready to receive him.  Isn’t father there?” “Not yet.  Who was this guest?  Did he say?”

“Oh yes!  In a way.  A most wonderful man.  And he gave him a wonderful name, Rhamda Avec.  I remember because it is so funny.  I asked father if he was Sanskrit; and he said he was much older than that.  Just imagine!”

“Did your father have his lecture with him?”

“Oh, yes.  He glanced over it at breakfast.  He told me he was going to startle the world as it had never been since the day of Columbus.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes.  And he was terribly impatient.  He said he had to be at the college before eight to receive the great man.  He was to deliver his lecture at ten.  And afterward he would have lunch at noon and he would give me the whole story.  I’m all impatience.”

“Thank you.”

Then he came back and made the announcement that there was a little delay; but that Dr. Holcomb would be there shortly.  But he was not.  At twelve o’clock there were still some people waiting.  At one o’clock the last man had slipped out of the room—­and wondered.  In all the country there was but one person who knew.  That one was an obscure man who had yielded to a detective’s intuition and had fallen inadvertently upon one of the greatest mysteries of modern times.

III

“Now there are two”

The rest of the story is unfortunately all too easily told.  We go back to Jerome and his strange companion.

At Centre Street station they alighted and walked up to the university.  Under the Le Conte oaks they met the professor.  He was trim and happy, his short, well-built figure clothed in black, his snow-white whiskers trimmed to the usual square crop and his pink skin glowing with splendid health.  The fog had by this time lifted and the sun was just beginning to overcome the chilliness of the air.  There was no necessity for an introduction.