Then with
a forced gaiety he bade Elaine and Perry Bennett adieu, saying
that perhaps a trip might do him good.
They had scarcely gone out and Kennedy closed the door carefully,
when he turned and went directly to the instrument which I had
seen him observing so interestedly.
Plainly, I could see that it was registering something.
"What's the matter?" I asked, non-plussed.
"Just a moment, Walter," he replied evasively, as if not quite
sure of himself.
He walked fairly close to the window this time, keeping well out
of the direct line of it, however, and there stood gazing out into
the street.
A glint, as if of the sun shining on a pair of opera glasses could
be seen from a window across the way.
"We are being watched," he said slowly, turning and looking at me
fixedly, "but I don't dare investigate lest it cost the lives of
more unfortunates."
He stood for a moment in deep thought. Then he pulled out a
suitcase and began silently to pack it.
. . . . . . . .
Although we had not dared to investigate, we knew that from a
building, across the street, emissaries of the Clutching Hand were
watching for our signal of surrender.
The fact was, as we found out later, that in a poorly furnished
room, much after the fashion of that which, with the help of the
authorities, we had once raided in the suburbs, there were at that
moment two crooks.
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