"Hello, Dan," he called when he got his number.
"Miss Dodge is going shopping. I want you and the other Falsers to
follow her--delay her all you can. Use your own judgment."
It was what had come to be known in his organization as the
"Brotherhood of Falsers." There, in the back room of a low dive,
were Dan the Dude, the emissary who had been loitering about the
laboratory, a gunman, Dago Mike, a couple of women, slatterns, one
known as Kitty the Hawk, and a boy of eight or ten, whom they
called Billy. Before them stood large schooners of beer, while the
precocious youngster grumbled over milk.
"All right, Chief," shouted back Dan, their leader as he hung up
the telephone after noting carefully the hasty instructions.
"We'll do it--trust us."
The others, knowing that a job was to lighten the monotony of
existence, gathered about him.
They listened intently as he detailed to them the orders of the
Clutching Hand, hastily planning out the campaign like a division
commander disposing his forces in battle and assigning each his
part.
With alacrity the Brotherhood went their separate ways.
. . . . . . . .
Elaine had not been gone long from the house when Craig and I
arrived there. She had followed the telephone instructions of the
Clutching Hand and had told no one.
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