Somewhere in that lustre lies a great secret; it controls the
Blind Spot. The Rhamda himself may not take it off your finger.
You are immune from violence. Only the ring itself may kill you."
He coughed.
"God knows," he spoke, "it has killed me."
It was rather ominous. The mere fact of that cough and his
weakness was enough. One would come to this. He had warned me, and
he had besought me with the same voice as the warning.
"But what is the Blind Spot?"
"Then you take the ring? What is the time? Twelve. Gentlemen--"
Now here comes in one of the strange parts of my story--one that I
cannot account for. Over the shoulder of Dr. Hansen I could watch
the door. Whether it was the ring or not I do not know. At the
time I did not reason. I acted upon impulse. It was an act beyond
good breeding. I had never done such a thing before. I had never
even seen the woman.
The woman? Why do I say it? She was never a woman--she was a girl--
far, far transcendent. It was the first time I had ever seen her--
standing there before the door. I had never beheld such beauty,
such profile, poise--the witching, laughing, night-black of her
eyes; the perfectly bridged nose and the red, red lips that
smiled, it seemed to me, in sadness. She hesitated, and as if
puzzled, lifted a jewelled hand to her raven mass of hair. To this
minute I cannot account for my action, unless, perchance, it was
the ring.
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