The voice was soft and modulated, resonant, of a tone as rich as bronze.
“Yes. Where am I—sir?”
“You do not know?”
It seemed to Watson that there was real astonishment in the man's eyes. As yet it had not come to Chick that he himself might be just as much a mystery as the other. The only question in his mind at the moment was locality.
“Is this the Blind Spot?”
“The Blind Spot!”—with the same lack of comprehension that the woman had shown. “I do not understand you.”
“Well, how did I get here?”
“Oh, as to that, you were found in the Temple of the Leaf. You were lying unconscious on the floor.”
“A temple! How did I get there, sir? Do you know?”
“We only know that a moment before there was nothing; next instant—you.”