CHAPTER VI
THE VAMPIRE
Kennedy went the next day to the Dodge house, and, as usual, PerryBennett was there in the library with Elaine, still going over theClutching Hand case, in their endeavor to track down the mysteriousmaster criminal.
Bennett seemed as deeply as ever in love with Elaine. Still, asJennings admitted Craig, it was sufficiently evident by the manner inwhich Elaine left Bennett and ran to meet Craig that she had thehighest regard for him.
"I've brought you a little document that may interest you," remarkedKennedy, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope.
Elaine tore it open and looked at the paper within.
"Oh, how thoughtful of you!" she exclaimed in surprise.
It was a permit from the police made out in her name allowing her tocarry a revolver.
A moment later, Kennedy reached into his coat pocket and produced alittle automatic which he handed to her.
"Thank you," she cried eagerly.
Elaine examined the gun with interest, then, raising it, pointed itplayfully at Bennett.
"Oh--no--no!" exclaimed Kennedy, taking her arm quickly, and gentlydeflecting the weapon away. "You mustn't think it is a toy. It explodesat a mere touch of the trigger--when that safety ratchet is turned."
Bennett had realized the danger and had jumped back, almostmechanically. As he did so, he bumped into a suit of medieval armorstanding by the wall, knocking it over with a resounding crash.
"I beg pardon," he ejaculated, "I'm very sorry. That was very awkwardof me."
Jennings, who had been busy about the portieres at the doorway, startedto pick up the fallen knight. Some of the pieces were broken, and thethree gathered about as the butler tried to fit them together again asbest he could.
"Too bad, too bad," apologized Bennett profusely. "I really forgot howclose I was to the thing."
"Oh, never mind," returned Elaine, a little crestfallen, "It is smashedall right--but it was my fault. Jennings, send for someone to repairit."
She turned to Kennedy. "But I do wish you would teach me how to usethis thing," she added, touching the automatic gingerly.
"Gladly," he returned.
"Won't you join us, Mr. Bennett?" asked Elaine.
"No," the young lawyer smiled, "I'm afraid I can't. You see, I had anengagement with another client and I'm already late."
He took his hat and coat and, with a reluctant farewell, moved towardthe hallway.
A moment later Elaine and Craig followed, while Jennings finishedrestoring the armor as nearly as possible as it had been.
. . . . . . . .
It was late that night that a masked figure succeeded in raising itselfto the narrow ornamental ledge under Elaine's bedroom window.
Elaine was a light sleeper and, besides, Rusty, her faithful collie,now fully recovered from the poison, was in her room.
Rusty growled and the sudden noise wakened her.
Startled, Elaine instantly thought of the automatic. She reached underher pillow, keeping very quiet, and drew forth the gun that Craig hadgiven her. Stealthily concealing her actions under the covers, shelevelled the automatic at the figure silhouetted in her window andfired three times.
The figure fell back.
Down in the street, below, the assistant of the Clutching Hand who hadwaited while Taylor Dodge was electrocuted, was waiting now as hisconfederate, "Pitts Slim"--which indicated that he was both wiry instature and libellous in delegating his nativity--made the attempt.
As Slim came tumbling down, having fallen back from the window above,mortally wounded, the confederate lifted him up and carried him out ofsight hurriedly.
Elaine, by this time, had turned on the lights and had run to thewindow to look out. Rusty was barking loudly.
In a side street, nearby, stood a waiting automobile, at the wheel ofwhich sat another of the emissaries of the Clutching Hand. The driverlooked up, startled, as he saw his fellow hurry around the cornercarrying the wounded Pitts Slim. It was the work of just a moment todrop the wounded man, as comfortably as possible under thecircumstances, in the rear seat, while his pals started the car offwith a jerk in the hurry of escape.
Jennings, having hastily slipped his trousers on over his pajamas camerunning down the hall, while Marie, frightened, came in the otherdirection. Aunt Josephine appeared a few seconds later, adding to thegeneral excitement.
"What's the matter?" she asked, anxiously.
"A burglar, I think," exclaimed Elaine, still holding the gun in herhand. "Someone tried to get into my window."
"My gracious," cried Aunt Josephine, in alarm, "where will this thingend?"
Elaine was doing her best now to quiet the fears of her aunt and therest of the household.
"Well," she laughed, a little nervously, now that it was all over, "Iwant you all to go to bed and stop worrying about me. Don't you see,I'm perfectly able to take care of myself? Besides, there isn't achance, now, of the burglar coming back. Why, I shot him."
