A figure came into existence at his side. It was that of a powerfully built man, on whose wrists were curious red circles. And Chick shouted in a great voice:
“Hobart!”
And then came blackness.
XLVII. — THE LAST LEAF
Watson's story was now completed. During the entire recital his auditors had spoken scarcely a word. It had been marvellous—almost a revelation. With the possible exception of Sir Henry Hodges, not one had expected that it would measure up to this. For the whole thing backed up Holcomb's original proposition:
“The Occult is concrete.”
Certainly, if what Watson had told them was true, then Infinity had been squared by itself. Not only was there an infinity that we might look up to through the stars, but there was another just as great, co-existent, here upon the earth. The occult became not only possible, but unlimited.
The next few minutes would prove whether or not he had told the truth.