I realise perfectly well that it is dangerous ground to tread upon; yet I must refer the reader to what I have accomplished in this world, as proof that my philosophy is not as bad as it looks.

I beg nobody’s pardon for talking about myself so much at the outset.  This account will be utterly incomprehensible if I am not understood.  My method of solving the Blind Spot mystery is, when analysed, merely the expression of my personality.  My sole idea has been to get results.

As Harry has put it, a proposition must be reduced to concrete form before I will have anything to do with it.  If the Blind Spot had been a totally occult affair, demanding that the investigation be conducted under cover of darkness, surrounded by black velvet, crystal spheres and incense; demanding the aid of a clairvoyant or other “medium,” I should never have gone near it.  But as soon as the mystery began to manifest itself in terms that I could understand, appreciate and measure, then I took interest.

That is why old Professor Holcomb appealed to me; he had proposed that we prove the occult by physical means.  “Reduce it to the scope of our five senses,” he had said, in effect.  From that moment on I was his disciple.

I have told of hearing that sharp, welcoming bark, emitted either from the gem or from the air surrounding it.  This event took place on the front porch of the house at 288 Chatterton Place, as Charlotte and I sat there talking it over.  We had taken a suite at the hotel, but had come to the house of the Blind Spot in order to decide upon a course of action.  And, in a way, that mysterious barking decided it for us.

We returned to the hotel, and gave notice that we would leave the next day.  Next, we began to make preparations for moving into the Chatterton Place dwelling.

That afternoon, while in the midst of giving orders for furnishings and the like, there at the hotel, I was called to the telephone.  It was from a point outside the building.

“Mr. Fenton?”—­in a man’s voice.  And when I had assured him; “You have no reason to recognise my voice.  I am—­Rhamda Avec.”

“The Rhamda!  What do you want?”

“To speak with your sister, Mr. Fenton.”  Odd how very agreeable the man’s tones!  “Will you kindly call her to the telephone?”

I saw no objection.  However, when Charlotte came to my side I whispered for her to keep the man waiting while I darted out into the corridor and slipped downstairs, where the girl at the switchboard put an instrument into the circuit for me.  Money talks.  However—­

“My dear child,” the voice of Avec was saying, “you do me an injustice.  I have nothing but your welfare at heart.  I assure you that if anything should happen to you and your brother while at Chatterton Place, it will be through no fault of mine.

“At the same time I can positively assure you that, if you stay away from there, no harm will come to either of you; absolutely none!  I can guarantee that.  Don’t ask me why; but, if you value your safety, stay where you are, or go elsewhere, anywhere other than to the house in Chatterton Place.”