"Yes," put in Aunt Josephine, "but--"
Elaine laughingly interrupted her and playfully made as though she weredriving them out of her room, although they were all very muchconcerned over the affair. However, they went finally, and she lockedthe door.
"Rusty!" she called, "Down there!"
The intelligent collie seemed to understand. He lay down by thedoorway, his nose close to the bottom of the door and his ears alert.
Finally Elaine, too, retired again.
. . . . . . . .
Meanwhile the wounded man was being hurried to one of the hangouts ofthe mysterious Clutching Hand, an old-fashioned house in theWestchester suburbs. It was a carefully hidden place, back from themain road, surrounded by trees, with a driveway leading up to it.
The car containing the wounded Pitts Slim drew up and the other two menleaped out of it. With a hurried glance about, they unlocked the frontdoor with a pass-key and entered, carrying the man.
Indoors was another emissary of the Clutching Hand, a rather studiouslooking chap.
"Why, what's the matter?" he exclaimed, as the crooks entered his room,supporting their half-fainting, wounded pal.
"Slim got a couple of pills," they panted, as they laid him on a couch.
"How?" demanded the other.
"Trying to get into the Dodge house. Elaine did it."
Slim was, quite evidently, badly wounded and was bleeding profusely. Aglance at him was enough for the studious-looking chap. He went to asecret panel and, pressing it down, took out what was apparently ahouse telephone.
In another part of this mysterious house was the secret room of theClutching Hand himself where he hid his identity from even his mosttrusted followers. It was a small room, lined with books on everyconceivable branch of science that might aid him and containinginnumerable little odds and ends of paraphernalia that might help inhis nefarious criminal career.
His telephone rang and he took down the receiver.
"Pitts Slim's been wounded--badly--Chief," was all he waited to hear.
With scarcely a word, he hung up the receiver, then opened a tabledrawer and took out his masking handkerchief. Next he went to a nearbybookcase, pressed another secret spring, and a panel opened. He passedthrough, the handkerchief adjusted.
Across, in the larger, outside study, another panel opened and theClutching Hand, all crouched up, transformed, appeared. Without a wordhe advanced to the couch on which the wounded crook lay and examinedhim.
"How did it happen?" he asked at length.
"Miss Dodge shot him," answered the others, "with an automatic."
"That Craig Kennedy must have given it to her!" he exclaimed withsuppressed fury.
For a moment the Clutching Hand stopped to consider. Then he seized theregular telephone.
"Dr. Morton?" he asked as he got the number he called.
Late as it was the doctor, who was a well-known surgeon in that part of
the country, answered, apparently from an extension of his telephonenear his bed.
The call was urgent and apparently from a family which he did not feelthat he could neglect.
"Yes, I'll be there--in a few moments," he yawned, hanging up thereceiver and getting out of bed.
Dr. Morton was a middle-aged man, one of those medical men in whosejudgment one instinctively relies. From the brief description of the"hemorrhage" which the Clutching Hand had cleverly made over the wire,he knew that a life was at stake. Quickly he dressed and went out tohis garage, back of the house to get his little runabout.
It was only a matter of minutes before the doctor was speeding over thenow deserted suburban roads, apparently on his errand of mercy.
At the address that had been given him, he drew up to the side of theroad, got out and ran up the steps to the door. A ring at the bellbrought a sleepy man to the door, in his trousers and nightshirt.
"How's the patient?" asked Dr. Morton, eagerly.
"Patient?" repeated the man, rubbing his eyes. "There's no one sickhere."
"Then what did you telephone for?" asked the doctor peevishly,
"Telephone? I didn't call up anyone, I was asleep."
Slowly it dawned on the doctor that it was a false alarm and that hemust be the victim of some practical joke.
"Well, that's a great note," he growled, as the man shut the door.
He descended the steps, muttering harsh language at some unknowntrickster. As he climbed back into his machine and made ready to start,two men seemed to rise before him, as if from nowhere.
As a matter of fact, they had been sent there by the Clutching Hand andwere hiding in a nearby cellar way until their chance came.
One man stood on the running board, on either side of him, and two gunsyawned menacingly at him.
"Drive ahead--that way!" muttered one man, seating himself in therunabout with his gun close to the doctor's ribs.
The other kept his place on the running board, and on they drove in thedirection of the mysterious, dark house. Half a mile, perhaps, down theroad, they halted and left the car beside the walk.
