Something tremendous had happened to him, to make
him feel like that. He was ready for anything.
Five minutes passed. Watson was alert and ready when the woman
returned, together with a companion. She smiled kindly, and
announced:
"The Rhamda Geos."
At first Chick was startled. There was a resemblance to Rhamda
Avec that ran almost to counterpart. The same refinement and
elegance, the fleeting suggestion of youth, the evident age
mingled with the same athletic ease and grace of carriage. Only he
was somewhat shorter. The eyes were almost identical, with the
peculiar quality of the iris and pupil that suggested, somehow, a
culture inherited out of the centuries. He was dressed in a black
robe, such as would befit a scholar.
He smiled, and held out a hand. Watson noted the firm clasp, and
the cold thrill of magnetism.
"You wish to speak with me?"
The voice was soft and modulated, resonant, of a tone as rich as
bronze.
"Yes. Where am I--sir?"
"You do not know?"
It seemed to Watson that there was real astonishment in the man's
eyes. As yet it had not come to Chick that he himself might be
just as much a mystery as the other. The only question in his mind
at the moment was locality.
"Is this the Blind Spot?"
"The Blind Spot!"--with the same lack of comprehension that the
woman had shown. "I do not understand you."
"Well, how did I get here?"
"Oh, as to that, you were found in the Temple of the Leaf.
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