The Exploits of Elaine

by Arthur B. Reeve

  CHAPTER III

  THE VANISHING JEWELS

  Banging away at my typewriter, the next day, in Kennedy's laboratory, Iwas startled by the sudden, insistent ringing of the telephone near me.

  "Hello," I answered, for Craig was at work at his table, trying stillto extract some clue from the slender evidence thus far elicited in theDodge mystery.

  "Oh, Mr. Kennedy," I heard an excited voice over the wire reply, "myfriend, Susie Martin is here. Her father has just received a messagefrom that Clutching Hand and--"

  "Just a moment, Miss Dodge," I interrupted. "This is Mr. Jameson."

  "Oh!" came back the voice, breathless and disappointed. "Let me haveMr. Kennedy--quick."

  I had already passed the telephone to Craig and was watching him keenlyas he listened over it. The anticipation of a message from Elaine didnot fade, yet his face grew grave as he listened.

  He motioned to me for a pad and pencil that lay near me.

  "Please read the letter again, slower, Miss Dodge," he asked, adding,"There isn't time for me to see it--just yet. But I want it exactly.You say it is made up of separate words and type cut from newspapersand pasted on note paper?"

  I handed him paper and pencil.

  "All right now, Miss Dodge, go ahead."

  As he wrote, he indicated to me by his eyes that he wanted me to read.I did so:

  "Sturtevant Martin, Jeweler,"739 1/2 Fifth Ave.,"New York City.

  "SIR:

  "As you have failed to deliver the $10,000, I shall rob your maindiamond case at exactly noon today."

  "Thank you, Miss Dodge," continued Kennedy, laying down the pencil."Yes, I understand perfectly--signed by that same Clutching Hand. Letme see," he pondered, looking at his watch. "It is now just about halfpast eleven. Very well. I shall meet you and Miss Martin at Mr.Martin's store directly."

  It lacked five minutes of noon when Kennedy and I dashed up beforeMartin's and dismissed our taxi-cab.

  A remarkable scene greeted us as we entered the famous jewelry shop.Involuntarily I drew back. Squarely in front of us a man had suddenlyraised a revolver and leveled it at us.

  "Don't!" cried a familiar voice. "That is Mr. Kennedy!"

  Just then, from a little knot of people, Elaine Dodge sprang forwardwith a cry and seized the gun.

  Kennedy turned to her, apparently not half so much concerned about theautomatic that yawned at him as about the anxiety of the pretty girlwho had intervened. The too eager plainclothesman lowered the gunsheepishly.

  Sturtevant Martin was a typical society business man, quietly butrichly dressed. He was inclined to be pompous and affected a pair ofrather distinguished looking side whiskers.

  In the excitement I glanced about hurriedly. There were two or threepolicemen in the shop and several plainclothesmen, some armed withformidable looking sawed-off shot guns.

  Directly in front of me was a sign, tacked up on a pillar, which read,"This store will be closed at noon today. Martin & Co."

  All the customers were gone. In fact the clerks had had some trouble inclearing the shop, as many of them expressed not only surprise butexasperation at the proceeding. Nevertheless the clerks had politelybut insistently ushered them out.

  Martin himself was evidently very nervous and very much alarmed. Indeedno one could blame him for that. Merely to have been singled out bythis amazing master criminal was enough to cause panic. Already he hadengaged detectives, prepared for whatever might happen, and they hadadvised him to leave the diamonds in the counter, clear the store, andlet the crooks try anything, if they dared.

  I fancied that he was somewhat exasperated at his daughter's presence,too, but could see that her explanation of Elaine's and Perry Bennett'sinterest in the Clutching Hand had considerably mollified him. He hadbeen talking with Bennett as we came in and evidently had a highrespect for the young lawyer.

