"Hello--hello," he repeated, "Yes--hello. Is Miss--oh--
good morning, Miss Dodge."
He was hurrying along as if to give her no chance to cut him off.
"I have just received a letter, Miss Dodge, telling me that you
don't want me to continue investigating your father's death, and
not to try to see you again about--"
He stopped. I could hear the reply, as sometimes one can when the
telephone wire conditions are a certain way and the quality of the
voice of the speaker a certain kind.
"Why--no--Mr. Kennedy, I have written you no letter."
The look of mingled relief and surprise that crossed Craig's face
spoke volumes.
"Miss Dodge," he almost shouted, "this is a new trick of the
Clutching Hand. I--I'll be right over."
Craig hung up the receiver and turned from the telephone.
Evidently he was thinking deeply. Suddenly his face seemed to
light up. He made up his mind to something and a moment later he
opened the cabinet--that inexhaustible storehouse from which he
seemed to draw weird and curious instruments that met the ever new
problems which his strange profession brought to him.
I watched curiously. He took out a bottle and what looked like a
little hypodermic syringe, thrust them into his pocket and, for
once, oblivious to my very existence, deliberately walked out of
the laboratory.
I did not propose to be thus cavalierly dismissed.
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