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.
"You--you will not let that letter intimidate you?" she pleaded,
laying her soft white hand on his arm. "Oh, Mr. Kennedy," she
added, bravely keeping back the tears, "avenge him! All the money
in the world would be too little to pay--if only--"
At the mere mention of money Kennedy's face seemed to cloud, but
only for a moment. He must have felt the confiding pressure of her
hand, for as she paused, appealingly, he took her hand in his,
bowing slightly over it to look closer into her upturned face.
"I'll try," he said simply.
Elaine did not withdraw her hand as she continued to look up at
him. Craig looked at her, as I had never seen him look at a woman
before in all our long acquaintance.
"Miss Dodge," he went on, his voice steady as though he were
repressing something, "I will never take another case until the
'Clutching Hand' is captured."
The look of gratitude she gave him would have been a princely
reward in itself.
I did not marvel that all the rest of that day and far into the
night Kennedy was at work furiously in his laboratory, studying
the notes, the texture of the paper, the character of the ink,
everything that might perhaps suggest a new lead.
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