"I'm afraid Mr. Jameson and I must be back on the job before this
Clutching Hand gets busy again," he replied reluctantly.
"Oh, I hope you--we get him soon!" she exclaimed, and there was
nothing lifeless about the way she gave Craig her hand, as
Bennett, he and I left a moment later.
. . . . . . . .
That morning I had noticed Kennedy fussing some time at the door
of our apartment before we went over to the laboratory. As nearly
as I could make out he had placed something under the rug at the
door out into the hallway.
When we approached our door, now, Craig paused. By pressing a
little concealed button he caused a panel in the wall outside to
loosen, disclosing a small, boxlike plate in the wall underneath.
It was about a foot long and perhaps four inches wide. Through it
ran a piece of paper which unrolled from one coil and wound up on
another, actuated by clockwork. Across the blank white paper ran
an ink line traced by a stylographic pen, such as I had seen in
mechanical pencils used in offices, hotels, banks and such places.
Kennedy examined the thing with interest.
"What is it?" I asked.
"A new seismograph," he replied, still gazing carefully at the
rolled up part of the paper. "I have installed it because it
registers every footstep on the floor of our apartment.
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