"
"All right," I exclaimed, a little nettled that he should have
anticipated me even so much in the case. "But you haven't heard
the latest."
"What is it?" he asked with provoking calmness,
"Taylor Dodge," I blurted out, "has the clue. To-morrow he will
track down the man!"
Kennedy fairly jumped as I repeated the news.
"How long has he known?" he demanded eagerly.
"Perhaps three or four hours," I hazarded.
Kennedy gazed at me fixedly.
"Then Taylor Dodge is dead!" he exclaimed, throwing off his acid-
stained laboratory smock and hurrying into his street clothes.
"Impossible!" I ejaculated.
Kennedy paid no attention to the objection. "Come, Walter," he
urged. "We must hurry, before the trail gets cold."
There was something positively uncanny about Kennedy's assurance.
I doubted--yet I feared.
It was well past the middle of the night when we pulled up in a
night-hawk taxicab before the Dodge house, mounted the steps and
rang the bell.
Jennings answered sleepily, but not so much so that he did not
recognize me. He was about to bang the door shut when Kennedy
interposed his foot.
"Where is Mr. Dodge?" asked Kennedy. "Is he all right?"
"Of course he is--in bed," replied the butler.
Just then we heard a faint cry, like nothing exactly human. Or was
it our heightened imaginations, under the spell of the darkness?
"Listen!" cautioned Kennedy.
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