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The Exploits of Elaine
A Detective Novel and a Motion Picture Drama
U By ARTHUR B. REEVE 7~
fl Well-Known Novelist and the
II Creator of the “Craig Kennedy” Stories
Presented in Collaboration With the Pathe Players and the Eclectic Film Company
Copyright, 1914, by the Star Company. All Foreign Rights Reserved.
SYNOPSIS.
tfc. c formation of a partnership as pro
ijessor and aide in crime science between
< raifr Kennedy, university chemistry pro
fessor, and Walter Jameson, newspaper
man, is at once followed by their becom
ing interested in a series of murders by
a master criminal who leaves no other
elue to his Identity than the sign manual
of a “Clutching Hand." Elaine Dodge,
whose father Is ona. of the latest victims
of the mysterious murderer, witnesses
the beginning of Kennedy’s scientific in
vestigation of the murder.
SECOND EPISODE
The “Twilight Sleep.”
Kennedy had thrown himself whole
heartedly into the solution of the mys
terious Dodge case.
Far into the night, after the chal
lenge of the forged finger print, he
continued at work, endeavoring to ex
tract a clue from the meager evi
dence —a bit of cloth and trace of poi
son already obtained from other cases.
We dropped around at the Dodge
house the next morning. Early though
it was, we found Elaine ? trifle paler,
but more lovely than ever, and Perry
Bennett, themselves vainly endeavor
ing to solve the mystery of the Clutch
ing Hand.
They were at Dodge’s desk, she in
the big desk chair, he standing beside
her looking over some papers.
“There’s nothing there,” Bennett
was saying as we entered.
I could not help feeling that he was
gazing down at Elaine a bit more ten
derly than mere business warranted.
“Have you—found anything?” que
ried Elaine anxiously, turning eagerly
to Kennedy.
“Nothing—yet,” he answered, shak
ing his head, but conveying a quiet
idea of confidence in his tone.
Just then Jennings, the butler, en
tered, bringing the morning papers.
Elaine seized the Star and hastily
opened it. On the first page was the
story I had telephoned down very late
in the hope of catching a last city
edition.
We all bent over and Craig read
aloud:
■“CLUTCHING HAND”
STILL AT LARGE
New York’s Master Criminal Remains
Undetected—Perpetrates New Dar
ing Murder and Robbery on Mil-
Dodge.
had scarcely finished reading
.e brief but alarming news story that
followed and laid the paper on the
desk when a stone came smashing
through the window from the street.
Startled, we all jumped to our
feet. Craig hurried to the window.
Not a soul was in sight!
He stooped and picked up the stone.
To it was attached a piece of pa
per. Quickly he unfolded it and
read:
“Craig Kennedy will give up his
search for the 'Clutching Hand’ —or
die!”
Later I recalled that there seemed
to be a slight noise downstairs, as if
at the cellar window, through which
the masked man had entered the
night before.
In point of fact, one who had been
outside at the time might actually
have seen a sinister face at that cel
lar window, but to us upstairs it was
invisible. The face was that of the
servant, Michael.
Without another word Kennedy
passed into the drawing room and
took his hat and coat. Both Elaine
and Bennett followed.
“I’m afraid I must ask you to ex
cuse me —for the present,” Craig
apologized.
Elaine looked at him anxiously.
"You —you will not let that letter
intimidate you?” she pleaded, laying
her soft white hand on his arm. “Oh,
Mr. Kennedy,” she added, bravely
keeping back the tears, “avenge him!
All the money in the world would be
too little to pay—if only—”
At the mere mention of money Ken
nedy’s face seemed to cloud, but only
for a moment.
“I’ll try,” he said simply.
Elaine did not withdraw her hand
as she continued to look up at him.
“Miss Dodge,” he went on, his voice
steady, as though he were repressing
something, “I will never take another
case until the 'Clutching Hand’ is
captured.”
The look of gratitude she gave him
would have been a princely reward
in itself.
*******
It was some time after these events
Kennedy, reconstructing what
ran across, in a strange
Nj ic h I need not tire the reader
.iing. a Doctor Haynes, head of
Hillside Sanitarium for Women,
whose story I shall relate substan
tially as we received it from his own
lips:
It must have been that same night a
distinguished visitor drove up in a cab
to our Hillside sanitarium, rang the
bell an,, was admitted to my oflice.
