For an instant. Then the whole thing blurred
and clouded. Something passed across the face; the transparency
turned to opaqueness, and then--two men. It was as sudden as a
flash--the materialisation. There was no question. They were
alive. Watson was with the professor.
It was a strange moment. Only an hour before one of them had been
with us. It was Watson, beyond a doubt. He was alive; one could
almost believe him in the jewel. We had heard his story: "The
screen of the occult; the curtain of shadow." We had seen him go.
There was an element of horror in the thing, and of fascination.
The great professor! The faithful Watson! Where had they gone?
It was not until the colour had come back and the blue had
regained its lustre that either of us looked up. Could such a
thing be unravelled? Fenton turned the stone over thoughtfully. He
shook his head.
"In that jewel, Harry, lies the secret. I wish I knew a bit more
about physics, light, force, energy, vibration. We have got to
know."
"Your theory?"
"It still holds good."
I thought.
"Let me get it clear, Hobart. You say that we catch only certain
vibrations."
"That's it. Our eyes are instruments, nothing else. We can see
light, but we cannot hear it. We hear sound, but we cannot see it.
Of course they are not exactly parallel. But it serves the point.
Let's go a bit further. The eye picks up certain vibrations.
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