XIV
A NEW ELEMENT
Budge Kennedy was not so easily found. There were many Kennedys. Abouttwo-thirds of Ireland had apparently migrated to San Francisco underthat name and had lodged in the directory. We went through the lists onboth sides of the bay, but found nothing; the old directories had mostlybeen destroyed by fire or had been thrown away as worthless; but at lastwe unearthed one. In it we found the name of Budge Kennedy.
He had two sons--Patrick and Henry. One of these, Henry, we ran down inthe Mission. He was a great, red-headed, broad-shouldered Irishman. Hewas just eating supper when we called; there were splotches of whiteplaster on his trousers.
I came right to the point: "Do you know anything about this?" I held outthe ring.
He took it in his fingers; his eyes popped. "What, that! Well, I guessI do! Where'd you get it?" He called out to the kitchen: "Say, Mollie,come here. Here's the old man's jool!" He looked at me a bit fearfully."You aren't wearing it?"
"Why not?" I asked.
"Why? Well, I don't know exactly. I wouldn't wear it for a milliondollars. It ain't a jool; it's a piece of the divil. The old man gaveit to Dr. Holcomb--or sold it, I don't know which. He carried it in hispocket once, and he came near dying."
"Unlucky?" I asked.
"No, it ain't unlucky; it just rips your heart out. It would make youhate your grandmother. Lonesome! Lonesome! I've often heard the old mantalking."
"He sold it to Dr. Holcomb? Do you know why?"
"Well, yes. 'Twas that the old doc had some scientific work. Dad toldhim about his jool. One day he took it over to Berkeley. It was somekind of thing that the professor just wanted. He kept it. Dad made himpromise not to wear it."
"I see. Did your father ever tell you where he got it?"
"Oh, yes. He often spoke about that. The old man wasn't a plasterer,you know--just a labourer. He was digging a basement. It was a funnybasement--a sort of blind cellar. There was a stone wall right acrossthe middle, and then there was a door of wood to look like stone. Youcan go down into the back cellar, but not into the front. If you don'tknow about the door, you'll never find it. Dad often spoke about that.He was working in the back cellar when he found this. 'Twas sticking insome blue clay."
"Where was this place? Do you remember?"
"Sure. 'Twas in Chatterton Place. Pat and I was kids then; we took theold man's dinner."
"Do you know the number?"
"It didn't have no number; but I know the place. 'Tis a two-story house,and was built in 'ninety-one."
I nodded. "And afterwards you moved to Oakland?"
"Yes."
"Did your father ever speak of the reason for this partition in thecellar?"
"He never knew of one. It was none of his business. He was merely alabourer, and did what he was paid for."
"Do you know who built it?"
"Some old guy. He was a cranky cuss with side-whiskers. He used to weara stove-pipe hat. I think he was a chemist. Whenever he showed up hewould run us kids out of the building. I think he was a bachelor."
This was all the information he could give, but it was a great deal.Certainly it was more than I had hoped for. The house had been builtby a chemist; even in the construction there was mystery. I had neverthought of a second cellar; when I had explored the building I had takenthe stone wall for granted. It was so with Jerome. It was the firstdefinite clue that really brought us down to earth. What had thischemist to do with the phenomena?
After all, behind everything was lurking the mind of man.
We hastened back to the house and into the cellar. By merely soundingalong the wall we discovered the door; it was cleverly constructed andfor a time defied our efforts; but Jerome got it open by means of ajemmy and a pick. The outside was a clever piece of sham work shapedlike stone and smeared over with cement. In the dim light we had missedit.
We had high expectations. But we were disappointed. The space containednothing; it was smeared with cobwebs and hairy mould; but outside of afew empty bottles and the gloomy darkness there was nothing. We tappedthe walls and floor and ceiling. Beyond all doubt the place once helda secret; if it held it still, it was cleverly hidden. After an hour ortwo of search we returned to the upper part of the building.
Jerome was not discouraged.
"We're on the right track, Mr. Wendel; if we can only get started.I have an idea. The chemist--it was in 'ninety-one--that's more thantwenty years."
"What is your idea?"
"The Rhamda. What is the first thing that strikes you? His age. Witheveryone that sees him it's the same. At first you take him for an oldman; if you study him long enough, you are positive that he is in histwenties. May he not be this chemist?"
"What becomes of the doctor and his Blind Spot?"
"The Blind Spot," answered Jerome, "is merely a part of the chemistry."
Next day I hunted up a jeweller. I was careful to choose one with whom Iwas acquainted. I asked for a private consultation. When we were alone Itook the ring from my finger.
"Just an opinion," I asked. "You know gems. Can you tell me anythingabout this one?"
He picked it up casually, and turned it over; his mouth puckered. For aminute he studied.
"That? Well, now." He held it up. "Humph. Wait a minute."
"Is it a gem?"