  Just back of us, and around the corner, as we came in, we had noticed alimousine which had driven up. Three faultlessly attired dandies hadentered a doorway down the street, as we learned afterwards, apparentlygoing to a fashionable tailor's which occupied the second floor of theold-fashioned building, the first floor having been renovated and madeready for renting. Had we been there a moment sooner we might haveseen, I suppose, that one of them nodded to a taxicab driver who wasstanding at a public hack stand a few feet up the block. The drivernodded unostentatiously back to the men.

  In spite of the excitement, Kennedy quietly examined the show case,which was, indeed, a veritable treasure store of brilliants. Then witha keen scrutinizing glance he looked over the police and detectivesgathered around. There was nothing to do now but wait, as thedetectives had advised.

  I looked at a large antique grandfather's clock which was standingnearby. It now lacked scarcely a minute of twelve.

  Slowly the hands of the clock came nearer together at noon.

  We all gathered about the show case with its glittering hoard ofwealth, forming a circle at a respectful distance.

  Martin pointed nervously at the clock.

  In deep-lunged tones the clock played the chords written, I believe, byHandel. Then it began striking.

  As it did so, Martin involuntarily counted off the strokes, while oneof the plainclothesmen waved his shotgun in unison.

  Martin finished counting.

  Nothing had happened.

  We all breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Well, it is still there!" exclaimed Martin, pointing at the show-case,with a forced laugh.

  Suddenly came a rending and crashing sound. It seemed as if the veryfloor on which we stood was giving way.

  The show-case, with all its priceless contents, went smashing down intothe cellar below.

  The flooring beneath the case had been cut through!

  All crowded forward, gazing at the black yawning cavern. A moment wehesitated, then gingerly craned our necks over the edge.

  Down below, three men, covered with linen dusters and their faceshidden by masks, had knocked the props away from the ceiling of thecellar, which they had sawed almost through at their leisure, and theshow case had landed eight or ten feet below, shivered into a thousandbits.

  A volley of shots whizzed past us, and another. While one crook washastily stuffing the untold wealth of jewels into a burlap bag, theothers had drawn revolvers and were firing up through the hole in thefloor, desperately.

  Martin, his detectives, and the rest of us fell back from the edge ofthe chasm hastily, to keep out of range of the hail of bullets.

  "Look out!" cried someone behind us, before we could recover from ourfirst surprise and return the fire.

  One of the desperadoes had taken a bomb from under his duster, lightedit, and thrown it up through the hole in the floor.

  It sailed up over our heads and landed near our little group on thefloor, the fuse sputtering ominously.

  Quickly we divided and backed away even further.

  I heard an exclamation of fear from Elaine.

  Kennedy had pushed his way past us and picked up the deadly infernalmachine in his bare hands.

  I watched him, fascinated. As near as he dared, he approached the holein the floor, still holding the thing off at arm's length. Would henever throw it?

  He was coolly holding it, allowing the fuse to burn down closer to theexplosion point.

  It was now within less than an inch sure death.

  Suddenly he raised it and hurled the deadly thing down through the hole.

  We could hear the imprecations of the crooks as it struck the cellarfloor, near them. They had evidently been still cramming jewelry intothe capacious maw of the bag. One of them, discovering the bomb, musthave advanced toward it, then retreated when he saw how imminent wasthe explosion.

  "Leave the store--quick!" rang out Kennedy's voice.

  We backed away as fast as those behind us would permit. Kennedy andBennett were the last to leave, in fact paused at the door.

  Down below the crooks were beating a hasty retreat through a se
cretentrance which they had effected.

  "The bag! The bag!" we could hear one of them bellow.

  "The bomb--run!" cried another voice gruffly.

  A second later came an ominous silence. The last of the three must havefled.

  The explosion that followed lifted us fairly off our feet. A great puffof smoke came belching up through the hole, followed by the crashing ofhundreds of dollars' worth of glass ware in the jewelry shop asfragments of stone, brick and mortar and huge splinters of wood wereflung with tremendous force in every direction from the miniaturevolcano.

  As the smoke from the explosion cleared away, Kennedy could be seen,the first to run forward.

