Every now and then he would switch it on, and we would listen in as he demonstrated the wonderful little instrument to me. He had heard the window cleaner and Jennings, but thought nothing of it at the time.
Once, however, Craig paused and I saw him listening more intently than usual.
"They've gone out," he muttered, "but surely there is someone in the
Dodge library."
I listened; too. The thing was so sensitive that even a whisper could be magnified and I certainly did hear something.
Kennedy frowned. What was that scratching noise? Could it be Jennings?
Perhaps it was Rusty.
Just then we could distinguish a sound as though someone had moved about.
"No—that's not Jennings," cried Craig. "He went out."
He looked at me a moment. The same stealthy noise was repeated.
"It's the Clutching Hand!" he exclaimed excitedly.
. . . . . . . .