"I want to trail a
girl," he exclaimed hurriedly. "Can I find a bloodhound about
here?"
"A hound? Why, we have a pack--over there."
"Bring them--quick!" ordered Craig.
The policeman, who was an intelligent fellow, saw at once that, as
Kennedy said, the two trails probably crossed. He shouted and in a
few seconds the others, with the pack, came.
A brief parley resulted in our joining forces.
Kennedy held the armor down to the dogs. "Searchlight" gave a low
whine, then, followed by "Bob" and the others, was off, all with
noses close to the ground. We followed.
The armor was, after all, the missing link.
Through woods and fields the dogs led us.
Would we be in time to rescue Elaine?
. . . . . . . .
In the mysterious haunt of the Clutching Hand, all were still
standing around Elaine and the wounded Pitts Slim.
Just then a cry from one of the group startled the rest. One of
them, less hardened than the Clutching Hand, had turned away from
the sight, had gone to the window, and had been attracted by
something outside.
"Look!" he cried.
From the absolute stillness of death, there was now wild
excitement among the crooks.
"Police! Police!" they shouted to each other as they fled by a
doorway to a secret passage.
Clutching Hand turned to his first assistant.
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