  Meanwhile Martin's detectives had rushed down a flight of back stairsthat led into a coal cellar. With coal shovels and bars, anything theycould lay hands on, they attacked the door that opened forward from thecoal cellar into the front basement where the robbers had been.

  A moment Kennedy and Bennett paused on the brink of the abyss which thebomb had made, waiting for the smoke to decrease. Then they began toclimb down cautiously over the piled up wreckage.

  The explosion had set the basement afire, but the fire had not gainedmuch headway, by the time they reached the basement. Quickly Kennedyran to the door into the coal cellar and opened it.

  From the other side, Martin, followed by the police and the detectives,burst in.

  "Fire!" cried one of the policemen, leaping back to turn in an alarmfrom the special apparatus upstairs.

  All except Martin began beating out the flames, using such weapons asthey already held in their hands to batter down the door.

  To Martin there was one thing paramount--the jewels.

  In the midst of the confusion, Elaine, closely followed by her friendSusie, made her way fearlessly into the stifle of smoke down the stairs.

  "There are your jewels, Mr. Martin," cried Kennedy, kicking theprecious burlap bag with his foot as if it had been so much ordinarymerchandise, and turning toward what was in his mind the most importantthing at stake--the direction taken by the agents of the Clutching Hand.

  "Thank heaven!" ejaculated Martin, fairly pouncing on the bag andtearing it open. "They didn't get away with them--after all!" heexclaimed, examining the contents with satisfaction. "See--you musthave frightened them off at just the right moment when you sent thebomb back at them."

  Elaine and Susie pressed forward eagerly as he poured forth thesparkling stream of gems, intact.

  "Wasn't he just simply wonderful!" I heard Susie whisper to Elaine.

  Elaine did not answer. She had eyes or ears for nothing now in themelee but Kennedy.

  . . . . . . . .

  Events were moving rapidly.

  The limousine had been standing innocently enough at the curb near thecorner, with the taxicab close behind it.

  Less than ten minutes after they had entered, three well-dressed mencame out of the vacant shop, apparently from the tailor's above, andclimbed leisurely into their car.

  As the last one entered, he half turned to the taxicab driver, hidingfrom passers-by the sign of the Clutching Hand which the taxicab driverreturned, in the same manner. Then the big car whirled up the avenue.

  All this we learned later from a street sweeper who was at work nearby.

  Down below, while the police and detectives were putting out the fire,Kennedy was examining the wall of the cellar, looking for the spotwhere the crooks had escaped.

  "A secret door!" he exclaimed, as he paused after tapping along thewall to determine its character. "You can see how the force of theexplosion has loosened it."

  Sure enough, when he pointed it out to us, it was plainly visible. Oneof the detectives picked up a crowbar and others, still with thehastily selected implements they had seized to fight the fire, startedin to pry it open.

  As it yielded, Kennedy pushed his way through. Elaine, always utterlyfearless, followed. Then the rest of us went through.

  There seemed to be nothing, however, that would help us in the cellarnext door, and Kennedy mounted the steps of a stairway in the rear.

  The stairway led to a sort of storeroom, full of barrels and boxes, butotherwise characterless. When I arrived Kennedy was gingerly holding upthe dusters which the crooks had worn.

  "We're on the right trail," commented Elaine as he showed them to her,"but where do you suppose the owners are?"

  Craig shrugged his shoulders and gave a quick look about. "Evidentlythey came in from and went away by the street," he observed, hurryingto the door, followed by Elaine.

  On the sidewalk, he gazed up the avenue, then catching sight of thestreet cleaner, called to him.

  "Yes, sir," replied the man, stolidly looking up from his work. "I seethree gentlemen come out and get into an automobile."

  "Which way did they go?" asked Kennedy.

  For answer the man jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the generaldirection uptown.

  "Did you notice the number of the car?" asked Craig eagerly.

  The man shrugged his shoulders blankly.

  With keen glance, Kennedy strained his eyes. Far up the avenue, hecould descry the car threading its way in and out among the others,just about disappearing.

