"I see," I spoke. "The man is a villain. I think we can handle
him."

But Watson shook his head.

"That's just it, Harry! The man! If he were a man I could have
handled him in short order. That's what I thought at first. Don't
make any mistake. Don't try violence. That's the whole crux of the
difficulty. If he were only a man! Unfortunately, he is not."

"Not a man!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean? Then, what is he?"

"He is a phantom."

I glanced at Hobart and caught his eye. Hobart believed him! The
poor pallid face of Watson, the athlete; there was nothing left to
him but his soul! I shall not forget Watson as he sat there, his
lean, long fingers grasping the brandy glass, his eyes burning and
his life holding back from the pit through sheer will and courage.
Would I come to this? Would I have the strength to measure up to
his standard?

Hobart broke the tension.

"Chick's right. There is something in it, Harry. Not all the
secrets of the universe have been unlocked by any means. Now,
Chick, about details. Have you any data--any notes?"

Watson rose. I could see he was grateful.