AGAIN THE NERVINA


It was at this point that I began taking notes. There is something
psychological to the Blind Spot, weird and touching on the spirit.
I know not what it is; but I can feel it. It impinges on to life.
I can sense the ecstasy of horror. I am not afraid. Whatever it is
that is dragging me down, it is not evil. My sensations are not
normal.

For the benefit of my successor, if there is to be one, I have
made an elaborate detail of notes and comments. After all, the
whole thing, when brought down to the end, must fall to the
function of science. When Hobart arrives, whatever my fate, he
will find a complete and comprehensive record of my sensations. I
shall keep it up to the end. Such notes being dry and sometimes
confusing I have purposely omitted them from this narrative. But
there are some things that must be given to the world. I shall
pick out the salient parts and give them chronologically.

Jerome stayed with me. Rather I should say he spent the nights
with me. Most of the time he was on the elusive trail of the
Rhamda. From the minute of our conversation with Kennedy he held
to one conviction. He was positive of that chemist back in the
nineties. He was certain of the Rhamda. Whatever the weirdness of
his theory it would certainly bear investigation. When he was not
on the trail over the city he was at work in the cellar. Here we
worked together.

We dug up the concrete floor and did a bit of mining. I was