is it?” I asked as he joined up the tubes from the tanks to the peculiar hook-like apparatus he carried.
“An oxyacetylene blowpipe,” he muttered back feverishly working. “Used for welding and cutting, too,” he added.
With a light he touched the nozzle. Instantly a hissing, blinding flame-needle made the steel under it incandescent. The terrific heat from one nozzle made the steel glow. The stream of oxygen from the second completely consumed the hot metal. And the force of the blast carried a fine spray of disintegrated metal before it. It was a brilliant sight. But it was more than that. Through the very steel itself, the flame, thousands of degrees hot, seemed to eat its way in a fine line, as if it were a sharp knife cutting through ordinary cardboard.
With tense muscles Kennedy skillfully guided the terrible instrument that ate cold steel, wielding the torch as deftly as if it had been, as indeed it was, a magic wand of modern science.
He was actually cutting out a huge hole in the still exposed surface of the tank—all around, except for a few inches, to prevent the heavy piece from falling inward.
As Kennedy carefully bent outward the section of the tank which he had cut, he quickly reached down and lifted Elaine, unconscious, out of the water.
Gently he laid her on the sand. It was the work of only a moment to cut the cords that bound her hands.
There she lay, pale and still. Was she dead?
Kennedy worked frantically to revive her.
At last, slowly, the color seemed to return to her pale lips. Her eyelids fluttered. Then her great, deep eyes opened.
As she looked up and caught sight of Craig bending anxiously over her, she seemed to comprehend. For a moment both were silent. Then Elaine reached up and took his hand.
There was much in the look she gave him—admiration, confidence,— love itself.
Heroics, however, were never part of Kennedy’s frank make-up. The fact was that her admiration, even though not spoken, plainly embarrassed him. Yet he forgot that as he looked at her lying there, frail and helpless.
He stroked her forehead gently, laying back the wet ringlets of her hair.
“Craig,” she murmured, “you—you’ve saved my life!”
Her tone was eloquent.
“Elaine,” he whispered, still gazing into her wonderful eyes, “the Clutching Hand shall pay for this! It is a fight to the finish between us!”
Chapter IV
“The Frozen Safe”
Kennedy swung open the door of our taxicab as we pulled up, safe at last, before the Dodge mansion, after the rescue of Elaine from the brutal machinations of the Clutching Hand.
Bennett was on the step of the cab in a moment and, together, one on each side of Elaine, they assisted her out of the car and up the steps to the house.
As they mounted the steps, Kennedy called back to me, “Pay the driver, Walter, please.”
It was the first time I had thought of that. As it happened, I had quite a bankroll with me and, in my hurry, I peeled off a ten dollar bill and tossed it to the fellow, intending to be generous and tell him to keep the change.
“Say,” he exclaimed, pointing to the clock, “come across—twenty-three, sixty.”
Protesting, I peeled off some more bills.
Having satisfied this veritable anaconda and gorged his dilating appetite for banknotes, I turned to follow the others. Jennings had opened the door immediately. Whether it was that he retained a grudge against me or whether he did not see me, he would have closed it before I could get up there. I called and took the steps two at a time.
Elaine’s Aunt Josephine was waiting for us in the drawing room, very much worried. The dear old lady was quite scandalized as Elaine excitedly told of the thrilling events that had just taken place.
“And to think they—actually—carried you!” she exclaimed, horrified, adding, “And I not—”
“But Mr. Kennedy came along and saved me just in time,” interrupted Elaine with a smile. “I was well chaperoned!”
Aunt Josephine turned to Craig gratefully. “How can I ever thank you enough, Mr. Kennedy,” she said fervently.
Kennedy was quite embarrassed. With a smile, Elaine perceived his discomfiture, not at all displeased by it.
“Come into the library,” she cried gaily, taking his arm. “I’ve something to show you.”
Where the old safe which had been burnt through had stood was now a brand new safe of the very latest construction and design—one of those that look and are so formidable.
“Here is the new safe,” she pointed out brightly. “It is not only proof against explosives, but between the plates is a lining that is proof against thermit and even that oxy-acetylene blowpipe by which you rescued me from the old boiler. It has a time lock, too, that will prevent its being opened at night, even if anyone should learn the combination.”
They stood before the safe a moment and Kennedy examined it closely with much interest.
“Wonderful!” he admired.
“I knew you’d approve of it,” cried Elaine, much pleased. “Now I have something else to show you.”
She paused at the desk and from a drawer took out a portfolio of large photographs. They were very handsome photographs of herself.
“Much more wonderful than the safe,” remarked Craig earnestly. Then, hesitating and a trifle embarrassed, he added, “May I—may I have one?”
“If you care for it,” she said, dropping her eyes, then glancing up at him quickly.
“Care for it?” he repeated. “It will be one of the greatest treasures.”
She slipped the picture quickly into an envelope. “Come,” she interrupted. “Aunt Josephine will be wondering where we are. She— she’s a demon chaperone.”
Bennett, Aunt Josephine and myself were talking earnestly as Elaine and Craig returned.
“Well,” said Bennett, glancing at his watch and rising as he turned to Elaine, “I’m afraid I must go, now.”
He crossed over to where she stood and shook hands. There was no doubt that Bennett was very much smitten by his fair client.
“Good-bye, Mr. Bennett,” she murmured, “and thank you so much for what you have done for me today.”
But there was something lifeless about the words. She turned quickly to Craig, who had remained standing.
“Must
