LITMIR.BIZ

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parleyed hastily, the rough-neck and the fake chauffeur lifted Elaine out of the taxi. She was bound and gagged.

      “Well, now we’ve got her, what shall we do with her?” asked one.

      “It’s got to be quick. There’s another cab,” put in the driver.

      “The deuce with that.”

      “The deuce with nothing,” he returned. “That fellow Kennedy’s a clever one. He may come to. If he does, he won’t miss us. Quick, now!”

      “I wish I’d broken his skull,” muttered the roughneck.

      “We’d better leave her somewhere here,” remarked one of the better-dressed three. “I don’t think the chief wants us to kill her—yet,” he added, with an ominous glance at Elaine, who in spite of threats was not cowed, but was vainly struggling at her bonds.

      “Well, where shall it be?” asked another.

      They looked about.

      “See,” cried the third. “See that old boiler down there at the edge of the water? Why not put her in there? No one’ll ever think to look in such a place.”

      Down by the water’s edge, where he pointed, lay a big boiler such as is used on stationary engines, with its end lapped by the waves. With a hasty expression of approval, the rough-neck picked Elaine up bodily, still struggling vainly, and together they carried her, bound and gagged, to the tank. The opening, which was toward the water, was small, but they managed, roughly, to thrust her in.

      A moment later and they had rolled up a huge boulder against the small entrance, bracing it so that it would be impossible for her to get out from the inside. Then they drove off hastily.

      Inside the old boiler lay Elaine, still bound and gagged. If she could only scream! Someone might hear. She must get help. There was water in the tank. She managed to lean up inside it, standing as high as the walls would allow her, trying to keep her head above the water.

      Frantically, she managed to loosen the gag. She screamed. Her voice seemed to be bound around by the iron walls as was she herself. She shuddered, The water was rising—had reached her chest, and was still rising, slowly, inexorably.

      What should she do? Would no one hear her? The water was up to her neck now. She held her head as high as she could and screamed again.

      What was that? Silence? Or was someone outside?

      Coolly, in spite of the emergency, Kennedy took in the perilous situation.

      The lower end of the boiler, which was on a slant on the rapidly shelving beach, was now completely under water and impossible to get at. Besides, the opening was small, too small.

      We pulled away the stone, but that did no good. No one could hope to get in and then out again that way alive—much less with a helpless girl. Yet something must be done. The tank was practically submerged inside, as I estimated quickly. Blows had no effect on the huge iron trap which had been built to resist many pounds of pressure.

      Kennedy gazed about frantically and his eye caught the sign on the factory:

      OXYACETYLENE WELDING CO.

      “Come, Walter,” he cried, running up the shore.

      A moment later, breathless, we reached the doorway. It was, of course, locked. Kennedy whipped out his revolver and several well-directed shots through the keyhole smashed the lock. We put our shoulders to it and swung the door open, entering the factory.

      There was not a soul about, not even a watchman. Hastily we took in the place, a forge and a number of odds and ends of metal sheets, rods, pipes and angles.

      Beside a workbench stood two long cylinders, studded with bolts.

      “That’s what I’m looking for,” exclaimed Craig. “Here, Walter, take one. I’ll take the other—and the tubes—and—”

      He did not pause to finish, but seized up a peculiar shaped instrument, like a huge hook, with a curved neck and sharp beak. Really it was composed of two metal tubes which ran into a cylinder or mixing chamber above the nozzle, while parallel to them ran another tube with a nozzle of its own.

      We ran, for there was no time to lose. As nearly as I could estimate it, the water must now be slowly closing over Elaine.

      “What 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”

       Table of Contents

      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.”

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