"Blood transfusion might save him," replied the Doctor. "But so much blood would be needed that whoever gives it would be liable to die himself."
Clutching Hand stood silent a moment, thinking, as he gazed at the man who had been one of his chief reliances. Then, with a menacing gesture, he spoke in a low, bitter tone.
"SHE WHO SHOT HIM SHALL SUPPLY THE BLOOD."
. . . . . . . .
A few quick directions followed to his subordinates, and as he made ready to go, he muttered, "Keep the doctor here. Don't let him stir from the room."
Then, with the man who had aided him in the murder of Taylor Dodge, he sallied out into the blackness that precedes dawn.
It was just before early daybreak when the Clutching Hand and his confederate reached the Dodge House in the city and came up to the back door, over the fences. As they stood there, the Clutching Hand produced a master key and started to open the door. But before he did so, he took out his watch.
"Let me see," he ruminated. "Twenty minutes past four. At exactly half past, I want you to do as I told you—see?"
The other crook nodded.
"You may go," ordered the Clutching Hand.