"Be careful," cautioned Elaine.
He unlocked the door, standing off to one side. Then he extended
his hand across the doorway. Still nothing happened. There was not
a sound. He looked cautiously into the room. Apparently there was
nothing.
. . . . . . . .
It had been about the middle of the morning that an express wagon
had pulled up sharply before our apartment.
"Mr. Kennedy live here?" asked one of the expressmen, descending
with his helper and approaching our janitor, Jens Jensen, a
typical Swede, who was coming up out of the basement.
Jens growled a surly, "Yes--but Mr. Kannady, he bane out."
"Too bad--we've got this large cabinet he ordered from Grand
Rapids. We can't cart it around all day. Can't you let us in so we
can leave it?"
Jensen muttered. "Wall--I guess it bane all right."
They took the cabinet off the wagon and carried it upstairs.
Jensen opened our door, still grumbling, and they placed the heavy
cabinet in the living room.
"Sign here."
"You fallers bane a nuisance," protested Jens, signing
nevertheless.
Scarcely had the sound ox their footfalls died away in the outside
hallway when the door of the cabinet slowly opened and a masked
face protruded, gazing about the room.
It was the Clutching Hand!
From the cabinet he took a large package wrapped in newspapers.
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