I
RHAMDA AVEC
On a certain foggy morning in September, 1905, a tall man wearing ablack overcoat and bearing in one hand a small satchel of dark-reddishleather descended from a Geary Street tram at the foot of Market Street,San Francisco. It was a damp morning; a mist was brooding over the cityblurring all distinctness.
The man glanced about him; a tall man of trim lines and distinctnessand a quick, decided step and bearing. In the shuffle of descendingpassengers he was outstanding, with a certain inborn grace that withoutthe blood will never come from training. Men noticed and women out ofinstinct cast curious furtive glances and then turned away; which wasnatural, inasmuch as the man was plainly old. But for all that manyventured a second glance--and wondered.
An old man with the poise of twenty, a strange face of remarkablefeatures, swarthy, of an Eastern cast, perhaps Indian; whatever thecertainty of the man's age there was still a lingering suggestionof splendid youth. If one persisted in a third or fourth look thissuggestion took an almost certain tone, the man's age dwindled, yearsdropped from him, and the quizzical smile that played on the lips seemeda foreboding of boyish laughter.
We say foreboding because in this case it is not mistaken diction.Foreboding suggests coming evil; the laughter of boys is wholehearted.It was merely that things were not exactly as they should be; it was notnatural that age should be so youthful. The fates were playing, and inthis case for once in the world's history their play was crosswise.
It is a remarkable case from the beginning and we are starting fromfacts. The man crossed to the window of the Key Route ferry andpurchased a ticket for Berkeley, after which, with the throng, he passedthe turnstile and on to the boat that was waiting. He took the lowerdeck, not from choice, apparently, but more because the majority of hisfellow passengers, being men, were bound in this direction. The samechance brought him to the cigar-stand. The men about him purchasedcigars and cigarettes, and as is the habit of all smokers, strolled offwith delighted relish. The man watched them. Had anyone noticed his eyeshe would have noted a peculiar colour and a light of surprise. With theprim step that made him so distinctive he advanced to the news-stand.
"Pardon me; but I would like to purchase one of those." Though he spokeperfect English it was in a strange manner, after the fashion of onewho has found something that he has just learned how to use. At thesame time he made a suggestion with his tapered fingers indicating thetobacco in the case. The clerk looked up.
"A cigar, sir? Yes, sir. What will it be?"
"A cigar?" Again the strange articulation. "Ah, yes, that is it. NowI remember. And it has a little sister, the cigarette. I think I shalltake a cigarette, if--if--if you will show me how to use it."
It was a strange request. The clerk was accustomed to all manner ofmen and their brands of humour; he was about to answer in kind when helooked up and into the man's eyes. He started.
"You mean," he asked, "that you have never seen a cigar or cigarette;that you do not know how to use them? A man as old as you are."
The stranger laughed. It was rather resentful, but for all that of ahearty taint of humour.
"So old? Would you say that I am as old as that; if you will lookagain--"
The young man did and what he beheld is something that he could notquite account for: the strange conviction of this remarkable man; of agemelting into youth, of an uncertain freshness, the smile, not of sixty,but of twenty. The young man was not one to argue, whatever his wonder;he was first of all a lad of business; he could merely acquiesce.
"The first time! This is the first time you have ever seen a cigar orcigarette?"
The stranger nodded.
"The first time. I have never beheld one of them before this morning. Ifyou will allow me?" He indicated a package. "I think I shall take one ofthese."
The clerk took up the package, opened the end, and shook out a singlecigarette. The man lit it and, as the smoke poured out of his mouth,held the cigarette tentatively in his fingers.
"Like it?" It was the clerk who asked.
The other did not answer, his whole face was the expression of havingjust discovered one of the senses. He was a splendid man and, if theword may be employed of the sterner sex, one of beauty. His featureswere even; that is to be noted, his nose chiselled straight and toperfection, the eyes of a peculiar sombreness and lustre almost burning,of a black of such intensity as to verge into red and to be devoid ofpupils, and yet, for all of that, of a glow and softness. After a momenthe turned to the clerk.
"You are young, my lad."
