The Exploits of Elaine

by Arthur B. Reeve

  CHAPTER II

  THE TWILIGHT SLEEP

  Kennedy had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the solution of themysterious Dodge case.

  Far into the night, after the challenge of the forged finger print, hecontinued at work, endeavoring to extract a clue from the meagreevidence--the bit of cloth and trace of poison already obtained fromother cases, and now added the strange succession of events thatsurrounded the tragedy we had just witnessed.

  We dropped around at the Dodge house the next morning. Early though itwas, we found Elaine, a trifle paler but more lovely than ever, andPerry Bennett themselves vainly endeavoring to solve the mystery of theClutching Hand.

  They were at Dodge's desk, she in the big desk chair, he standingbeside her, looking over some papers.

  "There's nothing there," Bennett was saying as we entered.

  I could not help feeling that he was gazing down at Elaine a bit moretenderly than mere business warranted.

  "Have you--found anything?" queried Elaine anxiously, turning eagerlyto Kennedy.

  "Nothing--yet," he answered shaking his head, but conveying a quietidea of confidence in his tone.

  Just then Jennings, the butler, entered, bringing the morning papers.Elaine seized the Star and hastily opened it. On the first page was thestory I had telephone down very late in the hope of catching a lastcity edition.

  We all bent over and Craig read aloud:

  "CLUTCHING HAND" STILL AT LARGE

  NEW YORK'S MASTER CRIMINAL REMAINS UNDETECTED--PERPETRATES NEW DARINGMURDER AND ROBBERY OF MILLIONAIRE DODGE

  He had scarcely finished reading the brief but alarming news story thatfollowed and laid the paper on the desk, when a stone came smashingthrough the window from the street.

  Startled, we all jumped to our feet. Craig hurried to the window. Not asoul was in sight!

  He stooped and picked up the stone. To it was attached a piece ofpaper. Quickly he unfolded it and read:

  "Craig Kennedy will give up his search for the "Clutching Hand"--ordie!"

  Later I recalled that there seemed to be a slight noise downstairs, asif at the cellar window through which the masked man had entered thenight before.

  In point of fact, one who had been outside at the time might actuallyhave seen a sinister face at that cellar window, but to us upstairs itwas invisible. The face was that of the servant, Michael.

  Without another word Kennedy passed into the drawing room and took hishat and coat. Both Elaine and Bennett followed.

  "I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse me--for the present," Craigapologized.

  Elaine looked at him anxiously.

  "You--you will not let that letter intimidate you?" she pleaded, layingher soft white hand on his arm. "Oh, Mr. Kennedy," she added, bravelykeeping back the tears, "avenge him! All the money in the world wouldbe too little to pay--if only--"

  At the mere mention of money Kennedy's face seemed to cloud, but onlyfor a moment. He must have felt the confiding pressure of her hand, foras she paused, appealingly, he took her hand in his, bowing slightlyover it to look closer into her upturned face.

  "I'll try," he said simply.

  Elaine did not withdraw her hand as she continued to look up at him.Craig looked at her, as I had never seen him look at a woman before inall our long acquaintance.

  "Miss Dodge," he went on, his voice steady as though he were repressingsomething, "I will never take another case until the 'Clutching Hand'is captured."

  The look of gratitude she gave him would have been a princely reward initself.

  I did not marvel that all the rest of that day and far into the nightKennedy was at work furiously in his laboratory, studying the notes,the texture of the paper, the character of the ink, everything thatmight perhaps suggest a new lead. It was all, apparently, however,without result.

  . . . . . . . .

  It was some time after these events that Kennedy, reconstructing whathad happened, ran across, in a strange way which I need not tire thereader by telling, a Dr. Haynes, head of the Hillside Sanitarium forWomen, whose story I shall relate substantially as we received it fromhis own lips:

  It must have been that same night that a distinguished visitor drove upin a cab to our Hillside Sanitarium, rang the bell and was admitted tomy office. I might describe him as a moderately tall, well-built manwith a pleasing way about him. Chiefly noticeable, it seems to me, werehis mustache and bushy beard, quite medical and foreign.

  I am, by the way, the superintending physician, and that night I wassitting with Dr. Thompson, my assistant, in the office discussing arather interesting case, when an attendant came in with a card andhanded it to me. It read simply, "Dr. Ludwig Reinstrom, Coblenz."

  "Here's that Dr. Reinstrom, Thompson, about whom my friend in Germanywrote the other day," I remarked, nodding to the attendant to admit Dr.Reinstrom.

