"Yes, mademoiselle," answered Marie, deftly and sympathetically straightening out the pillows.
Languidly Elaine took the letters one by one off the salver. She looked at them, but seemed not to have energy enough to open them.
Finally she selected one and slowly tore it open. It had no superscription, but it at once arrested her attention and transfixed her with terror.
It read:
"YOU ARE SICK THIS MORNING. TOMORROW YOU WILL BE WORSE. THE NEXT DAY YOU WILL DIE UNLESS YOU DISCHARGE CRAIG KENNEDY."
It was signed by the mystic trademark of the fearsome Clutching Hand!
Elaine drew back into the pillows, horror stricken.
Quickly she called to Marie. "Go—get Aunt Josephine—right away!"
As Marie almost flew down the hall, Elaine still holding the letter convulsively, pulled herself together and got up, trembling. She almost seized the telephone as she called Kennedy's number.
. . . . . . . .