  A moment later Craig caught sight of the vacant taxicab and crooked hisfinger at the driver, who answered promptly by cranking his engine.

  "You saw that limousine standing there?" asked Craig.

  "Yes," nodded the chauffeur with a show of alertness.

  "Well, follow it," ordered Kennedy, jumping into the cab.

  "Yes, sir."

  Craig was just about to close the door when a slight figure flashedpast us and a dainty foot was placed on the step.

  "Please, Mr. Kennedy," pleaded Elaine, "let me go. They may lead to myfather's slayer."

  She said it so earnestly that Craig could scarcely have resisted if hehad wanted to do so.

  Just as Elaine and Kennedy were moving off, I came out of the vacantstore, with Bennett and the detectives.

  "Craig!" I called. "Where are you going?"

  Kennedy stuck his head out of the window and I am quite sure that hewas not altogether displeased that I was not with him.

  "Chasing that limousine," he shouted back. "Follow us in another car."

  A moment later he and Elaine were gone.

  Bennett and I looked about.

  "There are a couple of cabs--down there," I pointed out at the otherend of the block. "I'll take one you take the other."

  Followed by a couple of the detectives, I jumped into the first one Icame to, excitedly telling the driver to follow Kennedy's taxi,directing him with my head out of the window.

  "Mr. Jameson, please--can't I go with you?"

  I turned. It was Susie Martin. "One of you fellows, go in the othercar," I asked the detectives.

  Before the man could move, Mr. Martin himself appeared.

  "No, Susan, I--I won't allow it," he ordered.

  "But Elaine went," she pouted.

  "Well, Elaine is--ah--I won't have it," stormed Martin.

  There was no time to waste. With a hasty apology, I drove off.

  Who, besides Bennett, went in the other car, I don't know, but it madeno difference, for we soon lost them. Our driver, however, was a reallyclever fellow. Far ahead now we could see the limousine drive around acorner, making a dangerous swerve. Kennedy's cab followed, skiddingdangerously near a pole.

  But the taxicab was no match for the powerful limousine. On uptown theywent, the only thing preventing the limousine from escaping being thefear of pursuit by traffic police if the driver let out speed. Theywere content to manage to keep just far enough ahead to be out ofdanger of having Kennedy overhaul them. As for us, we followed as bestwe could, on uptown, past the city line, and out into the country.

  There Kennedy lost sight altogether of the car he was trailing. Worsethan that, we lost sight of Kennedy. Still we kept on blindly, trustingto luck and common sense in picking the road.
/>
  I was peering ahead over the driver's shoulder, the window down, tryingto direct him, when we approached a fork in the road. Here was adilemma which must be decided at once rightly or wrongly.

  As we neared the crossroad, I gave an involuntary exclamation. Besidethe road, almost on it, lay the figure of a man. Our driver pulled upwith a jerk and I was out of the car in an instant.

  There lay Kennedy! Someone had blackjacked him. He was groaning andjust beginning to show signs of consciousness as I bent over.

  "What's the matter, old man?" I asked, helping him to his feet.

  He looked about dazed a moment, then seeing me and comprehending, hepointed excitedly, but vaguely.

  "Elaine!" he cried. "They've kidnapped Elaine!"

  What had really happened, as we learned later from Elaine and others,was that when the cross roads was reached, the three crooks in thelimousine had stopped long enough to speak to an accomplice stationedthere, according to their plan for a getaway. He was a tough lookingindividual who might have been hoboing it to the city.

  When, a few minutes later, Kennedy and Elaine had approached the fork,their driver had slowed up, as if in doubt which way to go. Craig hadstuck his head out of the window, as I had done, and, seeing thecrossroads, had told the chauffeur to stop. There stood the hobo.

  "Did a car pass here, just now--a big car?" called Craig.

  The man put his hand to his ear, as if only half comprehending.

  "Which way did the big car go?" repeated Kennedy.

