Watson reached over and turned up the jewel.

Here Hobart came in.

“Just a minute, Chick.  My wise friend here is an attorney.  He’s always the first into everything, especially conversation.  It’s been my job pulling Harry out of trouble.  Just one question.”

“All right.”

“Didn’t you—­er—­keep company, as they say, with Bertha Holcomb while at college?”

A kind look came into the man’s eyes; he nodded; his whole face was soft and saddened.

“I see.  That naturally brought you to the Blind Spot.  You are after her father.  Am I correct?”

“Exactly.”

“All right.  Perhaps Bertha has taken you into some of her father’s secrets.  He undoubtedly had data on this Blind Spot.  Have you ever been able to locate it?”

“No!”

“I see.  This Rhamda?  Has he ever sought that data?”

“Many, many times.”

“Does he know you haven’t got it?”

“No.”

“So.  I understand.  You hold the whip hand through your ignorance.  Rhamda is your villain—­and perhaps this Nervina?  Who is she?”

“A goddess.”

Hobart smiled.

“Oh, yes!” He laughed.  “A goddess.  Naturally!  They all are.  There are about forty in this room at the present moment, my dear fellow.  Watch them dance!”

Now I had picked up the ring.  It just fitted the natural finger.  I tried it on and looked into the jewel.  The professor was growing dimmer.  The marvellous blue was returning, a hue of fascination; not the hot flash of the diamond, but the frozen light of the iceberg.  It was frigid, cold, terrible, blue, alluring.  To me at the moment it seemed alive and pulselike.  I could not account for it.  I felt the lust for possession.  Perhaps there was something in my face.  Watson leaned over and touched me on the arm.

“Harry,” he asked, “do you think you can stand up under the burden?  Will you take my place?”

I looked into his eyes; in their black depths was almost entreaty.  How haunting they were, and beseeching.

“Will you take my place?” he begged.  “Are you willing to give up all that God gives to the fortunate?  Will you give up your practice?  Will you hold out to the end?  Never surrender?  Will—­”

“You mean will I take this ring?”

He nodded.

“Exactly.  But you must know beforehand.  It would be murder to give it to you without the warning.  Either your death or that of Dr. Holcomb.  It is not a simple jewel.  It defies description.  It takes a man to wear it.  It is subtle and of destruction; it eats like a canker; it destroys the body; it frightens the soul—­”

“An ominous piece of finery,” I spoke.  “Wherein—­”

But Watson interrupted.  There was appeal in his eyes.