Then I remembered. I looked up. It was the Nervina. She was
stooping over with my head against her. How beautiful her eyes
were! In their depths was a pathos and a tenderness that was past
a woman's, the same slight droop at the corners of the mouth, and
the wistfulness; her features were relaxed like a mother's--a
wondrous sweetness and pity.

"Harry," she asked, "where is Watson? Did he go?"

I nodded.

"Into the Blind Spot?"

"Yes. What is the Blind Spot?"

She ignored the question.

"I am sorry" she answered. "So sorry. I would have saved him. And
the Rhamda; was he here, too?"

I nodded. Her eyes flashed wickedly.

"And--and you--tell me, did you fight with the Rhamda? You--"

"It was Watson," I interrupted. "This Rhamda is behind it all. He
is the villain. He can fight like a tiger; whoever he is he can
fight."

She frowned slightly; she shook her head.