entered and the door slammed behind them. Jerome slipped from the
taxi and spoke a few words to the driver. A moment later the two
men were holding the house under surveillance.

They did not have long to wait. The man called Rhamda had asked
for fifteen minutes. At the stroke of the second the front door
re-opened. Someone was laughing; a melodious enchanting laugh and
feminine. A woman was speaking. And then there were two forms in
the doorway. A man and a woman. The man was Rhamda Avec, tall,
immaculate, black clad and distinguished. The woman, Jerome was
not certain that she was the same who opened the door or not; she
was even more beautiful. She was laughing. Like her companion she
was clad in black, a beautiful shimmering material which sparkled
in the sun like the rarest silk. The man glanced carelessly up and
down the street for a moment. Then he assisted the lady down the
steps and into the taxi. The door slammed; and before the
detective could gather his scattered wits they were lost in the
city.

Jerome was expecting the professor. Naturally when the door opened
he looked for the old gentleman and his companion. It was the
doctor he was watching, not the other. Though he had no rational
reason for expecting trouble he had still his hunch and his
intuition. The man and woman aroused suspicion; and likewise upset
his calculation. He could not follow them and stay with the
professor. It was a moment for quick decision. He wondered. Where
was Dr. Holcomb? This was the day he was to deliver his lecture on
the Blind Spot. He had read the announcement in the paper on the
way back, together with certain comments by the editor. In the
lecture itself there was mystery. This strange one, Rhamda, was