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Reeve, Arthur B. (Arthur Benjamin), 1880-1936

"The Exploits of Elaine"


Craig paused a second, then pulled his card from his pocket.
"Just the man I want," he parried, much to the policeman's
surprise, "There's something crooked going on here. Follow us in."
We climbed into the window. There was the same living room we had
seen the day before. But it was now bare and deserted. Everything
was gone except an old broken chair. Craig and I were frankly
amazed at the complete and sudden change and I think the policeman
was a little surprised, for he had thought the place occupied.
"Come on," cried Kennedy, beckoning us on.
Quickly he rushed through the house. There was not a thing in it
to change the deserted appearance of the first floor. At last it
occurred to Craig to grope his way down cellar. There was nothing
there, either, except a bin, as innocent of coal as Mother
Hubbard's cupboard was of food. For several minutes we hunted
about without discovering a thing.
Kennedy had been carefully going over the place and was at the
other side of the cellar from ourselves when I saw him stop and
gaze at the floor. He was not looking, apparently, so much as
listening. I strained my ears, but could make out nothing. Before
I could say anything, he raised his hand for silence. Apparently
he had heard something.
"Hide," he whispered suddenly to us.
Without another word, though for the life of me I could make
nothing out of it, I pulled the policeman into a little angle of
the wall nearby, while Craig slipped into a similar angle.


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