



Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.










THE CRAIG KENNEDY SERIES

THE EXPLOITS OF ELAINE

BY

ARTHUR B. REEVE




CONTENTS

CHAPTER

   I   THE CLUTCHING HAND

  II   THE TWILIGHT SLEEP

 III   THE VANISHING JEWELS

  IV   "THE FROZEN SAFE"

   V   THE POISONED ROOM

  VI   THE VAMPIRE

 VII   THE DOUBLE TRAP

VIII   THE HIDDEN VOICE

  IX   THE DEATH RAY

   X   THE LIFE CURRENT

  XI   THE HOUR OF THREE

 XII   THE BLOOD CRYSTALS

XIII   THE DEVIL WORSHIPPERS

 XIV   THE RECKONING




THE EXPLOITS OF ELAINE




CHAPTER I

THE CLUTCHING HAND


"Jameson, here's a story I wish you'd follow up," remarked the managing
editor of the Star to me one evening after I had turned in an
assignment of the late afternoon.

He handed me a clipping from the evening edition of the Star and I
quickly ran my eye over the headline:

    "THE CLUTCHING HAND" WINS AGAIN

  NEW YORK'S MYSTERIOUS MASTER CRIMINAL
         PERFECTS ANOTHER COUP

     CITY POLICE COMPLETELY BAFFLED

"Here's this murder of Fletcher, the retired banker and trustee of the
University," he explained. "Not a clue--except a warning letter signed
with this mysterious clutching fist. Last week it was the robbery of
the Haxworth jewels and the killing of old Haxworth. Again that curious
sign of the hand. Then there was the dastardly attempt on Sherburne,
the steel magnate. Not a trace of the assailant except this same
clutching fist. So it has gone, Jameson--the most alarming and most
inexplicable series of murders that has ever happened in this country.
And nothing but this uncanny hand to trace them by."

The editor paused a moment, then exclaimed, "Why, this fellow seems to
take a diabolical--I might almost say pathological--pleasure in crimes
of violence, revenge, avarice and self-protection. Sometimes it seems
as if he delights in the pure deviltry of the thing. It is weird."

He leaned over and spoke in a low, tense tone. "Strangest of all, the
tip has just come to us that Fletcher, Haxworth, Sherburne and all the
rest of those wealthy men were insured in the Consolidated Mutual Life.
Now, Jameson, I want you to find Taylor Dodge, the president, and
interview him. Get what you can, at any cost."

I had naturally thought first of Kennedy, but there was no time now to
call him up and, besides, I must see Dodge immediately.

Dodge, I discovered over the telephone, was not at home, nor at any of
the clubs to which he belonged. Late though it was I concluded that he
was at his office. No amount of persuasion could get me past the door,
and, though I found out later and shall tell soon what was going on
there, I determined, about nine o'clock, that the best way to get at
Dodge was to go to his house on Fifth Avenue, if I had to camp on his
front doorstep until morning. The harder I found the story to get, the
more I wanted it.

With some misgivings about being admitted, I rang the bell of the
splendid, though not very modern, Dodge residence. An English butler,
with a nose that must have been his fortune, opened the door and
gravely informed me that Mr. Dodge was not at home, but was expected at
any moment.

Once in, I was not going lightly to give up that advantage. I bethought
myself of his daughter, Elaine, one of the most popular debutantes of
the season, and sent in my card to her, on a chance of interesting her
and seeing her father, writing on the bottom of the card: "Would like
to interview Mr. Dodge regarding Clutching Hand."

Summoning up what assurance I had, which is sometimes considerable, I
followed the butler down the hall as he bore my card. As he opened the
door of the drawing room I caught a vision of a slip of a girl, in an
evening gown.

Elaine Dodge was both the ingenue and the athlete--the thoroughly
modern type of girl--equally at home with tennis and tango, table talk
and tea. Vivacious eyes that hinted at a stunning amber brown sparkled
beneath masses of the most wonderful auburn hair. Her pearly teeth,
when she smiled, were marvellous. And she smiled often, for life to her
seemed a continuous film of enjoyment.

Near her I recognized from his pictures, Perry Bennett, the rising
young corporation lawyer, a mighty good looking fellow, with an
affable, pleasing way about him, perhaps thirty-five years old or so,
but already prominent and quite friendly with Dodge.

On a table I saw a book, as though Elaine had cast it down when the
lawyer arrived to call on the daughter under pretense of waiting for
her father. Crumpled on the table was the Star. They had read the story.

"Who is it, Jennings?" she asked.

"A reporter, Miss Dodge," answered the butler glancing superciliously
back at me, "and you know how your father dislikes to see anyone here
at the house," he added deferentially to her.

I took in the situation at a glance. Bennett was trying not to look
discourteous, but this was a call on Elaine and it had been
interrupted. I could expect no help from that quarter. Still, I fancied
that Elaine was not averse to trying to pique her visitor and
determined at least to try it.

"Miss Dodge," I pleaded, bowing as if I had known them all my life,
"I've been trying to find your father all the evening. It's very
important."

She looked up at me surprised and in doubt whether to laugh or stamp
her pretty little foot in indignation at my stupendous nerve.

She laughed. "You are a very brave young man," she replied with a
roguish look at Bennett's discomfiture over the interruption of the
tete-a-tete.

There was a note of seriousness in it, too, that made me ask quickly,
"Why?"

The smile flitted from her face and in its place came a frank earnest
expression which I later learned to like and respect very much. "My
father has declared he will eat the very next reporter who tries to
interview him here," she answered.

I was about to prolong the waiting time by some jolly about such a
stunning girl not having by any possibility such a cannibal of a
parent, when the rattle of the changing gears of a car outside told of
the approach of a limousine.

The big front door opened and Elaine flung herself in the arms of an
elderly, stern-faced, gray-haired man. "Why, Dad," she cried, "where
have you been? I missed you so much at dinner. I'll be so glad when
this terrible business gets cleared up. Tell--me. What is on your mind?
What is it that worries you now?"

I noticed then that Dodge seemed wrought-up and a bit unnerved, for he
sank rather heavily into a chair, brushed his face with his
handkerchief and breathed heavily. Elaine hovered over him
solicit