“But the girl?” I interrupted. “The girl? Confound it, the girl?”
It was sometime before I could make him understand; even then he refused to believe me.
“It was all a dream,” he said; “all a dream.”
But I was certain.
Fenton began prodding about the room. I do not believe any apartment was ever so thoroughly ransacked. We even tore up the carpet. When we were through he sat in the midst of the debris and wiped his forehead.
“It's no use, Harry—no use. We might have known better. It can't be done. Yet you say you saw a string of incandescence.”
“A single string; the form of Watson; a blur—then nothing,” I answered.
He thought. He quoted the professor:
“'Out of the occult I shall bring you the proof and the substance. It will be concrete—within the reach of your senses.' Isn't that what the doctor said?”
“Then you believe Professor Holcomb?”