Dr. Morton was too surprised to marvel at anything now and he realizedthat he was in the power of two desperate men. Quickly, theyblindfolded him.
It seemed an interminable walk, as they led him about to confuse him,but at last he could feel that they had taken him into a house andalong passageways, which they were making unnecessarily long in orderto destroy all recollection that they could. Finally he knew that hewas in a room in which others were present. He suppressed a shudder atthe low, menacing voices.
A moment later he felt them remove the bandage from his eyes, and,blinking at the light, he could see a hard-faced fellow, pale and weak,on a blood-stained couch. Over him bent a masked man and another manstood nearby, endeavoring by improvised bandages to stop the flow ofblood.
"What can you do for this fellow?" asked the masked man.
Dr. Morton, seeing nothing else to do, for he was more than outnumberednow, bent down and examined him.
As he rose, he said, "He will be dead from loss of blood by morning, nomatter if he is properly bandaged."
"Is there nothing that can save him?" whispered the Clutching Handhoarsely.
"Blood transfusion might save him," replied the Doctor. "But so muchblood would be needed that whoever gives it would be liable to diehimself."
Clutching Hand stood silent a moment, thinking, as he gazed at the manwho had been one of his chief reliances. Then, with a menacing gesture,he spoke in a low, bitter tone.
"SHE WHO SHOT HIM SHALL SUPPLY THE BLOOD."
. . . . . . . .
A few quick directions followed to his subordinates, and as he madeready to go, he muttered, "Keep the doctor here. Don't let him stirfrom the room."
Then, with the man who had aided him in the murder of Taylor Dodge, hesallied out into the blackness that precedes dawn.
It was just before early daybreak when the Clutching Hand and hisconfederate reached the Dodge House in the city and came up to the backdoor, over the fences. As they stood there, the Clutching Hand produceda master key and started to open the door. But before he did so, hetook out his watch.
"Let me see," he ruminated. "Twenty minutes past four. At exactly halfpast, I want you to do as I told you--see?"
The other crook nodded.
"You may go," ordered the Clutching Hand.
As the crook slunk away, Clutching Hand stealthily let himself into thehouse. Noiselessly he prowled through the halls until he came toElaine's doorway.
He gave a hasty look up and down the hall. There was no sound. Quicklyhe took a syringe from his pocket and bent down by the door. Insertingthe end under it, he squirted some liquid through which vaporizedrapidly in a wide, fine stream of spray. Before he could give an alarm,Rusty was overcome by the noxious fumes, rolled over on his back andlay still.
Outside, the other crook was waiting, looking at his watch. As the handslowly turned the half hour, he snapped the watch shut. With a quickglance up and down the deserted street, he deftly started up the rainpipe that passed near Elaine's window.
This time there was no faithful Rusty to give warning and the secondintruder, after a glance at Elaine, still sleeping, went quickly to thedoor, dragged the insensible dog out of the way, turned the key andadmitted the Clutching Hand. As he did so he closed the door.
Evidently the fumes had not reached Elaine, or if they had, the inrushof fresh air revived her, for she waked and quickly reached for thegun. In an instant the other crook had leaped at her. Holding his handover her mouth to prevent her screaming he snatched the revolver awaybefore she could fire it.
In the meantime the Clutching Hand had taken out some chloroform and,rolling a towel in the form of a cone, placed it over her face. Shestruggled, gasping and gagging, but the struggles grew weaker andweaker and finally ceased altogether.
When Elaine was completely under the influence of the drug, they liftedher out of bed, the chloroform cone still over her face, and quietlycarried her to the door which they opened stealthily.
Downstairs they carried her until they came to the library with its newsafe and there they placed her on a couch.
. . . . . . . .
At an early hour an express wagon stopped before the Dodge house andJennings, half dressed, answered the bell.
"We've come for that broken suit of armor to be repaired," said aworkman.
Jennings let the men in. The armor was still on the stand and therepairers took armor, stand, and all, laying it on the couch where theywrapped it in the covers they had brought for the purpose. They liftedit up and started to carry it out.
"Be careful," cautioned the thrifty Jennings.
Rusty, now recovered, was barking and sniffing at the armor.
"Kick the mutt off," growled one man.
The other did so and Rusty snarled and snapped at him. Jennings tookhim by the collar and held him as the repairers went out, loaded thearmor on the wagon, and drove off.
Scarcely had they gone, while Jennings straightened out the disarrangedlibrary, when Rusty began jumping about, barking furiously. Jenningslooked at him in amazement, as the dog ran to the window and leaped out.
