With a look of intense horror and loathing, Elaine watched him
slowly change from the composed, calm, intellectual Bennett she
knew and respected into a repulsive, mad figure of a man.
His stature even seemed to be altered. He seemed to shrivel up and
become deformed. His face was terribly distorted.
And his long, sinewy hand slowly twisted and bent until he became
the personal embodiment of the Clutching Hand.
As Elaine, transfixed with terror, watched Bennett's astounding
metamorphosis, he ran to the door leading to the outer office and
hastily locked that, also.
Then, with his eyes gleaming with rage and his hands working in
murderous frenzy, he crouched, nearer and nearer, towards Elaine.
She shrank back, screaming again and again in terror.
He WAS the Clutching Hand!
. . . . . . . .
In spite of closed doors, we could now plainly hear Elaine's
shrieks. Craig, the secretary and myself made a rush for the door
to Bennett's private office. Finding it locked, we began to batter
it.
By this time, however, Bennett had hurled himself upon Elaine and
was slowly choking her.
Kennedy quickly found that it was impossible to batter down the
door in time by any ordinary means. Quickly he seized the
typewriter and hurled it through the panels. Then he thrust his
hand through the opening and turned the catch.
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