Bennett had rushed plump into me, coming the other way, hidden by the portieres.
If we had known at the time, our Michael of the sinister face had gained the library and was standing in the center of the room. He had heard me coming and had fled to the drawing room. As we finished our struggle in the library, he rose hastily from behind the divan in the other room where he had dropped and had quietly and hastily disappeared through another door.
Laughing and breathing hard, they helped me to my feet. It was no joke to me. I was sore in every bone.
"Well, where DID he go?" insisted Bennett.
"I don't know—perhaps back there," I cried.
Bennett and I argued a moment, then started and stopped short. Aunt
Josephine had run downstairs and now was shoving the letter into
Craig's hands.
We gathered about him, curiously. He opened it. On it was that awesome
Clutching Hand again.
Kennedy read it. For a moment he stood and studied it, then slowly crushed it in his hand.
Just then Elaine, pale and shaken from the ordeal she had voluntarily gone through, burst in upon us from upstairs. Without a word she advanced to Craig and took the letter from him.
Inside, as on the envelope, was that same signature of the Clutching
Hand.