"Twenty-one, sir."
"You are fortunate. You live in a wonderful age. It is as wonderful asyour tobacco. And you still have many great things before you."
"Yes, sir."
The man walked on to the forward part of the boat; leaving the youth,who had been in a sort of daze, watching. But it was not for long. Thewhole thing had been strange and to the lad almost inexplicable. The manwas not insane, he was certain; and he was just as sure that he had notbeen joking. From the start he had been taken by the man's refinement,intellect and education. He was positive that he had been sincere. Yet--
The ferry detective happened at that moment to be passing. The clerkmade an indication with his thumb.
"That man yonder," he spoke, "the one in black. Watch him." Then he toldhis story. The detective laughed and walked forward.
It was a most fortunate incident. It was a strange case. That mere actof the cigar clerk placed the police on the track and gave to the worldthe only clue that it holds of the Blind Spot.
The detective had laughed at the lad's recital--almost any one had apatent for being queer--and if this gentleman had a whim for a certainbrand of humour that was his business. Nevertheless, he would strollforward.
The man was not hard to distinguish; he was standing on the forward deckfacing the wind and peering through the mist at the grey, heavy heave ofthe water. Alongside of them the dim shadow of a sister ferry screamedits way through the fogbank. That he was a landsman was evidenced by hisway of standing; he was uncertain; at every heave of the boat he wouldshift sidewise. An unusually heavy roll caught him slightly off-balanceand jostled him against the detective. The latter held up his hand andcaught him by the arm.
"A bad morning," spoke the officer. "B-r-r-r! Did you notice the YerbeBuena yonder? She just grazed us. A bad morning."
The stranger turned. As the detective caught the splendid face, theglowing eyes and the youthful smile, he started much as had done thecigar clerk. The same effect of the age melting into youth and--theofficer being much more accustomed to reading men--a queer sense oflatent and potent vision. The eyes were soft and receptive but forall that of the delicate strength and colour that comes from abnormalintellect. He noted the pupils, black, glowing, of great size, almostfilling the iris and the whole melting into intensity that verged intored. Either the man had been long without sleep or he was one of unusualintelligence and vitality.
"A nasty morning," repeated the officer.
"Ah! Er, yes--did you say it was a nasty morning? Indeed, I do not know,sir. However, it is very interesting."
"Stranger in San Francisco?"
"Well, yes. At least, I have never seen it."
"H-m!" The detective was a bit nonplussed by the man's evident evasion."Well, if you are a stranger I suppose it is up to me to come tothe defence of my city. This is one of Frisco's fogs. We have themoccasionally. Sometimes they last for days. This one is a low one.It will lift presently. Then you will see the sun. Have you ever seenFrisco's sun?"
"My dear sir"--this same slow articulation--"I have never seen your sunnor any other."
"Hum!"
It was an answer altogether unexpected. Again the officer found himselfgazing into the strange, refined face and wonderful eyes. The man wasnot blind, of that he was certain. Neither was his voice harsh or testy.Rather was it soft and polite, of one merely stating a fact. Yet howcould it be? He remembered the cigar clerk. Neither
cigar nor sun! Fromwhat manner of land could the man come? A detective has a certaingift of intuition. Though on the face of it, outside of the man'spersonality, there could be nothing to it but a joke, he chose to actupon the impulse. He pulled back the door which had been closed behindthem and re-entered the boat. When he returned the boat had arrived atthe pier.
"You are going to Oakland?"
It was a chance question.
"No, to Berkeley. I take a train here, I understand. Do all the trainsgo to Berkeley?"
"By no means. I am going to Berkeley myself. We can ride together. Myname is Jerome. Albert Jerome."
"Thanks. Mine is Avec. Rhamda Avec. I am much obliged. Your company maybe instructive."
He did not say more, but watched with unrestrained interest theirmanoeuvre into the slip. A moment later they were marching with theothers down the gangways to the trains waiting. Just as they were seatedand the electric train was pulling out of the pier the sun breakingthrough the mist blazed with splendid light through the cloud rifts. Thestranger was next to the window where he could look out over the waterand beyond at the citied shoreline, whose sea of housetops extended androse to the peaks of the first foothills. The sun was just coming overthe mountains.
