"Help! Murder! Police!"
. . . . . . . .
Kennedy and I had been listening over the vocaphone, for the
moment non-plussed at the fellow's daring.
Then we heard from the uncanny instrument, "For Heaven's sake,
Chief, hurry! The falsers have fallen down. The girl herself is
coming!"
What it meant we did not know. But Craig was almost beside
himself, as he ordered me to try to get the police by telephone,
if there was any way to block them. Only instant action would
count, however. What to do?
He could hear the master criminal plainly fumbling, now.
"Yes, that's the Clutching Hand," he repeated.
"Wait," I cautioned, "someone else is coming!"
By a sort of instinct he seemed to recognize the sounds.
"Elaine!" he exclaimed, paling.
Instantly followed, in less time than I can tell it, the sounds of
a suppressed scuffle.
"He has seized her--gagged her," I cried in an agony of suspense.
We could now hear everything that was going on in the library.
Craig was wildly excited. As for me, I was speechless. Here was
the vocaphone we had installed. It had warned us. But what could
we do?
I looked blankly at Kennedy. He was equal to the emergency.
He calmly turned a switch.
Then, at the top of his lungs, he shouted, "Help! Help! Police!
They are strangling me!"
I looked at him in amazement.
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