LITMIR.BIZ

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beating out the flames, using such weapons as they already held in their hands to batter down the door.

      To Martin there was one thing paramount—the jewels.

      In the midst of the confusion, Elaine, closely followed by her friend Susie, made her way fearlessly into the stifle of smoke down the stairs.

      “There are your jewels, Mr. Martin,” cried Kennedy, kicking the precious burlap bag with his foot as if it had been so much ordinary merchandise, and turning toward what was in his mind the most important thing at stake—the direction taken by the agents of the Clutching Hand.

      “Thank heaven!” ejaculated Martin, fairly pouncing on the bag and tearing it open. “They didn’t get away with them—after all!” he exclaimed, examining the contents with satisfaction. “See—you must have frightened them off at just the right moment when you sent the bomb back at them.”

      Elaine and Susie pressed forward eagerly as he poured forth the sparkling stream of gems, intact.

      “Wasn’t he just simply wonderful!” I heard Susie whisper to Elaine.

      Elaine did not answer. She had eyes or ears for nothing now in the melee but Kennedy.

      Events were moving rapidly.

      The limousine had been standing innocently enough at the curb near the corner, with the taxicab close behind it.

      Less than ten minutes after they had entered, three well-dressed men came out of the vacant shop, apparently from the tailor’s above, and climbed leisurely into their car.

      As the last one entered, he half turned to the taxicab driver, hiding from passers-by the sign of the Clutching Hand which the taxicab driver returned, in the same manner. Then the big car whirled up the avenue.

      All this we learned later from a street sweeper who was at work nearby.

      Down below, while the police and detectives were putting out the fire, Kennedy was examining the wall of the cellar, looking for the spot where the crooks had escaped.

      “A secret door!” he exclaimed, as he paused after tapping along the wall to determine its character. “You can see how the force of the explosion has loosened it.”

      Sure enough, when he pointed it out to us, it was plainly visible. One of the detectives picked up a crowbar and others, still with the hastily selected implements they had seized to fight the fire, started in to pry it open.

      As it yielded, Kennedy pushed his way through. Elaine, always utterly fearless, followed. Then the rest of us went through.

      There seemed to be nothing, however, that would help us in the cellar next door, and Kennedy mounted the steps of a stairway in the rear.

      The stairway led to a sort of storeroom, full of barrels and boxes, but otherwise characterless. When I arrived Kennedy was gingerly holding up the dusters which the crooks had worn.

      “We’re on the right trail,” commented Elaine as he showed them to her, “but where do you suppose the owners are?”

      Craig shrugged his shoulders and gave a quick look about. “Evidently they came in from and went away by the street,” he observed, hurrying to the door, followed by Elaine.

      On the sidewalk, he gazed up the avenue, then catching sight of the street cleaner, called to him.

      “Yes, sir,” replied the man, stolidly looking up from his work. “I see three gentlemen come out and get into an automobile.”

      “Which way did they go?” asked Kennedy.

      For answer the man jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction uptown.

      “Did you notice the number of the car?” asked Craig eagerly.

      The man shrugged his shoulders blankly.

      With keen glance, Kennedy strained his eyes. Far up the avenue, he could descry the car threading its way in and out among the others, just about disappearing.

      A moment later Craig caught sight of the vacant taxicab and crooked his finger at the driver, who answered promptly by cranking his engine.

      “You saw that limousine standing there?” asked Craig.

      “Yes,” nodded the chauffeur with a show of alertness.

      “Well, follow it,” ordered Kennedy, jumping into the cab.

      “Yes, sir.”

      Craig was just about to close the door when a slight figure flashed past us and a dainty foot was placed on the step.

      “Please, Mr. Kennedy,” pleaded Elaine, “let me go. They may lead to my father’s slayer.”

      She said it so earnestly that Craig could scarcely have resisted if he had wanted to do so.

      Just as Elaine and Kennedy were moving off, I came out of the vacant store, with Bennett and the detectives.

      “Craig!” I called. “Where are you going?”

      Kennedy stuck his head out of the window and I am quite sure that he was not altogether displeased that I was not with him.

      “Chasing that limousine,” he shouted back. “Follow us in another car.”

      A moment later he and Elaine were gone.

      Bennett and I looked about.

      “There are a couple of cabs—down there,” I pointed out at the other end of the block. “I’ll take one you take the other.”

      Followed by a couple of the detectives, I jumped into the first one I came to, excitedly telling the driver to follow Kennedy’s taxi, directing him with my head out of the window.

      “Mr. Jameson, please—can’t I go with you?”

      I turned. It was Susie Martin. “One of you fellows, go in the other car,” I asked the detectives.

      Before the man could move, Mr. Martin himself appeared.

      “No, Susan, I—I won’t allow it,” he ordered.

      “But Elaine went,” she pouted.

      “Well, Elaine is—ah—I won’t have it,” stormed Martin.

      There was no time to waste. With a hasty apology, I drove off.

      Who, besides Bennett, went in the other car, I don’t know, but it made no difference, for we soon lost them. Our driver, however, was a really clever fellow. Far ahead now we could see the limousine drive around a corner, making a dangerous swerve. Kennedy’s cab followed, skidding dangerously near a pole.

      But the taxicab was no match for the powerful limousine. On uptown they went, the only thing preventing the limousine from escaping being the fear of pursuit by traffic police if the driver let out speed. They were content to manage to keep just far enough ahead to be out of danger of having Kennedy overhaul them. As for us, we followed as best we could, on uptown, past the city line, and out into the country.

      There Kennedy lost sight altogether of the car he was trailing. Worse than that, we lost sight of Kennedy. Still we kept on blindly, trusting to luck and common sense in picking the road.

      I was peering ahead over the driver’s shoulder, the window down, trying to direct him, when we approached a fork in the road. Here was a dilemma which must be decided at once rightly or wrongly.

      As we neared the crossroad, I gave an involuntary exclamation. Beside the road, almost on it, lay the figure of a man. Our driver pulled up with a jerk and I was out of the car in an instant.

      There lay Kennedy! Someone had blackjacked him. He was groaning and just beginning to show signs of consciousness as I bent over.

      “What’s the matter, old man?” I asked, helping him to his feet.

      He looked about dazed a moment, then seeing me and comprehending, he pointed excitedly, but vaguely.

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