He had no time to look after the dog, though, for at that very instanthe heard a voice calling, "Jennings! Jennings!"
It was Marie, almost speechless. He followed her as she led the way toMiss Elaine's room. There Marie pointed mutely at the bed.
Elaine was not there.
There, too, were her clothes, neatly folded, as Marie had hung them forher.
"Something must have happened to her!" wailed Marie.
Jennings was now thoroughly alarmed.
Meanwhile the express wagon outside was driving off, with Rusty tearingafter it.
"What's the matter?" cried Aunt Josephine coming in where the footmanand the maid were arguing what was to be done.
 
; She gave one look at the bed, the clothes, and the servants.
"Call Mr. Kennedy!" she cried in alarm.
. . . . . . . .
"Elaine is gone--no one knows how or where," announced Craig as heleaped out of bed that morning to answer the furious ringing of ourtelephone bell.
It was very early, but Craig dressed hurriedly and I followed as best Icould, for he had the start of me, tieless and collarless.
When we arrived at the Dodge house, Aunt Josephine and Marie were fullydressed. Jennings let us in.
"What has happened?" demanded Kennedy breathlessly.
While Aunt Josephine tried to tell him, Craig was busy examining theroom.
"Let us see the library," he said at length.
Accordingly down to the library we went. Kennedy looked about. Heseemed to miss something.
"Where is the armor?" he demanded.
"Why, the men came for it and took it away to repair," answeredJennings.
Kennedy's brow clouded in deep thought.
Outside we had left our taxi, waiting. The door was open and a newfootman, James, was sweeping the rug, when past him flashed adishevelled hairy streak.
We were all standing there still as Craig questioned Jennings about thearmor. With a yelp Rusty tore frantically into the room. A moment hestopped and barked. We all looked at him in surprise. Then, as no onemoved, he seemed to single out Kennedy. He seized Craig's coat in histeeth and tried to drag him out.
"Here, Rusty--down, sir, down!" called Jennings.
"No, Jennings, no," interposed Craig. "What's the matter, old fellow?"
Craig patted Rusty whose big brown eyes seemed mutely appealing. Out ofthe doorway he went, barking still. Craig and I followed while the reststood in the vestibule.
Rusty was trying to lead Kennedy down the street!
"Wait here," called Kennedy to Aunt Josephine, as he stepped with me onthe running board of the cab. "Go on, Rusty, good dog!"
Rusty needed no urging. With an eager yelp he started off, stillbarking, ahead of us, our car following. On we went, much to theastonishment of those who were on the street at such an early hour.
It seemed miles that we went, but at last we came to a peculiarlydeserted looking house. Here Rusty turned in and began scratching atthe door. We jumped off the cab and followed.
The door was locked when we tried and from inside we could get noanswer. We put our shoulders to it and burst it in. Rusty gave a leapforward with a joyous bark.
We followed, more cautiously. There were pieces of armor strewn allover the floor. Rusty sniffed at them and looked about, disappointed,then howled.
I looked from the armor to Kennedy, in blank amazement.
"Elaine was kidnapped--in the armor," he cried.
. . . . . . . .
He was right. Meanwhile, the armor repairers had stopped at last atthis apparently deserted house, a strange sort of repair shop. Stillkeeping it wrapped in blankets, they had taken the armor out of thewagon and now laid it down on an old broken bed. Then they hadunwrapped it and taken off the helmet.
There was Elaine!
She had been stupefied, bound and gagged. Piece after piece of thearmor they removed, finding her still only half conscious.
"Sh! What's that?" cautioned one of the men. They paused and listened.Sure enough, there was a sound outside. They opened the windowcautiously. A dog was scratching on the door, endeavoring to get in. Itwas Rusty.
"I think it's her dog," said the man, turning. "We'd better let him in.Someone might see him."
The other nodded and a moment later the door opened and in ran Rusty.Straight to Elaine he went, starting to lick her hand.
"Right--her dog," exclaimed the other man, drawing a gun and hastilylevelling it at Rusty.
"Don't!" cautioned the first. "It would make too much noise. You'dbetter choke him!"
The fellow grabbed for Rusty. Rusty was too quick. He jumped. Aroundthe room they ran. Rusty saw the wide open window--and his chance. Outhe went and disappeared, leaving the man cussing at him.
A moment's argument followed, then they wrapped Elaine in the blanketsalone, still bound and gagged, and carried her out.
