THE EXPLOITS OF ELAINE (& Its Sequel The Romance of Elaine). Arthur B. Reeve

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СКАЧАТЬ in love with Elaine. Still, as Jennings admitted Craig, it was sufficiently evident by the manner in which Elaine left Bennett and ran to meet Craig that she had the highest regard for him.

      “I’ve brought you a little document that may interest you,” remarked Kennedy, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope.

      Elaine tore it open and looked at the paper within.

      “Oh, how thoughtful of you!” she exclaimed in surprise.

      It was a permit from the police made out in her name allowing her to carry a revolver.

      A moment later, Kennedy reached into his coat pocket and produced a little automatic which he handed to her.

      “Thank you,” she cried eagerly.

      Elaine examined the gun with interest, then, raising it, pointed it playfully at Bennett.

      “Oh—no—no!” exclaimed Kennedy, taking her arm quickly, and gently deflecting the weapon away. “You mustn’t think it is a toy. It explodes at a mere touch of the trigger—when that safety ratchet is turned.”

      Bennett had realized the danger and had jumped back, almost mechanically. As he did so, he bumped into a suit of medieval armor standing by the wall, knocking it over with a resounding crash.

      “I beg pardon,” he ejaculated, “I’m very sorry. That was very awkward of me.”

      Jennings, who had been busy about the portieres at the doorway, started to pick up the fallen knight. Some of the pieces were broken, and the three gathered about as the butler tried to fit them together again as best he could.

      “Too bad, too bad,” apologized Bennett profusely. “I really forgot how close I was to the thing.”

      “Oh, never mind,” returned Elaine, a little crestfallen, “It is smashed all right—but it was my fault. Jennings, send for someone to repair it.”

      She turned to Kennedy. “But I do wish you would teach me how to use this thing,” she added, touching the automatic gingerly.

      “Gladly,” he returned.

      “Won’t you join us, Mr. Bennett?” asked Elaine.

      “No,” the young lawyer smiled, “I’m afraid I can’t. You see, I had an engagement with another client and I’m already late.”

      He took his hat and coat and, with a reluctant farewell, moved toward the hallway.

      A moment later Elaine and Craig followed, while Jennings finished restoring the armor as nearly as possible as it had been.

      It was late that night that a masked figure succeeded in raising itself to the narrow ornamental ledge under Elaine’s bedroom window.

      Elaine was a light sleeper and, besides, Rusty, her faithful collie, now fully recovered from the poison, was in her room.

      Rusty growled and the sudden noise wakened her.

      Startled, Elaine instantly thought of the automatic. She reached under her pillow, keeping very quiet, and drew forth the gun that Craig had given her. Stealthily concealing her actions under the covers, she levelled the automatic at the figure silhouetted in her window and fired three times.

      The figure fell back.

      Down in the street, below, the assistant of the Clutching Hand who had waited while Taylor Dodge was electrocuted, was waiting now as his confederate, “Pitts Slim”—which indicated that he was both wiry in stature and libellous in delegating his nativity—made the attempt.

      As Slim came tumbling down, having fallen back from the window above, mortally wounded, the confederate lifted him up and carried him out of sight hurriedly.

      Elaine, by this time, had turned on the lights and had run to the window to look out. Rusty was barking loudly.

      In a side street, nearby, stood a waiting automobile, at the wheel of which sat another of the emissaries of the Clutching Hand. The driver looked up, startled, as he saw his fellow hurry around the corner carrying the wounded Pitts Slim. It was the work of just a moment to drop the wounded man, as comfortably as possible under the circumstances, in the rear seat, while his pals started the car off with a jerk in the hurry of escape.

      Jennings, having hastily slipped his trousers on over his pajamas came running down the hall, while Marie, frightened, came in the other direction. Aunt Josephine appeared a few seconds later, adding to the general excitement.

      “What’s the matter?” she asked, anxiously.

      “A burglar, I think,” exclaimed Elaine, still holding the gun in her hand. “Someone tried to get into my window.”

      “My gracious,” cried Aunt Josephine, in alarm, “where will this thing end?”

      Elaine was doing her best now to quiet the fears of her aunt and the rest of the household.

      “Well,” she laughed, a little nervously, now that it was all over, “I want you all to go to bed and stop worrying about me. Don’t you see, I’m perfectly able to take care of myself? Besides, there isn’t a chance, now, of the burglar coming back. Why, I shot him.”

      “Yes,” put in Aunt Josephine, “but—”

      Elaine laughingly interrupted her and playfully made as though she were driving them out of her room, although they were all very much concerned over the affair. However, they went finally, and she locked the door.

      “Rusty!” she called, “Down there!”

      The intelligent collie seemed to understand. He lay down by the doorway, his nose close to the bottom of the door and his ears alert.

      Finally Elaine, too, retired again.

      Meanwhile the wounded man was being hurried to one of the hangouts of the mysterious Clutching Hand, an old-fashioned house in the Westchester suburbs. It was a carefully hidden place, back from the main road, surrounded by trees, with a driveway leading up to it.

      The car containing the wounded Pitts Slim drew up and the other two men leaped out of it. With a hurried glance about, they unlocked the front door with a pass-key and entered, carrying the man.

      Indoors was another emissary of the Clutching Hand, a rather studious looking chap.

      “Why, what’s the matter?” he exclaimed, as the crooks entered his room, supporting their half-fainting, wounded pal.

      “Slim got a couple of pills,” they panted, as they laid him on a couch.

      “How?” demanded the other.

      “Trying to get into the Dodge house. Elaine did it.”

      Slim was, quite evidently, badly wounded and was bleeding profusely. A glance at him was enough for the studious-looking chap. He went to a secret panel and, pressing it down, took out what was apparently a house telephone.

      In another part of this mysterious house was the secret room of the Clutching Hand himself where he hid his identity from СКАЧАТЬ