I am, by the way, the superintending
physician, and that night I was sitting
vvith Doctor Thompson, my assistant,
in the oflice discussing a rather inter-
esting case, when an attendant came
in with a card and handed it to me. It
read simply, “Dr. Ludwig Reinstrom,
Coblenz.”
“Here’s that Doctor Reinstrom,
Thompson, about whom my friend in
Germany wrote the other day,” I re
marked, nodding to the attendant to
admit Doctor Reinstrom.
I might explain that while I was
abroad some time ago I made a par
ticular study of the “Daemmerschlaf”
—otherwise, the “twilight sleep”—at
Freiburg where it was developed, and
at other places in Germany where the
subject had attracted great attention.
I was much impressed and had im
ported the treatment to Hillside.
While we waited I reached into my
desk and drew out the letter to which
I referred, which ended, I recall:
“As Doctor Reinstrom is in Amer
ica, he will probably call on you. I
am sure you will be glad to know him.
“With kindest regards, I am,
“Fraternally yours,
EMIL SCHWARZ, M. D„
“Director, Leipsic Institute of Medi
cine."
“Most happy to meet you, Doctor
Reinstrom,” I greeted the new arrival,
as he entered our office.
For several minutes *we sat and
chatted of things medical here and
abroad.
“What is it, doctor,” I asked finally,
"that interests you most in America?”
“Oh,” he replied quickly with an ex
pressive gesture, “it is the broadmind
edness with which you adopt the best
from all over the world, regardless of
prejudice. For instance, I am very
much interested in the new ‘twilight
sleep.’ Of course, you have borrowed
it largely from us, but it interests me
to see whether you have modified it
w-ith practice. In fact, I have come to
Hillside sanitarium particularly to see
it used. Perhaps we may learn some
thing from you.”
It was most gracious, and both Doc
tor Thompson and myself were
charmed by our visitor. I reached over
and touched a call button and our
head nurse entered from a rear room.
“Are there any operations going on
now?” I asked.
She looked mechanically at her
watch. “Yes, there are two cases, now,
I think,” she answered.
“Would you like to follow our tech
nique?” I asked, turning to Doctor
Reinstrom.
“I should be delighted,” he acqui
esced.
A moment later we passed down the
corridor of the sanitarium, still chat
ting. At the door of a ward I spoke
to the attendant, who indicated that a
patient was about to be anesthetized,
and Doctor Reinstrom and I entered
the room.
There, in perfect quiet, which is an
essential part ,of the treatment, were
several woman patients lying in bed
in the ward. Before us two nurses and
a doctor were in attendance on one.
I spoke to the doctor, Doctor
Holmes, by the way, who bowed polite
ly to the distinguished Doctor Rein
strom, then turned quickly to his work.
“Miss Sears,” he asked of one of the
nurses, “will you bring me that hypo
dermic needle?”
“You will see, Doctor Reinstrom,” I
injected in a low tone, “that we follow
in the main your Freiburg treatment.
We use scopolamin and narkophin.”
I held up the bottle, as I said it, a
rather peculiar shaped bottle, too.
“And the pain?” he asked.
“Practically the same as in your ex
perience abroad. We do not render
the patient unconscious, but prevent
her from remembering anything that
goes on.”
Doctor Holmes, the attending physi
cian, was just starting the treatment.
Filling his hypodermic, he selected a
spot on the patient’s arm where it
had been scrubbed and sterilized, and
injected the narcotic.
“And you say they have no recol
lection anything that happens?”
asked Reinstrom.
“Absolutely none —if the treatment
is given properly,” I replied, con
fidently.
“Wonderful!” ejaculated Reinstrom
as we left the room.
Now comes the strange part of my
story. After Reinstrom had gone, Doc
tor Holmes, the attending physician
of the woman whom he had seen anes
thetized, missed his syringe and the
bottle of scopolamin.
Holmes, Miss Sears and Miss Stern
all hunted, but it could not be found.
Others had to be procured.
I thought little of it at the time, but
since then it has occurred to me that
it might interest you, Professor Ken
nedy, and I give it to you for what it
may be worth.
*******
It was early the next morning that I
awoke to find Kennedy already up and
gone from our apartment. I knew he
must be at the laboratory, and, gather
ing the mail, which the postman had
just slipped through the letter slot, I
went over to the university to see him.
As I looked over the letters to cull
out my own one in a woman's hand
writing on attractive note paper ad
dressed to him caught my eye.
