“Harry!”
She said no more; I did not answer; I was too taken by surprise and wonder. I could feel her concern as I would a mother's. What was her interest in myself? The contact of her hand sent a strange pulse through my vitals; she was so beautiful. Could it be? Watson said he loved her. Could I blame him?
“Harry,” she asked, “how long is it to continue?”
So that was it. Merely an envoy to accept surrender. I was worn utterly, weary of the world, lonely. But I hadn't given up. I had strength still, and will enough to hold out to the end. Perhaps I was wrong. If I gave her the ring? what then?
“I am afraid,” I answered, “that I must go on. I have given my word. It has been much harder than I expected. This jewel? What has it to do with the Blind Spot?”
“It controls it.”
“Does the Rhamda desire it?”
“He does.”
“Why doesn't he call for it personally? Why doesn't he make a clean breast of it? It would be much easier. He knows and you know that I am after Dr. Holcomb and Watson. I might even forego the secret. Would he release the doctor?”
“No, Harry, he would not.”