One of them was the famous, or rather the infamous, Professor
LeCroix, with whom in a disguise as a doctor we had already had
some experience when he stole from the Hillside Sanitarium the
twilight sleep drugs. The other was the young secretary of the
Clutching Hand who had given the warning at the suburban
headquarters at the time when they were endeavoring to tranfuse
Elaine Dodge's blood to save the life of the crook whom she had
shot.
This was the new headquarters of the master criminal, very
carefully guarded.
"Look!" cried LeCroix, very much elated at the effect that had
been produced by his infra-red rays, "There is the sign--the vase
of flowers. We have got him this time!"
LeCroix gleefully patted a peculiar instrument beside him.
Apparently it was a combination of powerful electric arcs, the
rays of which were shot through a funnel-like arrangement into a
converter or, rather, a sort of concentration apparatus from which
the dread power could be released through a tube-like affair at
one end. It was his infra-red heat wave, F-ray, engine.
"I told you--it would work!" cried LeCroix.
. . . . . . . .
I did not argue any further with Craig about his sudden resolution
to go away. But it is a very solemn proceeding to pack up and
admit defeat after such a brilliant succession of cases as had
been his until we met this master criminal.
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