  The hobo approached the taxicab sullenly, as if he had a grudge againstcars in general.

  One question after another elicited little that could be construed asintelligence. If Craig had only been able to see, he would have foundout that, with his back toward the taxicab driver, the hobo held onehand behind him and made the sign of the Clutching Hand, glancingsurreptitiously at the driver to catch the answering sign, while Craiggazed earnestly up the two roads.

  At last Craig gave him up as hopeless. "Well--go ahead--that way," heindicated, picking the most likely road.

  As the chauffeur was about to start, he stalled his engine.

  "Hurry!" urged Craig, exasperated at the delays.

  The driver got out and tried to crank the engine. Again and again heturned it over, but, somehow, it refused to start. Then he lifted thehood and began to tinker.

  "What's the matter?" asked Craig, impatiently jumping out and bendingover the engine, too.

  The driver shrugged his shoulders. "Must be something wrong with theignition, I guess," he replied.

  Kennedy looked the car over hastily. "I can't see anything wrong," hefrowned.

  "Well, there is," growled the driver.

  Precious minutes were speeding away, as they argued. Finally with hischaracteristic energy, Kennedy put the taxicab driver aside.

  "Let me try it," he said. "Miss Dodge, will you arrange that spark andthrottle?"

  Elaine, equal to anything, did so, and Craig bent down and cranked theengine. It started on the first spin.

  "See!" he exclaimed. "There wasn't anything, after all."

  He took a step toward the taxicab.

  "Say," objected the driver, nastily, interposing himself between Craigand the wheel which he seemed disposed to take now, "who's running thisboat, anyhow?"

  Surprised, Kennedy tried to shoulder the fellow out of the way. Thedriver resisted sullenly.

  "Mr. Kennedy--look out!" cried Elaine.

  Craig turned. But it was too late. The rough looking fellow had wakenedto life. Suddenly he stepped up behind Kennedy with a blackjack. As theheavy weight descended, Craig crumpled up on the ground, unconscious.

  With a scream, Elaine turned and started to run. But the chauffeurseized her arm.

  "Say, bo," he asked of the rough fellow, "what does Clutching Hand wantwith her? Quick! There's another cab likely to be along in a momentwith that fellow Jameson in it."

  The rough fellow, with an oath, seized her and dragged her into thetaxicab. "Go ahead!" he growled, indicating the road.

  And away they sped, leaving Kennedy unconscious on the side of the roadwhere we found him.

  . . . . . . . .

  "What are we to do?" I asked helplessly of Kennedy, when we had at lastgot him on his feet.

  His head still ringing from the force of the blow of the blackjack,Craig stooped down, then knelt in the dust of the road, then ran aheada bit where it was somewhat muddy.

  "Which way--which way?" he muttered to himself.

  I thought perhaps the blow had affected him and leaned over to see whathe was doing. Instead, he was studying the marks made by the tire ofthe Clutching Hand cab. Very decidedly, there in the road, the littleanti-skid marks on the tread of the tire showed--some worn, somecut--but with each revolution the same marks reappearing unmistakably.More than that, it was an unusual make of tire. Craig was actuallystudying the finger prints, so to speak, of an automobile!

  More slowly now and carefully, we proceeded, for a mistake meant losingthe trail of Elaine. Kennedy absolutely refused to get inside our cab,but clung tightly to a metal rod outside while he stood on the runningboard--now straining his eyes along the road to catch any faint glimpseof either taxi or limousine, or the dust from them, now gazing intentlyat the ground following the finger prints of the taxicab that wascarrying off Elaine. All pain was forgotten by him now in the intensityof his anxiety for her.

  We came to another crossroads and the driver glanced at Craig. "Stop!"he ordered.

  In another instant he was down in the dirt, examining the road formarks.

  "That way!" he indicated, leaping back to the running board.

  We piled back into the car and proceeded under Kennedy's direction, asfast as he would permit. So it continued, perhaps for a couple of hours.