  I might explain that while I was abroad some time ago, I made aparticular study of the "Daemmerschlaf"--otherwise, the "twilightsleep," at Freiburg where it was developed and at other places inGermany where the subject had attracted great attention. I was muchimpressed and had imported the treatment to Hillside.

  While we waited I reached into my desk and drew out the letter to whichI referred, which ended, I recall:

  "As Dr. Reinstrom is in America, he will probably call on you. I amsure you will be glad to know him.

  "With kindest regards, I am,

  "Fraternally yours,

  "EMIL SCHWARZ, M. D.,

  "Director, Leipsic Institute of Medicine."

  "Most happy to meet you, Dr. Reinstrom," I greeted the new arrival, ashe entered our office.

  For several minutes we sat and chatted of things medical here andabroad.

  "What is it, Doctor," I asked finally, "that interests you most inAmerica?"

  "Oh," he replied quickly with an expressive gesture, "it is thebroadmindedness with which you adopt the best from all over the world,regardless of prejudice. For instance, I am very much interested in thenew twilight sleep. Of course you have borrowed it largely from us, butit interests me to see whether you have modified it with practice. Infact I have come to the Hillside Sanitarium particularly to see itused. Perhaps we may learn something from you."

  It was most gracious and both Dr. Thompson and myself were charmed byour visitor. I reached over and touched a call-button and our headnurse entered from a rear room.

  "Are there any operations going on now?" I asked.

  She looked mechanically at her watch. "Yes, there are two cases, now, Ithink," she answered.

  "Would you like to follow our technique, Doctor?" I asked, turning toDr. Reinstorm.

  "I should be delighted," he acquiesced.

  A moment later we passed down the corridor of the Sanitarium, stillchatting. At the door of a ward I spoke to the attendant who indicatedthat a patient was about to be anesthetized, and Reinstrom and Ientered the room.

  There, in perfect quiet, which is an essential part of the treatment,were several women patients lying in bed in the ward. Before us twonurses and a doctor were in attendance on one.

  I spoke to the Doctor, Dr. Holmes, by the way, who bowed politely tothe distinguished Dr. Reinstrom, then turned quickly to his work.

  "Miss Sears," he asked of one of the nurses, "will you bring me thathypodermic needle? How are you getting on, Miss Stern?" to the otherwho was scrubbing the patient's arm with antiseptic soap and water,thoroughly sterilizing the skin.

  "You will see, Dr. Reinstrom." I interposed in a low tone, "that wefollow in the main your Freiburg treatment. We use scopolamin andnarkophin."

  I held up the bottle, as I said it, a rather peculiar shaped bottle,too.

  "And the pain?" he asked.

  "Practically the same as in your experience abroad. We do not renderthe patient unconscious, but prevent her from remembering anything thatgoes on."

  Dr. Holmes, the attending physician, was just starting the treatment.Filling his hypodermic, he sele
cted a spot on the patient's arm, whereit had been scrubbed and sterilized, and injected the narcotic.

  "How simply you do it all, here!" exclaimed Reinstrom in surprise andundisguised admiration. "You Americans are wonderful!"

  "Come--see a patient who is just recovering," I added, much flatteredby the praise, which, from a German physician, meant much.

  Reinstrom followed me out of the door and we entered a private room ofthe hospital where another woman patient lay in bed carefully watchedby a nurse.

  "How do you do?" I nodded to the nurse in a modulated tone. "Everythingprogressing favorably?"

  "Perfectly," she returned, as Reinstrom, Haynes and myself formed alittle group about the bedside of the unconscious woman.

  "And you say they have no recollection of anything that happens?" askedReinstrom.

  "Absolutely none--if the treatment is given properly," I repliedconfidently.

  I picked up a piece of bandage which was the handiest thing about meand tied it quite tightly about the patient's arm.

  As we waited, the patient, who was gradually coming from under thedrug, roused herself.

  "What is that--it hurts!" she said putting her hand on the bandage Ihad tied tightly.

  "That is all right. Just a moment. I'll take it off. Don't you rememberit?" I asked.

  She shook her head. I smiled at Reinstrom.

  "You see, she has no recollection of my tying the bandage on her arm,"I pointed out.

  "Wonderful!" ejaculated Reinstrom as we left the room.

  All the way back to the office he was loud in his praises and thankedus most heartily, as he put on his hat and coat and shook hands acordial good-bye.

  Now comes the strange part of my story. After Reinstrom had gone, Dr.Holmes, the attending physician of the woman whom we had seenanesthetized, missed his syringe and the bottle of scopolamine.

