It was only a matter of minutes before the doctor was speeding over the now deserted suburban roads, apparently on his errand of mercy.
At the address that had been given him, he drew up to the side of the road, got out and ran up the steps to the door. A ring at the bell brought a sleepy man to the door, in his trousers and nightshirt.
"How's the patient?" asked Dr. Morton, eagerly.
"Patient?" repeated the man, rubbing his eyes. "There's no one sick here."
"Then what did you telephone for?" asked the doctor peevishly,
"Telephone? I didn't call up anyone, I was asleep."
Slowly it dawned on the doctor that it was a false alarm and that he must be the victim of some practical joke.
"Well, that's a great note," he growled, as the man shut the door.
He descended the steps, muttering harsh language at some unknown trickster. As he climbed back into his machine and made ready to start, two men seemed to rise before him, as if from nowhere.
As a matter of fact, they had been sent there by the Clutching Hand and were hiding in a nearby cellar way until their chance came.