  At last Kennedy stopped the cab and slowly directed the driver to veerinto an open space that looked peculiarly lonesome. Near it stood a onestory brick factory building, closed, but not abandoned.

  As I looked about at the unattractive scene, Kennedy already was downon his knees in the dirt again, studying the tire tracks. They were allconfused, showing that the taxicab we were following had evidentlybacked in and turned several times before going on.

  "Crossed by another set of tire tracks!" he exclaimed excitedly,studying closer. "That must have been the limousine, waiting."

  Laboriously he was following the course of the cars in the open space,when the one word escaped him, "Footprints!"

  He was up and off in a moment, before we could imagine what he wasafter. We had got out of the cab, and followed him as, down to the veryshore of a sort of cove or bay, he went. There lay a rusty, discardedboiler on the beach, half submerged in the rising tide. At this tankthe footprints seemed to go right down the sand and into the waveswhich were slowly obliterating them. Kennedy gazed out as if to makeout a possible boat on the horizon, where the cove widened out.

  "Look!" he cried.

  Farther down the shore, a few feet, I had discovered the same prints,going in the opposite direction, back toward the place from which wehad just come. I started to follow them, but soon found myself alone.Kennedy had paused beside the old boiler.

  "What is it?" I asked, retracing my steps.

  He did not answer, but seemed to be listening. We listened also. Therecertainly was a most peculiar noise inside that tank.

  Was it a muffled scream?

  Kennedy reached down and picked up a rock, hitting the tank aresounding blow. As the echo died down, he listened again.

  Yes, there was a sound--a scream perhaps--a woman's voice, faint, butunmistakable.

  I looked at his face inquiringly. Without a word I read in it theconfirmation of the thought that had flashed into my mind.

  Elaine Dodge was inside!

  . . . . . . . .

  First had come the limousine, with its three bandits, to the spot fixedon as a rendezvous. Later had come the taxi
cab. As it hove into sight,the three well-dressed crooks had drawn revolvers, thinking perhaps theplan for getting rid of Kennedy might possibly have miscarried. But thetaxicab driver and the rough-faced fellow had reassured them with thesign of the Clutching Hand, and the revolvers were lowered.

  As they parleyed hastily, the rough-neck and the fake chauffeur liftedElaine out of the taxi. She was bound and gagged.

  "Well, now we've got her, what shall we do with her?" asked one.

  "It's got to be quick. There's another cab," put in the driver.

  "The deuce with that."

  "The deuce with nothing," he returned. "That fellow Kennedy's a cleverone. He may come to. If he does, he won't miss us. Quick, now!"

  "I wish I'd broken his skull," muttered the roughneck.

  "We'd better leave her somewhere here," remarked one of thebetter-dressed three. "I don't think the chief wants us to killher--yet," he added, with an ominous glance at Elaine, who in spite ofthreats was not cowed, but was vainly struggling at her bonds.

  "Well, where shall it be?" asked another.

  They looked about.

  "See," cried the third. "See that old boiler down there at the edge ofthe water? Why not put her in there? No one'll ever think to look insuch a place."

  Down by the water's edge, where he pointed, lay a big boiler such as isused on stationary engines, with its end lapped by the waves. With ahasty expression of approval, the rough-neck picked Elaine up bodily,still struggling vainly, and together they carried her, bound andgagged, to the tank. The opening, which was toward the water, wassmall, but they managed, roughly, to thrust her in.

  A moment later and they had rolled up a huge boulder against the smallentrance, bracing it so that it would be impossible for her to get outfrom the inside. Then they drove off hastily.

  Inside the old boiler lay Elaine, still bound and gagged. If she couldonly scream! Someone might hear. She must get help. There was water inthe tank. She managed to lean up inside it, standing as high as thewalls would allow her, trying to keep her head above the water.

  Frantically, she managed to loosen the gag. She screamed. Her voiceseemed to be bound around by the iron walls as was she herself. Sheshuddered, The water was rising--had reached her chest, and was stillrising, slowly, inexorably.