  "Miss Sears," he asked rather testily, "what have you done with thehypodermic and the scopolamine?"

  "Nothing," she protested.

  "You must have done something."

  She repeated that she had not.

  "Well, it is very strange then," he said, "I am positive I laid thesyringe and the bottle right here on this tray on the table."

  Holmes, Miss Sears and Miss Stern all hunted, but it could not befound. Others had to be procured.

  I thought little of it at the time, but since then it has occurred tome that it might interest you, Professor Kennedy, and I give it to youfor what it may be worth.

  It was early the next morning that I awoke to find Kennedy already upand gone from our apartment. I knew he must be at the laboratory, and,gathering the mail, which the postman had just slipped through theletter slot, I went over to the University to see him. As I looked overthe letters to cull out my own, one in a woman's handwriting onattractive notepaper addressed to him caught my eye.

  As I came up the path to the Chemistry Building I saw through thewindow that, in spite of his getting there early, he was finding itdifficult to keep his mind on his work. It was the first time I hadever known anything to interfere with science in his life.

  I thought of the letter again.

  Craig had lighted a Bunsen burner under a large glass retort. But hehad no sooner done so than he sat down on a chair and, picking up abook which I surmised might be some work on toxicology, started to read.

  He seemed not to be able, for the moment, to concentrate his mind andafter a little while closed the book and gazed straight ahead of him.Again I thought of the letter, and the vision that, no doubt, he saw ofElaine making her pathetic appeal for his help.

  As he heard my footstep in the hall, it must have recalled him for hesnapped the book shut and moved over quickly to the retort.

  "Well," I exclaimed as I entered, "you are the early bird. Did you haveany breakfast?"

  I tossed down the letters. He did not reply. So I became absorbed inthe morning paper. Still, I did not neglect to watch him covertly outof the corner of my eye. Quickly he ran over the letters, instead oftaking them, one by one, in his usual methodical way. I quitecomplimented my own superior acumen. He selected the dainty note.

  A moment Craig looked at it in anticipation, then tore it open eagerly.I was still watching his face over the top of the paper and wassurprised to see that it showed, first, amazement, then pain, as thoughsomething had hurt him.

  He read it again--then looked straight ahead, as if in a daze.

  "Strange, how much crime there is now," I commented, looking up fromthe paper I had pretended reading.

  No answer.

  "One would think that one master criminal was enough," I went on.

  Still no answer.

  He continued to gaze straight ahead at blankness.

  "By George," I exclaimed finally, banging my fist on the table andraising my voice to catch his attention, "you would think we hadnothing but criminals nowadays."

  My voice must have startled him. The usually imperturbable old fellowactually jumped. Then, as my question did not evidently accord withwhat was in his mind, he answered at random, "Perhaps--I wonder if--"and then he stopped, noncommittally.

  Suddenly he jumped up, bringing his tightly clenched fist down with aloud clap into the palm of his hand.

  "By heaven!" he exclaimed, "I--I will!"

  Startled at his incomprehensible and unusual conduct I did not attemptto pursue the conversation but let him alone as he strode hastily tothe telephone. Almost angrily he seized the receiver and asked for anumber. It was not like Craig and I could not conceal my concern.

  "Wh-what's the matter, Craig?" I blurted out eagerly.

  As he waited for the number, he threw the letter over to me. I took itand read:

  "Professor Craig Kennedy,"The University, The Heights, City.

  "Dear Sir,--

  "I have come to the conclusion that your work is a hindrance ratherthan an assistance in clearing up my father's death and I hereby beg tostate that your services are no longer required. This is a finaldecision and I beg that you will not try to see me again regarding thematter.

  "Very truly yours, ELAINE DODGE."

  If it had been a bomb I could not have been more surprised. A momentbefore I think I had just a sneaking suspicion of jealousy that awoman--even Elaine--should interest my old chums. But now all that wasswept away. How could any woman scorn him?

  I could not make it out.

  Kennedy impatiently worked the receiver up and down, repeating thenumber. "Hello--hello," he repeated, "Yes--hello. Is Miss--oh--goodmorning, Miss Dodge."

  He was hurrying along as if to give her no chance to cut him off. "Ihave just received a letter, Miss Dodge, telling me that you don't wantme to continue investigating your father's death, and not to try to seeyou again about--"

  He stopped. I could hear the reply, as sometimes one can when thetelephone wire conditions are a certain way and the quality of thevoice of the speaker a certain kind.

  "Why--no--Mr. Kennedy, I have written you no letter."

  The look of mingled relief and surprise that crossed Craig's face spokevolumes.

  "Miss Dodge," he almost shouted, "this is a new trick of the ClutchingHand. I--I'll be right over."

  Craig hung up the receiver and turned from the telephone. Evidently hewas thinking deeply. Suddenly his face seemed to light up. He made uphis mind to something and a moment later he opened the cabinet--thatinexhaustible storehouse from which he seemed to draw weird and curiousinstruments that met the ever new problems which his strange professionbrought to him.

  I watched curiously. He took out a bottle and what looked like a littlehypodermic syringe, thrust them into his pocket and, for once,oblivious to my very existence, deliberately walked out of thelaboratory.

  I did not propose to be thus cavalierly dismissed. I suppose it wouldhave looked ridiculous to a third party but I followed him as hastilyas if he had tried to shut the door on his own shadow.

  We arrived at the corner above the Dodge house just in time to seean
other visitor--Bennett--enter. Craig quickened his pace. Jennings hadby this time become quite reconciled to our presence and a moment laterwe were entering the drawing room, too.

  Elaine was there, looking lovelier than ever in the plain black dress,which set off the rosy freshness of her face.

  "And, Perry," we heard her say, as we were ushered in, "someone haseven forged my name--the handwriting and everything--telling Mr.Kennedy to drop the case--and I never knew."

  She stopped as we entered. We bowed and shook hands with Bennett.Elaine's Aunt Josephine was in the room, a perfect duenna.

  "That's the limit!" exclaimed Bennett. "Miss Dodge has just beentelling me,--"

  "Yes," interrupted Craig. "Look, Miss Dodge, this is it."

  He handed her the letter. She almost seized it, examining it carefully,her large eyes opening wider in wonder.

  "This is certainly my writing and my notepaper," she murmured, "but Inever wrote the letter!"

  Craig looked from the letter to her keenly. No one said a word. For amoment Kennedy hesitated, thinking.

  "Might I--er--see your room, Miss Dodge?" he asked at length.

  Aunt Josephine frowned. Bennett and I could not conceal our surprise.

  "Why, certainly," nodded Elaine, as she led the way upstairs.

  It was a dainty little room, breathing the spirit of its mistress. Infact it seemed a sort of profanation as we all followed in after her.For a moment Kennedy stood still, then he carefully looked about. Atthe side of the bed, near the head, he stooped and picked up somethingwhich he held in the palm of his hand. I bent over. Something gleamedin the morning sunshine--some little thin pieces of glass. As he trieddeftly to fit the tiny little bits together, he seemed absorbed inthought. Quickly he raised it to his nose, as if to smell it.

  "Ethyl chloride!" he muttered, wrapping the pieces carefully in a paperand putting them into his pocket.

  An instant later he crossed the room to the window and examined it.

  "Look!" he exclaimed.

  There, plainly, were marks of a jimmy which had been inserted near thelock to pry it open.

  "Miss Dodge," he asked, "might I--might I trouble you to let me seeyour arm?"

  Wonderingly she did so and Kennedy bent almost reverently over herplump arm examining it.

  On it was a small dark discoloration, around which was a slight rednessand tenderness.

  "That," he said slowly, "is the mark of a hypodermic needle."

  As he finished examining Elaine's arm he drew the letter from hispocket. Still facing her he said in a low tone, "Miss Dodge--you didwrite this letter--but under the influence of the new 'twilight sleep.'"

  We looked at one another amazed.

  Outside, if we had been at the door in the hallway, we might have seenthe sinister-faced Michael listening. He turned and slipped quietlyaway.

  "Why, Craig," I exclaimed excitedly, "what do you mean?"

  "Exactly what I say. With Miss Dodge's permission I shall show you. Bya small administration of the drug which will injure you in no way,Miss Dodge, I think I can bring back the memory of all that occurred toyou last night. Will you allow me?"

  "Mercy, no!" protested Aunt Josephine.

  Craig and Elaine faced each other as they had the day before when shehad asked him whether the sudden warning of the Clutching Hand wouldintimidate him. She advanced a step nearer. Elaine trusted him.

  "Elaine!" protested Aunt Josephine again.

  "I want the experiment to be tried," she said quietly.

  A moment later Kennedy had placed her in a wing chair in the corner ofthe room.

  "Now, Mrs. Dodge," he said, "please bring me a basin and a towel."

  Aunt Josephine, reconciled, brought them. Kennedy dropped an antiseptictablet into the water and carefully sterilized Elaine's arm just abovethe spot where the red mark showed. Then he drew the hypodermic fromhis pocket--carefully sterilizing it, also, and filling it withscopolamine from the bottle.

  "Just a moment, Miss Dodge," he encouraged as he jabbed the needle intoher arm.

  She did not wince.

  "Please lie back on the couch," he directed. Then turning to us headded, "It takes some time for this to work. Our criminal got over thatfact and prevented an outcry by using ethyl chloride first. Let mereconstruct the scene."

  As we watched Elaine going under slowly, Craig talked.

  "That night," he said, "warily, the masked criminal of the ClutchingHand might have been seen down below us in the alley. Up here, MissDodge, worn out by the strain of her father's death, let us say, wasnervously trying to read, to do anything that would take her mind offthe tragedy. Perhaps she fell asleep.

  "Just then the Clutching Hand appeared. He came stealthily through thatwindow which he had opened. A moment he hesitated, seeing Elaineasleep. Then he tiptoed over to the bed, let us say, and for a momentlooked at her, sleeping.

  "A second later he had thrust his hand into his pocket and had takenout a small glass bulb with a long thin neck. That was ethyl chloride,a drug which produces a quick anesthesia. But it lasts only a minute ortwo. That was enough, As he broke the glass neck of the bulb--lettingthe pieces fall on the floor near the bed--he shoved the thing underElaine's face, turning his own head away and holding a handkerchiefover his own nose. The mere heat of his hand was enough to cause theethyl chloride to spray out and overcome her instantly. He stepped awayfrom her a moment and replaced the now empty vial in his pocket.

  "Then he took a box from his pocket, opened it. There must have been asyringe and a bottle of scopolamine. Where they came from I do notknow, but perhaps from some hospital. I shall have to find that outlater. He went to Elaine, quickly jabbing the needle, with noresistance from her now. Slowly he replaced the bottle and the needlein his pocket. He could not have been in any hurry now, for it takestime for the drug to work."

  Kennedy paused. Had we known at the time, Michael--he of the sinisterface--must have been in the hallway, careful that no one saw him. A tapat the door and the Clutching Hand, that night, must have beckoned him.A moment's parley and they separated--Clutching Hand going back toElaine, who was now under the influence of the second drug.

  "Our criminal," resumed Kennedy thoughtfully, "may have shaken Elaine.She did not answer. Then he may have partly revived her. She must havebeen startled. Clutching Hand, perhaps, was half crouching, with a bigugly blue steel revolver leveled full in her face.

  "'One word and I shoot!' he probably cried. 'Get up!'

  "Trembling, she must have done so. 'Your slippers and a kimono,' hewould naturally have ordered. She put them on mechanically. Then hemust have ordered her to go out of the door and down the stairs.Clutching Hand must have followed and as he did so he would havecautiously put out the lights."

  We were following, spell-bound, Kennedy's graphic reconstruction ofwhat must have happened. Evidently he had struck close to the truth.Elaine's eyes were closed. Gently Kennedy led her along. "Now, MissDodge," he encouraged, "try--try hard to recollect just what it wasthat happened last night--everything."

  As Kennedy paused after his quick recital, she seemed to tremble allover. Slowly she began to speak. We stood awestruck. Kennedy had beenright!

  The girl was now living over again those minutes that had beenforgotten--blotted out by the drug.

  And it was all real to her, too,--terribly real. She was speaking,plainly in terror.

  "I see a man--oh, such a figure--with a mask. He holds a gun in myface--he threatens me. I put on my kimono and slippers, as he tells me.I am in a daze. I know what I am doing--and I don't know. I go out withhim, downstairs, into the library."

  Elaine shuddered again at the recollection. "Ugh! The room is dark, theroom where he killed my father. Moonlight outside streams in. Thismasked man and I come in. He switches on the lights.

  "'Go to the safe,' he says, and I do it, the new safe, you know. 'Doyou know the combination?' he asks me. 'Yes,' I reply, too frightenedto say no.

  "'Open it then,' he says, waving
that awful revolver closer. I do so.Hastily he rummages through it, throwing papers here and there. But heseems not to find what he is after and turns away, swearing fearfully.

  "'Hang it!' he cries to me. 'Where else did your father keep papers?' Ipoint in desperation at the desk. He takes one last look at the safe,shoves all the papers he has strewn on the floor back again and slamsthe safe shut.

