Silence greeted this. The professor went on:
“Let me ask you: Are you living in a real world now, or an unreal one?” There was no response. “It is, of course, a reality; just as truly as if you were in San Francisco. So,” very distinctly, “perhaps it is merely a question of viewpoint, as to which is the occult!”
“Just what we want to know,” from Harry.
“And that,” tossing up his hands, “is exactly what I cannot tell you. I have found out many things, but I cannot be sure. I left certainty in Berkeley.
“Today I feel that there is some great fate, some unknown force that defies analysis, defies all attempts at resolution—a force that is driving me through the role of the Jarados. We are all a part of the Prophecy!
“We must wait for the last day for our answer. That Prophecy must and will be fulfilled. And on that day we shall have the key to the Blind Spot—we shall know the where of the occult.”
He took a sip from a tumbler of the familiar green fluid.
“Now that I have told you this much, I am going back to the beginning. I, too, have had adventures.
“How did I come to discover the Blind Spot?
“It was about one year prior to my last lecture at the university. At the time I had been doing much psychic-research work, all of which you know. And out of it I had adduced some peculiar theories. For example: