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re here--I had thought--This is much better! I can see fairly well now. You came very near to blinding me permanently! You didn't know. It's the transition." Then: "And yet--of course! It's the moon! THE MOON!"
He stopped. There was a strange wistfulness in the last word. And suddenly he rose to his feet. He turned in gladness, as though to drink in the mellow flow of the radiance.
"The moon! Gentlemen--doctor--who are these people? This is the house of the Blind Spot! And it is the moon--the good old earth! And San Francisco!"
He stopped again. There was a bit of indecision and of wonder mixed with his gladness. The stillness was only broken by the scarcely audible voice of Mme. Le Fabre.
"Now we KNOW! It is proven. The sceptics have always asked why the spirits work only in the half light. We know now."
Watson looked to Dr. Hansen. "Who is this lady? Who are these others?"
"Can you see them?"
"Perfectly. It is the lady in the corner; she thinks--"
"That you are a spirit!"
Watson laughed. "I a spirit? Try me and see!"
"Certainly," asserted Mme. Le Fabre. "You are out of the Blind Spot. I know; it will prove everything!"
"Ah, yes; the Spot." Watson hesitated. Again the indecision. There was something latent that he could not recall; though conscious, part of his mind was still in the apparent fog that lingers back into slumber.
"I don't understand," he spoke. "Who are you?"
It was Sir Henry this time. "Mr. Watson, we are a sort of committee. This is the house at 288 Chatterton Place. We are after the great secret that was discovered by Dr. Holcomb. We were summoned by Hobart Fenton."
Consciousness is an enigma. Hitherto Watson had been almost inert; his actions and manner of speech had been mechanical. That it was the natural result of the strange force that had thrown him out, no one doubted. The mention of Hobart Fenton jerked him into the full vigour of wide-awake thinking; he straightened himself.
"Hobart!