"The scoundrel!" muttered Clutching Hand, with repressed fury at the discovery.
He rose quickly and shut off the spraying instrument, stuffing it into the bag. He took a step or two toward the door. Michael drew back, fearfully, pretending now to be on guard.
Clutching Hand opened the door and, still wearing the muzzle, beckoned to Michael. Michael could scarcely control his fears. But he obeyed, entering Elaine's room after the Clutching Hand, who locked the door.
"Were you watching me?" demanded the master criminal, with rage.
Michael, trembling all over, shook his head. For a moment Clutching
Hand looked him over disdainfully at the clumsy lie.
Then he brutally struck Michael in the face, knocking him down. An ungovernable, almost insane fury seemed to possess the man as he stood over the prostrate footman, cursing.
"Get up!" he ordered.
Michael obeyed, thoroughly cowed.
"Take me to the cellar, now," he demanded.
Michael led the way from the room without a protest, the master criminal following him closely.