  "'Now, come on!' he says, indicating with the gun that he wants me tofollow him away from the safe. At the desk he repeats the search. Buthe finds nothing. Almost I think he is about to kill me. 'Where elsedid your father keep papers?' he hisses fiercely, still threatening mewith the gun.

  "I am too frightened to speak. But at last I am able to say, 'I--Idon't know!' Again he threatens me. 'As God is my judge,' I cry, 'Idon't know.' It is fearful. Will he shoot me?

  "Thank heaven! At last he believes me. But such a look of foiled fury Ihave never seen on any human face before.

  "'Sit down!' he growls, adding, 'at the desk.' I do.

  "'Take some of your notepaper--the best.' I do that, too.

  "'And a pen,' he goes on. My fingers can hardly hold it.

  "'Now--write!' he says, and as he dictates, I write--"

  "This?" interjected Kennedy, eagerly holding up the letter that he hadreceived from her.

  Elaine looked it over with her drug-laden eyes. "Yes," she nodded, thenlapsed again to the scene itself. "He reads it over and as he does sosays, 'Now, address an envelope.' Himself he folds the letter, sealsthe envelope, stamps it, and drops it into his pocket, hastilystraightening the desk.

  "'Now, go ahead of me--again. Leave the room--no, by the hall door. Weare going back upstairs.' I obey him, and at the door he switches offthe lights. How I stand it, I don't know. I go upstairs, mechanically,into my own room--I and this masked man.

  "'Take off the kimono and slippers!' he orders. I do that. 'Get intobed!' he growls. I crawl in fearfully. For a moment he looksabout,--then goes out--with a look back as he goes. Oh! Oh! Thathand--which he raises at me--THAT HAND!"

  The poor girl was sitting bolt upright, staring straight at the halldoor, as we watched and listened, fascinated.

  Kennedy was bending over, soothing her. She gave evidences of comingout from the effect of the drug.

  I noticed that Bennett had suddenly moved a step in the direction ofthe door at which she stared.

  "My God!" he muttered, staring, too. "Look!"

  We did look. A letter was slowly being inserted under the door.

  I took a quick step forward. That moment I felt a rough tug at my arm,and a voice whispered, "Wait--you chump!"

  It was Kennedy. He had whipped out his automatic and had carefullyleveled it at the door. Before he could fire, however, Bennett hadrushed ahead.

  I followed. We looked down the hall. Sure enough, the figure of a mancould be seen disappearing around an angle. I followed Bennett out ofthe door and down the hall.

  Words cannot keep pace with what followed. Together we rushed to thebackstairs.

  "Down there, while I go down the front!" cried Bennett.

  I went down and he turned and went down the other flight. As he did so,Craig followed him.

  Suddenly, in the drawing room, I bumped into a figure on the other sideof the portieres. I seized him. We struggled. Rip! The portieres camedown, covering me entirely. Over and over we went, smashing a lamp. Itwas vicious. Another man attacked me, too.

  "I--I've got him--Kennedy!" I heard a voice pant over me.

  A scream followed from Aunt Josephine. Suddenly the portieres werepulled off me.

  "The deuce!" puffed Kennedy. "It's Jameson!"

  Bennett had rushed plump into me, coming the other way, hidden by theportieres.

  If we had known at the time, our Michael of the sinister face hadgained the library and was standing in the center of the room. He hadheard me coming and had fled to the drawing room. As we finished ourstruggle in the library, he rose hastily from behind the divan in theother room where he had dropped and had quietly and hastily disappearedthrough another door.

  Laughing and breathing hard, they helped me to my feet. It was no joketo me. I was sore in every bone.

  "Well, where DID he go?" insisted Bennett.

  "I don't know--perhaps back there," I cried.

  Bennett and I argued a moment, then started and stopped short. AuntJosephine had run downstairs and now was shoving the letter intoCraig's hands.

  We gathered about him, curiously. He opened it. On it was that awesomeClutching Hand again.

  Kennedy read it. For a moment he stood and studied it, then slowlycrushed it in his hand.

  Just then Elaine, pale and shaken from the ordeal she had voluntarilygone through, burst in upon us from upstairs. Without a word sheadvanced to Craig and took the letter from him.

  Inside, as on the envelope, was that same signature of the ClutchingHand.

  Elaine gazed at it wild-eyed, then at Craig. Craig smilingly reachedfor the note, took it, folded it and unconcernedly thrust it into hispocket.

  "My God!" she cried, clasping her hands convulsively and repeating thewords of the letter. "YOUR LAST WARNING!"