Then she thought of their recent misunderstanding. Might there not
be some simple explanation of it, after all, which she had missed?
What should she do?
She solved the problem by taking up the telephone and asking for
Kennedy's number.
I was chatting with Craig in his laboratory, and, at the same
time, was watching him in his experimental work. Just as a call
came on the telephone, he was pouring some nitro-hydrochloric acid
into a test tube to complete a reaction.
The telephone tinkled and he laid down the bottle of acid on his
desk, while he moved a few steps to answer the call.
Whoever the speaker was, Craig seemed deeply interested, and, not
knowing who was talking on the wire, I was eager to learn whether
it was anyone connected with the case of the Clutching Hand.
"Yes, this is Mr. Kennedy," I heard Craig say.
I moved over toward him and whispered eagerly, "Is there anything
new?"
A little impatient at being interrupted, Kennedy waved me off. It
occurred to me that he might need a pad and pencil to make a note
of some information and I reached over the desk for them.
As I did so my arm inadvertently struck the bottle of acid,
knocking it over on the top of the desk. Its contents streamed out
saturating the telephone wires before I could prevent it. In
trying to right the bottle my hand came in contact with the acid
which burned like liquid fire, and I cried out in pain.
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