“The Rhamda. What is the first thing that strikes you? His age. With everyone that sees him it's the same. At first you take him for an old man; if you study him long enough, you are positive that he is in his twenties. May he not be this chemist?”
“What becomes of the doctor and his Blind Spot?”
“The Blind Spot,” answered Jerome, “is merely a part of the chemistry.”
Next day I hunted up a jeweller. I was careful to choose one with whom I was acquainted. I asked for a private consultation. When we were alone I took the ring from my finger.
“Just an opinion,” I asked. “You know gems. Can you tell me anything about this one?”
He picked it up casually, and turned it over; his mouth puckered. For a minute he studied.
“That? Well, now.” He held it up. “Humph. Wait a minute.”
“Is it a gem?”
“I think it is. At first I thought I knew it right off; but now—wait a minute.”
He reached in the drawer for his glass. He held the stone up for some minutes. His face was a study; queer little wrinkles twisting from the corners of his eyes told his wonder. He did not speak; merely turned the stone round and round. At last he removed his glass and held up the ring. He was quizzical.