CHAPTER II

THE TWILIGHT SLEEP

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

Far into the night, after the challenge of the forged finger print, he continued at work, endeavoring to extract a clue from the meagre evidence—­the bit of cloth and trace of poison already obtained from other cases, and now added the strange succession of events that surrounded the tragedy we had just witnessed.

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

They were at Dodge’s desk, she in the big desk chair, he standing beside 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 more tenderly than mere business warranted.

“Have you—­found anything?” queried Elaine anxiously, turning eagerly to Kennedy.

“Nothing—­yet,” he answered shaking his head, but conveying a quiet idea 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 the story I had telephone down very late in the hope of catching a last city edition.

We all bent over and Craig read aloud: 

“Clutching hand” Still at large

New York’s master criminal remains undetected—­perpetrates new daring murder and robbery of millionaire dodge

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

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

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

“Craig Kennedy will give up his search for the “Clutching Hand”—­ or die!”

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

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

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

“I’m afraid I must ask you to excuse me—­for the present,” Craig apologized.

Elaine looked at him anxiously.