"What is it, Chick? I have a suspicion. Am I right?"

Chick looked up; he closed his eyes.

"All right, Hobart, what's your suspicion?"

Fenton leaned over. It seemed to me that he was peering into the
other's soul. He touched his forearm.

"Chick, old boy, I think I know. But tell me. Am I right? It's the
Blind Spot."

At the words Watson opened his eyes; they were full of hope and
wonder, for a moment, and then, as suddenly of a great despair.
His body went to a heap. His voice was feeble.

"Yes," he answered, "I am dying--of the Blind Spot"




VII

THE RING


It was a terrible thing; death stalking out of the Blind Spot. We
had almost forgotten. It had been a story hitherto--a wonderful
one to be sure, and one to arouse conjecture. I had never thought
that we were to be brought to its shivering contact. It was out of