. . . . . . . .
In the secret den, the Clutching Hand was waiting, gazing now and thenat his watch, and then at the wounded man before him. In a chair hisfirst assistant sat, watching Dr. Morton.
A knock at the door caused them to turn their heads. The crook openedit and in walked the other crooks who had carried off Elaine in thesuit of armor.
Elaine was now almost conscious, as they sat her down in a chair andpartly loosed her bonds and the gag. She gazed about, frightened.
"Oh--help! help!" she screamed as she caught sight of the now familiarmask of the Clutching Hand.
"Call all you want--here, young lady," he laughed unnaturally. "No onecan hear. These walls are soundproof!"
Elaine shrank back.
"Now, doc.," he added harshly to Dr. Morton. "It was she who shot him.Her blood must save him."
Dr. Morton recoiled at the thought of torturing the beautiful younggirl before him.
"Are--you willing--to have your blood transfused?" he parleyed.
"No--no--no!" she cried in horror,
Dr. Morton turned to the desperate criminal. "I cannot do it."
"The deuce you can't!" A cold steel revolver pressed down on Dr.Morton's stomach. In the other hand the master crook held his watch.
"You have just one minute to make up your mind."
Dr. Morton shrank back. The revolver followed. The pressure of a fly'sfoot meant eternity for him.
"I--I'll try!"
The other crooks next carried Elaine, struggling, and threw her downbeside the wounded man. Together they arranged another couch beside him.
Dr. Morton, still covered by the gun, bent over the two, the hardenedcriminal and the delicate, beautiful girl. Clutching Hand glaredfiendishly, insanely.
From his bag he took a little piece of something that shone likesilver. It was in the form of a minute, hollow cylinder, with twogrooves on it, a cylinder so tiny that it would scarcely have slippedover the point of a pencil.
"A cannulla," he explained, as he prepared to make an incision inElaine's arm and in the arm of the wounded rogue.
He cuffed it over the severed end of the artery, so cleverly that theinner linings of the vein and artery, the endothelium as it is called,were in complete contact with each other.
Clutching Hand watched eagerly, as though he had found some new,scientific engine of death in the little hollow cylinder.
A moment and the blood that was, perhaps, to save the life of thewounded felon was coursing into his veins from Elaine.
A moment later, Dr. Morton looked up at the Clutching Hand and nodded,"Well, it's working!"
At Elaine's head, Clutching Hand himself was administering just enoughether to keep her under and prevent a struggle that would wreck all.The wounded man had not been anesthetized and seemed feebly consciousof what was being done to save him.
All were now bending over the two.
Dr. Morton bent closest over Elaine. He looked at her anxiously, felther pulse, watched her breathing, then pursed up his lips.
"This is--dangerous," he ventured, gazing askance at the grim ClutchingHand.
"Can't help it," came back laconically and relentlessly.
The doctor shuddered.
The man was a veritable vampire!
. . . . . . . .
Outside the deserted house, Kennedy and I were looking helplessly about.
Suddenly Kennedy dashed back and reappeared a minute later with acouple of pieces of armor. He held them down to Rusty and the dogsniffed at them.
But Rusty stood still.
Kennedy pointed to the ground.
Nothing doing. In leading us where he had been before, Rusty hadreached the end of his
canine ability.
Everything we could do to make Rusty understand that we wanted him tofollow a trail was unavailing. He simply could not do it. Kennedycoaxed and scolded. Rusty merely sat up on his hind legs and beggedwith those irresistible brown eyes.
"You can't make a bloodhound out of a collie," despaired Craig, lookingabout again helplessly.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a police whistle. Heblew three sharp blasts.
Would it bring help?
. . . . . . . .
While we were thus despairing, the continued absence of Dr. Morton fromhome had alarmed his family and had set in motion another train ofevents.
When he did not return, and could not be located at the place to whichhe was supposed to have gone, several policemen had been summoned tohis house, and they had come, finally, with real bloodhounds from asuburban station.
There were the tracks of his car. That the police themselves couldfollow, while two men came along holding in leash the pack, leaders ofwhich were "Searchlight" and "Bob."
It had not been long before the party came across the deserted runaboutbeside the road. There they had stopped, for a moment.
It was just then that they heard Kennedy's call, and one of them hadbeen detailed to answer it.
"Well, what do YOU want?" asked the officer, eyeing Kennedysuspiciously as he stood there with the armor. "What's them pieces oftin--hey?"
