Elaine did it."
Slim was, quite evidently, badly wounded and was bleeding
profusely. A glance at him was enough for the studious-looking
chap. He went to a secret panel and, pressing it down, took out
what was apparently a house telephone.
In another part of this mysterious house was the secret room of
the Clutching Hand himself where he hid his identity from even his
most trusted followers. It was a small room, lined with books on
every conceivable branch of science that might aid him and
containing innumerable little odds and ends of paraphernalia that
might help in his nefarious criminal career.
His telephone rang and he took down the receiver.
"Pitts Slim's been wounded--badly--Chief," was all he waited to
hear.
With scarcely a word, he hung up the receiver, then opened a table
drawer and took out his masking handkerchief. Next he went to a
nearby bookcase, pressed another secret spring, and a panel
opened. He passed through, the handkerchief adjusted.
Across, in the larger, outside study, another panel opened and the
Clutching Hand, all crouched up, transformed, appeared. Without a
word he advanced to the couch on which the wounded crook lay and
examined him.
"How did it happen?" he asked at length.
"Miss Dodge shot him," answered the others, "with an automatic."
"That Craig Kennedy must have given it to her!" he exclaimed with
suppressed fury.
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