"My father has declared he will eat the very next reporter
who tries to interview him here," she answered.
I was about to prolong the waiting time by some jolly about such a
stunning girl not having by any possibility such a cannibal of a
parent, when the rattle of the changing gears of a car outside
told of the approach of a limousine.
The big front door opened and Elaine flung herself in the arms of
an elderly, stern-faced, gray-haired man. "Why, Dad," she cried,
"where have you been? I missed you so much at dinner. I'll be so
glad when this terrible business gets cleared up. Tell--me. What
is on your mind? What is it that worries you now?"
I noticed then that Dodge seemed wrought-up and a bit unnerved,
for he sank rather heavily into a chair, brushed his face with his
handkerchief and breathed heavily. Elaine hovered over him
solicitously, repeating her question.
With a mighty effort he seemed to get himself together. He rose
and turned to Bennett.
"Perry," he exclaimed, "I've got the Clutching Hand!"
The two men stared at each other.
"Yes," continued Dodge, "I've just found out how to trace it, and
tomorrow I am going to set the alarms of the city at rest by
exposing--"
Just then Dodge caught sight of me. For the moment I thought
perhaps he was going to fulfill his threat.
"Who the devil--why didn't you tell me a reporter was here,
Jennings?" he sputtered indignantly, pointing toward the door.
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