It was frigid, cold, terrible, blue, alluring. To me at
the moment it seemed alive and pulselike. I could not account for
it. I felt the lust for possession. Perhaps there was something in
my face. Watson leaned over and touched me on the arm.
"Harry," he asked, "do you think you can stand up under the
burden? Will you take my place?"
I looked into his eyes; in their black depths was almost entreaty.
How haunting they were, and beseeching.
"Will you take my place?" he begged. "Are you willing to give up
all that God gives to the fortunate? Will you give up your
practice? Will you hold out to the end? Never surrender? Will--"
"You mean will I take this ring?"
He nodded.
"Exactly. But you must know beforehand. It would be murder to give
it to you without the warning. Either your death or that of Dr.
Holcomb. It is not a simple jewel. It defies description. It takes
a man to wear it. It is subtle and of destruction; it eats like a
canker; it destroys the body; it frightens the soul--"
"An ominous piece of finery," I spoke. "Wherein--"
But Watson interrupted. There was appeal in his eyes.
"Harry," he went on, "I am asking. Somebody has got to wear this
ring. He must be a man. He must be fearless; he must taunt the
devil. It is hard work, I assure you. I cannot last much longer.
You loved the old doctor. If we get at this law we have done more
for mankind than either of us may do with his profession.
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