  What should she do? Would no one hear her? The water was up to her necknow. She held her head as high as she could and screamed again.

  What was that? Silence? Or was someone outside?

  . . . . . . . .

  Coolly, in spite of the emergency, Kennedy took in the periloussituation.

  The lower end of the boiler, which was on a slant on the rapidlyshelving beach, was now completely under water and impossible to getat. Besides, the opening was small, too small.

  We pulled away the stone, but that did no good. No one could hope toget in and then out again that way alive--much less with a helplessgirl. Yet something must be done. The tank was practically submergedinside, as I estimated quickly. Blows had no effect on the huge irontrap which had been built to resist many pounds of pressure.

  Kennedy gazed about frantically and his eye caught the sign on thefactory:

  OXYACETYLENE WELDING CO.

  "Come, Walter," he cried, running up the shore.

  A moment later, breathless, we reached the doorway. It was, of course,locked. Kennedy whipped out his revolver and several well-directedshots through the keyhole smashed the lock. We put our shoulders to itand swung the door open, entering the factory.

  There was not a soul about, not even a watchman. Hastily we took in theplace, a forge and a number of odds and ends of metal sheets, rods,pipes and angles.

  Beside a workbench stood two long cylinders, studded with bolts.

  "That's what I'm looking for," exclaimed Craig. "Here, Walter, takeone. I'll take the other--and the tubes--and--"

  He did not pause to finish, but seized up a peculiar shaped instrument,like a huge hook, with a curved neck and sharp beak. Really it wascomposed of two metal tubes which ran into a cylinder or mixing chamberabove the nozzle, while parallel to them ran another tube with a nozzleof its own.

  We ran, for there was no time to lose. As nearly as I could estimateit, the water must now be slowly closing over Elaine.

  "What is it?" I asked as he joined up the tubes from the tanks to thepeculiar hook-like apparatus he carried.

  "An oxyacetylene blowpipe," he muttered back feverishly working. "Usedfor welding and cutting, too," he added.

  With a light he touched the nozzle. Instantly a hissing, blindingflame-needle made the steel under it incandescent. The terrific heatfrom one nozzle made the steel glow. The stream of oxygen from thesecond completely consumed the hot metal. And the force of the blastcarried a fine spray of disintegrated metal before it. It was abrilliant sight. But it was more than that. Through the very steelitself, the flame, thousands of degrees hot, seemed to eat its way in afine line, as if it were a sharp knife cutting through ordinarycardboard.

  With tense muscles Kennedy skillfully guided the terrible instrumentthat ate cold steel, wielding the torch as deftly as if it had been, asindeed it was, a magic wand of modern science.

  He was actually cutting out a huge hole in the still exposed surface ofthe tank--all around, except for a few inches, to prevent the heavypiece from falling inward.

  As Kennedy carefully bent outward the section of the tank which he hadcut, he quickly reached down and lifted Elaine, unconscious, out of thewater.

  Gently he laid her on the sand. It was the work of only a moment to cutthe cords that bound her hands.

  There she lay, pale and still. Was she dead?

  Kennedy worked frantically to revive her.

  At last, slowly, the color seemed to return to her pale lips. Hereyelids fluttered. Then her great, deep eyes opened.

  As she looked up and caught sight of Craig bending anxiously over her,she seemed to comprehend. For a moment both were silent. Then Elainereached up and took his hand.

  There was much in the look she gave him--admiration, confidence,--loveitself.

  Heroics, however, were never part of Kennedy's frank make-up. The factwas that her admiration, even though not spoken, plainly embarrassedhim. Yet he forgot that as he looked at her lying there, frail andhelpless.

  He stroked her forehead gently, laying back the wet ringlets of herhair.

  "Craig," she murmured, "you--you've saved my life!"

  Her tone was eloquent.

  "Elaine," he whispered, still gazing into her wonderful eyes, "theClutching Hand shall pay for this! It is a fight to the finish betweenus!"