THE DOUGLAS ENTERPRISE. DOUGLAS. GEORGIA
As I came up the path to the chem
istry building I saw through the win
dow that, in spite of his getting there
early, he was finding it difficult to keep
his mind on his work. It was the first
time I had ever known anything to
interfere with science in his life.
“Well,” I exclaimed as I entered,
“you are the early bird. Did you have
any breakfast?”
I tossed down the letters. He did
not reply. So I became absorbed in
the morning paper. Still, I did not
neglect to watch him covertly out of
the corner of my eye. Quickly he ran
over the letters, instead of taking
them, one by one, in his usual method
ical way. I quite complimented my
superior acumen. He selected the
dainty note.
A moment Craig looked at it in an
ticipation, then tore it open eagerly.
I was still watching his face over the
top of the paper and was surprised to
see that it showed, first, amazement,
then pain, as though something had
hurt him.
He read it again—then looked
straight ahead, as if in a daze.
Suddenly he jumped up, bringing his
tightly clenched fist down with a loud
clap into the palm of his hand.
“By heaven!” he exclaimed, “I —I
will!”
He strode hastily to the telephone.
Almost angrily he seized the receiver
and asked for a^number.
“Wh-what’s the matter, Craig!” I
blurted out eagerly.
As he waited for the number, he
threw the letter over to me. I took
it and read:
“Professor Craig Kennedy,
"The University, The Heights, City.
“Dear Sir:
“I have come to the conclusion that
your work is a hindrance rather than
an assistance in clearing up my
father’s death, and I hereby beg to
state that your services are no longer
required. This is a final decision, and
I beg that you will not try to see me
again regarding the matter.
“Very truly yours,
“ELAINE DODGE.”
If it had been a bomb I could not
have been more surprised.
I could not make it out.
Kennedy impatiently worked the re
ceiver up and down, repeating the
number. “Hello —hello,” he repeated.
“Yes —hello. Is Miss —oh —good morn
ing, Miss Dodge.”
He was hurrying along as if to give
her no chance to cut him off. “I have
just received a letter, Miss Dodge, tell
There Were Marks of a Jimmy on the Window.
ing me that you don’t want me to con
tinue investigating your father’s death,
and not to try to see you again
about—”
He stopped. I could hear the reply.
“Why—no—Mr. Kennedy, I have
written you no letter.”
The look of mingled relief and sur
prise that crossed Craig's face spoke
volumes.
“Miss Dodge,” he almost shouted,
“this is a new trick of the ‘Clutching
Hand.’ I—l’ll be right over.”
Craig hung up the reeciver and
turned from the telephone. Evidently
he was thinking deeply. Suddenly his
face seemed to light up. He made up
his mind to something, and a moment
later he opened the cabinet —that in
exhaustible storehouse from which he
seemed to draw weird and curious in
struments that met the ever new prob
lems which his strange profession
brought to him.
I -watched curiously. He took out a
bottle and what looked like a little
hypodermic syringe, thrust them into
his pocket and, for once, oblivious to
my very existence, deliberately walked
out of the laboratory.
I did not propose to be thus cava
lierly dismissed. I suppose it would
have looked ridiculous to a third par
ty, but I followed him as hastily as if
he had tried to shut the door on his
own shadow.
We arrived at the corner above the
Dodge house just in time to see anoth
er visitor —Bennett —enter.
“And, Perry,” w r e heard Elaine say,
as we were ushered in, “someone has
even forged my name —the handwrit
ing and everything—telling Mr. Ken
nedy to drop the case —and I never
knew.”
She stopped as we entered.
"That’s the limit!” exclaimed Ben-
nett. “Miss Dodge has just been tell
ing me —”
“Yes,” interrupted Craig. "Look,
Miss Dodge, this is it.”
He handed her the letter. She al
most seized it, examining it carefully,
her large eyes opening wider in won
der.
"This is certainly my writing and
my note paper,” she murmured, “but
I never wrote the letter!”
Craig looked from the letter to her
keenly. No one said a word. For
a moment Kennedy hesitated, think
ing.
“Might I—er —see your room, Miss
Dodge?” he asked at length.
“Why. certainly,” nodded Elaine, as
she lead the way upstairs.
It was a dainty little room, breath
ing the spirit of its mistress. In fact,
it seemed a sort of profanity as we
all followed in after her. For a mo
ment Kennedy stood still, then he
carefully looked about. At the side
of the bed, near the head, he stooped
and picked up something which he
held in the palm of his hand. I
bent over. Something gleamed in the
morning sunshine —some little thin
pieces of glass. As he tried deftly to
fit the tiny little bits together he
seemed absorbed in thought. Quick
ly he raised it to his nose, as if to
smell it.
