We can't
be too careful with this Clutching Hand. I want to know whether we
have any visitors or not in our absence. This straight line
indicates that we have not. Wait a moment."
Craig hastily unlocked the door and entered. Inside, I could see
him pacing up and down our modest quarters.
"Do you see anything, Walter?" he called.
I looked at the seismograph. The pen had started to trace its
line, no longer even and straight, but zigzag, at different
heights across the paper.
He came to the door. "What do you think of it?" he inquired.
"Splendid idea," I answered enthusiastically.
Our apartment was, as I have said, modest, consisting of a large
living room, two bedrooms, and bath--an attractive but not ornate
place, which we found very cosy and comfortable. On one side of
the room was a big fire place, before which stood a fire screen.
We had collected easy chairs and capacious tables and desks. Books
were scattered about, literally overflowing from the crowded
shelves. On the walls were our favorite pictures, while for
ornament, I suppose I might mention my typewriter and now and then
some of Craig's wonderful scientific apparatus as satisfying our
limited desire for the purely aesthetic.
We entered and fell to work at the aforementioned typewriter, on a
special Sunday story that I had been forced to neglect.
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