The detective watched. There was sincerity in the man's actions. It wasnot acting. When the light first broke he turned his eyes full into theradiance. It was the act of a child and, so it struck the officer, ofthe same trust and simplicity--and likewise the same effect. He drewaway quickly: for the moment blinded.
"Ah!" he said. "It is so. This is the sun. Your sun is wonderful!"
"Indeed it is," returned the other. "But rather common. We see it everyday. It's the whole works, but we get used to it. For myself I cannotsee anything strange in the 'sun's still shining.' You have been blind,Mr. Avec? Pardon the question. But I must naturally infer. You say youhave never seen the sun. I suppose--"
He stopped because of the other's smile; somehow it seemed a verysuperior one, as if predicting a wealth of wisdom.
"My dear Mr. Jerome," he spoke, "I have never been blind in my life. Isay it is wonderful! It is glorious and past describing. So is it all,your water, your boats, your ocean. But I see there is one thing evenstranger still. It is yourselves. With all your greatness you are onlypart of your surroundings. Do you know what is your sun?"
"Search me," returned the officer. "I'm no astronomer. I understand theydon't know themselves. Fire, I suppose, and a hell of a hot one! Butthere is one thing that I can tell."
"And this--"
"Is the truth."
If he meant it for insinuation it was ineffective. The other smiledkindly. In the fine effect of the delicate features, and most of allin the eyes was sincerity. In that face was the mark of genius--he feltit--and of a potent superior intelligence. Most of all did he note thebeauty and the soft, silky superlustre of the eyes.
We have the whole thing from Jerome, at least this part of it; and ourinterest being retrospect is multiplied far above that of the detective.The stranger had a certain call of character and of appearance, notto say magnetism. The officer felt himself almost believing andyet restraining himself into caution of unbelief. It was a remarkpreposterous on the face of it. What puzzled Jerome was the purpose;he could think of nothing that would necessitate such statements andacting. He was certain that the man was sane.
In the light of what came after great stress has been laid by a certainclass upon this incident. We may say that we lean neither way. We havemerely given it in some detail because of that importance. We haveyet no proof of the mystic and until it is proved, we must lean, likeJerome, upon the cold material. We have the mystery, but, even at that,we have not the certainty of murder.
Understand, it was intuition that led Jerome into that memorable trip toBerkeley; he happened to be going off duty and was drawn to the man bya chance incident and the fact of his personality. At this minute,however, he thought no more of him than as an eccentric, as somerefined, strange wonderful gentleman with a whim for his own brand ofhumour. Only that could explain it. The man had an evident curiosityfor everything about him, the buildings, the street, the cars, and thepeople. Frequently he would mutter: "Wonderful, wonderful, and all thetime we have never known it. Wonderful!"
As they drew into Lorin the officer ventured a question.
"You have friends in Berkeley? I see you are a stranger. If I maypresume, perhaps I may be of assistance?"
"Well, yes, if--if--do you know of a Dr. Holcomb?"
"You mean the professor. He lives on Dwight Way. At this time of theday you would be more apt to find him at the university. Is he expectingyou?"
It was a blunt question and of course none of his business. Yet,just what another does not want him to know is ever the pursuit of adetective. At the same time the subconscious flashing and wondering atthe name Rhamda Avec--surely neither Teutonic nor Sanskrit nor anythingbetween.
"Expecting me? Ah, yes. Pardon me if I speak slowly. I am not quite usedto speech--yet. I see you are interested. After I see Dr. Holcomb I maytell you. However, it is very urgent that I see the doctor. He--well, Imay say that we have known each other a long time."
"Then you know him?"
"Yes, in a way; though we have never met. He must be a great man. Wehave much in common, your doctor and I; and we have a great deal togive to your world. However, I would not recognise him should I see him.Would you by any chance--"
"You mean would I be your guide? With pleasure. It just happens that Iam on friendly terms with your friend Dr. Holcomb."
The Blind Spot Page 3