“Ethyl chloride!” he muttered,
wrapping the pieces carefully in a
paper and putting them inside his
pocket.
An instant later he crossed the
room to the window and examined it.
“Look!” he exclaimed.
There, plainly, were marks of a
jimmy which had been inserted near
the lock to pry it open.
“Miss Dodge," he asked, “might I—
might I trouble you to let me see
your arm?"
Wonderingly she did so, and Ken
nedy bent almost reverently over
her plump arm examining it.
On it was a small dark discolora
tion, around which was a slight red
ness and tenderness.
“That,” he said slowly, “is the
mark of a hypodermic needle.”
As he finished examining Elaine’s
arm he drew the letter from his pock
et. Still facing her he said in a low'
tone, “Miss Dodge—you did write this
letter —but under the influence of the
new ’twilight sleep.’ ”
“Why, Craig.” I exclaimed excited
ly, “what do you mean?”
“Exactly what I say. With Miss
Dodge’s permission I shall show you.
By a small administration of the drug,
which will injure you in no way, Miss
Dodge, I think I can bring back the
memory of all that occurred to you
last night. Will you allow me?”
“Mercy, no!” protested her Aunt Jo
sephine, who had entered the room.
“I want the experiment to be tried,”
Elaine said quietly.
A moment later Kennedy had placed
her on a couch in the corner of the
room.
“Now, Mrs. Dodge,” he said, “please
bring me a basin and a towel.”
Aunt Josephine, reconciled, brought
them. Kennedy dropped an antisep
tic tablet into the water and care
fully sterilized Elaine's arm just above
the spot w'here the red mark showed.
Then he drew the hypodermic from
his pocket—carefully sterilized it,
also, and filling it with scopolamin
from the bottle.
‘Just a moment. Miss Dodge,” he
encouraged, as he jabbed the needle
into her arm.
She did not wince.
“Please lie back on the couch,’ he
directed. Then turning to us he add
ed, “It takes some time for this to
work. Our criminal got over this fact
and prevented an outcry by using
ethyl chloride first. Let me recon
struct the scene.”
As we watched Elaine going under
s’owly Craig talked.
"That night," he said, “warily, the
masked criminal of the ‘Clutching
Hand,’ bent over, his arm crooked,
might have been seen down below us
in the ally. Up here, Miss Dodge,
worn out by the strain of her father's
death, let us say, w r as nervously try
ing to read, to do anything that would
take her mind off the tragedy. Per
haps she fell asleep.
“Just then the ‘Clutching Hand' ap
peared. He came stealthily through
that window, which he had opened. A
moment he hesitated, seeing Elaine
asleep. Then he tiptoed over to the
bed, let us say, and for a moment
looked at her, sleeping.
A second later he had thrust his
hand into his pocket and had taken out
a small glass bulb with a long thin
neck. That was ethyl chloride —a
drug which produces a quick anesthe
sia. But it lasts only a minute or two.
That was enough. As he broke the
glass neck of the bulb —letting the
pieces fall on the floor near the bed—
he shoved the thing under Elaine's
face, turning his own head aw'ay and
holding a handkerchief over his own
nose. The mere heat of his hand is
enough to cause the ethyl chloride to
spray out and overcome her instantly.
He steps away from her a moment and
replaces the now empty vial in his
pocket.
“Then he took a box from bis pocket,
opened it. There must have been a
syringe and a bottle of scopolamin.
Where they came from I do not know',
but perhaps from some hospital. I
shall have to find that out later. He
went to Elaine, quickly jabbing the
needle, with no resistance from her
now. Slowly he replaced the bottle
and the needle in his pocket. He
could not have been in any hurry now,
for it takes time for the drug to
work.”
Kennedy paused. Had we known at
the time, Michael —he of a sinister
face —must have been in the hallway
that night, careful that no one saw
him. A tap at the door and the
“Clutching Hand” must have beckoned
him. A moment's parley and they sep
arated—“ Clutching Hand” going back
to Elaine, W'ho was now under the in
fluence of the second drug.
“Our criminal,” resumed Kennedy
thoughtfully, “may have shaken
Elaine. She did not answer. Then he
may have partly revived her. She
must have been startled. ‘Clutching
Hand,’ perhaps, was half crouching,
with a big ugly blue steel revolver
leveled full in her face.