"I think it is. At first I thought I knew it right off; but now--wait aminute."
He reached in the drawer for his glass. He held the stone up for someminutes. His face was a study; queer little wrinkles twisting from thecorners of his eyes told his wonder. He did not speak; merely turnedthe stone round and round. At last he removed his glass and held up thering. He was quizzical.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
"That is something I do not care to answer. I wish to know what it is.Is it a gem? If so, what kind?"
He thought a moment and shook his head.
"I thought I knew every gem on earth. But I don't. This is a new one.It is beautiful--just a moment." He stepped to the door. In a momentanother man stepped in. The jeweller motioned towards the ring. The manpicked it up and again came the examination. At last he laid the glassand ring both upon the table.
"What do you make of it, Henry?" asked the jeweller.
"Not me," answered the second one. "I never saw one like it."
It was as Watson had said. No man had ever identified the jewel. The twomen were puzzled; they were interested. The jeweller turned to me.
"Would you care to leave it with us for a bit; you have no objection tous taking it out of the ring?"
I had not thought of that. I had business down the street. I consultedmy watch.
"In half an hour I shall be back. Will that be enough time?"
"I think so."
It was an hour before I returned. The assistant was standing at the doorof the office. He spoke something to the one inside and then made anindication to myself. He seemed excited; when I came closer I noted thathis face was full of wonder.
"We've been waiting," said he. "We didn't examine the stone; it wasn'tnecessary. It is truly wonderful." He was a short, squat man with amassive forehead. "Just step inside."
Inside the office the jeweller was sitting beside a table; he wasleaning back in his chair; he had his hands clasped over his stomach. Hewas gazing toward the ceiling; his face was a study, full of wonder andspeculation.
"Well?" I asked.
For an answer he merely raised his finger, pointed towards the ceiling.
"Up there," he spoke. "Your jewel or whatever it is. A good thing weweren't in open air. 'Twould be going yet."
I looked up. Sure enough, against the ceiling was the gem. It was a bitdisconcerting, though I will confess that in the first moment I did notcatch the full significance.
The jeweller closed one eye and studied first myself and then thebeautiful thing against the ceiling.
"What do you make of it?" he asked.
Really I had not made anything; it was a bit of a shock; I h
adn'tgrasped the full impossibility. I didn't answer.
"Don't you see, Mr. Wendel? Impossible! Contrary to nature! Lighter thanair. We took it out of the ring and it shot out like a bullet. ThoughtI'd dropped it. Began looking on the floor. Couldn't find it; looked upand saw Reynolds, here, with his eyes popping out like marbles. He waslooking at the ceiling."
I thought for a moment.
"Then it is not a gem?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Not if I'm a jeweller. Whoever heard of astone without weight? It has no gravity, that is, apparently. I doubtwhether it is a substance. I don't know what it is."
It was puzzling. I would have given a good deal just then for a fewwords with Dr. Holcomb. The man, Kennedy, had kept it in his pocket.How had he held it a prisoner? The professor had use for it in somescientific work! No wonder! Certainly it was not a jewel. What could itbe? It was solid. It was lighter than air. Could it be a substance? Ifnot; what is it?
"What would you advise?"
In answer the jeweller reached for the telephone. He gave a number.
"Hello. Say, is Ed there? This is Phil. Tell him to step to the phone.Hello! Say, Ed, I want you to come over on the jump. Something to showyou. Too busy! No, you're not. Not for this. I'm going to teach you somechemistry. No; this is serious. What is it? I don't know. What's lighterthan air? Lots of things? Oh, I know. But what solid? That's why I'masking. Come over. All right. At once."
He hung up the receiver.
"My brother," he spoke. "It has passed beyond my province and into his.He is a chemist. As an expert he may give you a real opinion."
Surely we needed one. It was against reason. It had taken mecompletely off my balance. I took a chair and joined the others in thecontemplation of the blue dot on the ceiling. We could speculate andconjecture; but there was not one of us deep enough even to start atheory. Plainly it was what should not be. We had been taught physicsand science; we had been drilled to fundamentals. If this thing couldbe, then the foundations upon which we stood were shattered. But onelittle law! Back in my mind was buzzing the enigma of the Blind Spot.They were woven together. Some law that had eluded the ken of mankind.
The chemist was a tall man with a hook nose and black eyes that clinchedlike rivets. He was a bit impatient. He looked keenly at his brother.
"Well, Phil, what is it?" He pulled out a watch, "I haven't much time."
There was a contrast between them. The jeweller was fat and complacent.He merely sat in his chair, his hand on his waistband and a stubbyfinger elevated toward the jewel. He seemed to enjoy it.
"You're a chemist, Ed. Here's a test for your wisdom. Can you explainthat? No, over here. Above your head. That jewel?"
The other looked up.
