More than that, these delvings into the underworld involved
Kennedy in the necessity of wearing a frock coat and silk hat in
the afternoon, and I found that he was selecting his neckwear with
a care that had been utterly foreign to him during all the years
previous that I had known him.
It all looked very suspicious to me.
But, to return to the more serious side of the affair.
Kennedy and Elaine had scarcely come out of the house and
descended the steps, one afternoon, when a sinister face appeared
in a basement areaway nearby.
The figure was crouched over, with his back humped up almost as if
deformed, and his left hand had an unmistakable twist.
It was the Clutching Hand.
He wore a telephone inspector's hat and coat and carried a bag
slung by a strap over his shoulder. For once he had left off his
mask, but, in place of it, his face was covered by a scraggly
black beard. In fact, he seemed to avoid turning his face full,
three-quarters or even profile to anyone, unless he had to do so.
As much as possible he averted it, but he did so in a clever way
that made it seem quite natural. The disguise was effective.
He saw Kennedy and Miss Dodge and slunk unobtrusively against a
railing, with his head turned away. Laughing and chatting, they
passed. As they walked down the street, Clutching Hand turned and
gazed after them.
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