Kennedy quickly flashed his own special badge. "I want to trail agirl," he exclaimed hurriedly. "Can I find a bloodhound about here?"
"A hound? Why, we have a pack--over there."
"Bring them--quick!" ordered Craig.
The policeman, who was an intelligent fellow, saw at once that, asKennedy said, the two trails probably crossed. He shouted and in a fewseconds the others, with the pack, came.
A brief parley resulted in our joining forces.
Kennedy held the armor down to the dogs. "Searchlight" gave a lowwhine, then, followed by "Bob" and the others, was off, all with nosesclose to the ground. We followed.
The armor was, after all, the missing link.
Through woods and fields the dogs led us.
Would we be in time to rescue Elaine?
. . . . . . . .
In the mysterious haunt of the Clutching Hand, all were still standingaround Elaine and the wounded Pitts Slim.
Just then a cry from one of the group startled the rest. One of them,less hardened than the Clutching Hand, had turned away from the sight,had gone to the window, and had been attracted by something outside.
"Look!" he cried.
From the absolute stillness of death, there was now wild excitementamong the crooks.
"Police! Police!" they shouted to each other as they fled by a doorwayto a secret passage.
Clutching Hand turned to his first assistant.
"You--go--too," he ordered.
. . . . . . . .
The dogs had led us to a strange looking house, and were now baying andleaping up against the door. We did not stop to knock, but began tobreak through, for inside we could hear faintly sounds of excitementand cries of "Police--police!"
The door yielded and we rushed into a long hallway. Up the passage wewent until we came to another door.
An instant and we were all against it. It was stout, but it shookbefore us. The panels began to yield.
. . . . . . . .
On the other side of that door from us, the master crook stood for amoment. Dr. Morton hesitated, not knowing quite what to do.
Just then the wounded Pitts Slim lifted his hand feebly. He seemedvaguely to understand that the game was up. He touched the ClutchingHand.
"You did your best, Chief," he murmured thickly. "Beat it, if you can.I'm a goner, anyway."
Clutching Hand hesitated by the wounded crook. This was the loyalty ofgangland, worthy a better cause. He could not bring himself to deserthis pal. He was undecided, still.
But there was the door, bulging, and a panel bursting.
He moved over to a panel in the wall and pushed a spring. It slid openand he stepped through. Then it closed--not a second too soon.
Back in his private room, he quickly stepped to a curtained iron door.Pushing back the curtains, he went through it and disappeared, thecurtains falling back.
At the end of the passageway, he stopped, in a sort of grotto or cave.As he came out, he looked back. All was still. No one was about. He wassafe here, at least!
Off came the mask and he turned down the road a few rods distant beyondsome bushes, as little concerned about the wild happenings as any otherpasser-by might have been.
. . . . . . . .
At the very moment when we burst in, Dr. Morton, seeing his chance,stopped the blood transfusion, working frantically to stop the flow ofblood.
Kennedy sprang to Elaine's side, horrified by the blood that hadspattered over everything.
With a mighty effort he checked a blow that he had aimed at Dr. Morton,as it flashed over him that the surgeon, now free again, was doing hisbest to save the terribly imperilled life of Elaine.
Just then the police burst through the secret panel and rushed on,leaving us alone, with the unconscious, scarcely breathing Elaine. Fromthe sounds we could tell that they had come to the private room of theClutching Hand. It was empty and they were non-plussed.
"Not a window!" called one.
"What are those curtains?"
They pulled them back, disclosing an iron door. They tried it but itwas bolted on the other side. Blows had no effect. They had to give itup for the instant.
A policeman now stood beside Elaine and the wounded burglar who wasmuttering deliriously to himself.
He was pretty far gone, as the policeman knelt down and tried to get astatement out of him.
"Who was that man who left you--last--the Clutching Hand?"
Not a word came from the crook.
The policeman repeated his question.
With his last strength, he looked disdainfully at the officer's pad andpencil. "The gangster never squeals," he snarled, as he fell back.
Dr. Morton had paid no attention whatever to him, but was workingdesperately now over Elaine, trying to bring her back to life.
"Is she--going to--die?" gasped Craig, frantically.
Every eye was riveted on Dr. Morton.
"She is all right," he muttered. "But the man is going to die."
At the sound of Craig's voice Elaine had feebly opened her eyes.
"Thank heaven," breathed Craig, with a sigh of relief, as his handgently stroked Elaine's unnaturally cold forehead.