"What's the idea? New notion for decoration? Or"?--a bit testily--"isthis a joke?" He was a serious man; his black eyes and the nose spokehis character.
The jeweller laughed gently.
"Listen, Ed--" Then he went into explanation; when he was through thechemist was twitching with excitement.
"Get me a ladder. Here, let me get on the table; perhaps I can reachit. Sounds impossible, but if it's so, it's so; it must have anexplanation."
Without ado and in spite of the protests of his brother he stepped uponthe polished surface of the table. He was a tall man; he could justbarely reach it with the tip of his finger. He could move it; but eachtime it clung as to a magnet. After a minute of effort he gave it up.When he looked down he was a different man; his black eyes glowed withwonder.
"Can't make it," he said. "Get a step-ladder. Strange!"
With the ladder it was easy. He plucked it off the ceiling. We pressedabout the table. The chemist turned it about with his fingers.
"I wonder," he was saying. "It's a gem. Apparently. You say it has nogravity. It can't be. Whoop!" He let it slip out of his fingers. Againit popped on its way to the ceiling. He caught it with a deft movementof his hand. "The devil! Did you ever see! And a solid! Who owns this?"
That brought it back to me. I explained what I could of the manner of mypossession.
"I see. Very interesting. Something I've neverseen--and--frankly--something strictly against what I've been taught.Nevertheless, it's not impossible. We are witnesses at least. Would youcare if I take this over to the laboratory?"
It was a new complication. If it were not a jewel there was a chance ofits being damaged. I was as anxious as he; but I had been warned as toits possession.
"I shan't harm it. I'll see to that. I have suspicions and I'd like toverify them. A chemist doesn't blunder across such a thing every day. Iam a chemist." His eyes glistened.
"Your suspicions?" I asked.
"A new element."
This gem. A new element. Perhaps that would explain the Blind Spot. Itwas not exactly of earth. Everything had confirmed it.
"You--A new element? How do you account for it? It defies your laws.Most of your elements are evolved through tedious process. This ispicked up by chance."
"That is so. But there are still a thousand ways. A meteor, perhaps; abit of cosmic dust--there are many shattered comets. Our chemistryis earthly. There are undoubtedly new elements that we don't know of.Perhaps in enormous proportion."
I let him have it. It was the only night I had been away from the ring.I may say that it is the only time I have been free from its isolation.
When I called at his office next day I found he had merely confirmed hissuspicions. It defied analysis; there was no reaction. Under all testsit was a stranger. The whole science that had been built up to explaineverything had here explained nothing. However there was one thing thathe had uncovered--heat. Perhaps I should say magnetism. It was cold toman. I have spoken about the icy blue of its colour. It was cold even tolook at. The chemist placed it in my hand.
"Is it not so?"
It was. The minute it touched my palm I could sense the weird horror ofthe isolation; the stone was cold. Just like a piece of ice.
This was the first time I had ever had it in direct contact with theflesh. Set in the ring its impulse had always been secondary.
"You notice it? It is so with me. Now then. Just a minute."
He pressed a button. A young lady answered his ring; she glanced firstat myself and then at the chemist.
"Miss Mills, this is Mr. Wendel. He is the owner of the gem. Would youtake it in your hand? And please tell Mr. Wendel how it feels--"
She laughed; she was a bit perplexed.
"I don't understand"--she turned to me--"we had the same disputeyesterday. See, Mr. White says that it's cold; but it is not. It iswarm; almost burning. All the other girls think just as I do."
"And all the men as I do," averred the chemist, "even Mr. Wendel."
"Is it cold to you?" she asked. "Really--"
It was a turn I hadn't looked for. It was akin to life--this relation tosex. Could it account for the strange isolation and the weariness? I wasa witness to its potency. Watson! I could feel myself dragging under. Ihad just one question:
"Tell me, Miss Mills. Can you sense anything else; I mean beyond itstemperature?"
She smiled a bit. "I don't know what you mean exactly. It is a beautifulstone. I would like to have it."
"You think its possession would make you happy?"
Her eyes sparkled.
"Oh," she exclaimed. "I know it would! I can feel it!"
It was so. Whatever there was in the bit of sapphirine blue, it hadlife. What was it? It had relation to sex. In the strict line of fact itwas impossible.
When we were alone again I turned to the chemist.
"Is there anything more you uncovered? Did you see anything in thestone?"
He frowned. "No. Nothing else. This magnetism is the only thing. Isthere anything more?"
Now I hadn't said anything about its one great quality. He hadn'tstumbled across the image of the two men. I couldn't understand it. Ididn't tell him. Perhaps I was wrong. Down inside me I sensed a subtlereason for secrecy. It is hard to explain. It wa
s not perverseness; itwas a finer distinction; perhaps it was the influence of the gem. I tookit back to the jeweller again and had it reset.
The Blind Spot Page 16