“‘One word and I shoot!’ he prob
ably cried. ‘Get up!’
“Trembling, she must have done so.
‘Your slippers and a kimono,' he
would naturally have ordered. She
put them on mechanically. Then he
must have ordered her to go out of
the door and down the stairs. ‘Clutch
ing Hand’ must have followed, and as
he did so he would have cautiously put
out the lights.”
We were following, spellbound, Ken
nedy's graphic reconstruction of what
must have happened. Evidently he
had struck close to the truth. Elaine’s
eyes were closed. Gently Kennedy led
her along. “Now, Miss Dodge,” he en
couraged, “try—try hard to recollect
just what it was that happened last
night—everything.”
As Kennedy paused after his quick
recital, she seemed to tremble all over.
Slowly she began to speak. We stood
awestruck. Kennedy had been right!
The girl was now living over again
those minutes that had been forgot
ten—blotted out by the drug.
And it was all real to her, too —ter-
ribly real. She was speaking, plainly
in terror.
“I see a man —oh, such a figure—
with a mask. He holds a gun in my
face —he threatens me. I put on my
kimono and slippers, as he tells me.
I am in a daze. I know what I am
doing—and I don’t know. I go out
with him, downstairs, into the library.”
Elaine shuddered again at the recol
lection. “Ugh! The room is dark,
the room where he killed my father.
Moonlight outside streams in. This
masked man and I come in. He
switches on the lights. .
“ ‘Go to the safe,’ he says, and I
do it —the new safe, you know. ’Do
you know the combination?’ he asks
me. ‘Yes,’ I reply, too frightened to
say no.
“ ‘Open it then,’ he says, waving that
awful revolver closer. Ido so. Hast
ily he rummages through it, throwing
papers here and there. But he seems
not to find what he is after and turns
away, swearing fearfully.
“ ‘Hang it!’ he cries at me. ‘Where
else did your father keep papers?’ I
point in desperation at the desk. He
takes one last look at the safe, shoves
all the papers he has strewn on the
floor back again and slams the safe
shut.
“ ‘Now, come on,’ he says, indicating
with the gun that he wants me to fol
low him away from the safe. At the
desk he repeats the search. But he
finds nothing. Almost I think he is
about to kill me. ‘Where else did your
father keep papers?' he hisses fiercely,
still threatening me with the gun.
“I am too frightened to speak. But
at last I am able to say, ‘I—I don't
know!’ Again he threatens me. ‘As
God is my judge,’ I cry, ‘I don’t know.’
It is fearful. Will he shoot me?
“Thank heaven! At last he believes
me. But such a look of foiled fury I
have never seen on any human face
before.
“‘Sit down!’ he growls, adding, ‘at
the desk.’ I do.
“ ‘Take some of your note paper—
the best.’ I do that, too.
“ ‘And a pen,’ he goes on. My fin
gers can hardly hold it.
“‘Now —write!’ he says, and as he
dictates, I write" —
“This?” interjected Kennedy, eager
ly holding up the letter that he had
received from her.
Elaine looked it over with her drug
laden eyes. “Yes,” she nodded, then
lapsed again to the scene itself. “He
reads it over, and as he does so says,
‘Now, address an envelope. Himself
he folds the letter, seals the envelope,
stamps it, and drops it into his pocket,
hastily straightening the desk.
“ ‘Now, go ahead of me —again.
Leave the room—no, by the hall
door. We are going back upstairs.*
I obey him, and at the door ho
switches off the lights. How 1 stand
it I do not know. I go upstairs me
chanically into my own room—l and
this masked man.
“ ‘Take off the kimono and slip
pers!’ he orders. Ido that. ‘Get into
bed!’ he growls. I crawl in fearfully.
For a moment he looks about —then
goes out —with a look back as he
goes. Oh! Oh! That hand—which
he raises at me —THAT HAND!’
The poor girl was sitting bolt up
right, staring straight at the hall
door, as we watched and listened,
fascinated.
Kennedy was bending over, sooth
ing her. She gave evidenc# of com
ing out from the effect of the drug.
1 noticed that Bennett had sud
denly moved a step in the direction
of the door at which she stared.
“By heavens!” he muttered, star
ing, too. “Look!”
We did look. A letter was slowly
being inserted under the door.
I took a quick step forward. That
moment I felt a rough tug at my
“I’ve Got Him, Kennedy!"
arm, and a voice w'hispered: “Wait,
you chump!”
It was Kennedy. He had whipped
out his automatic and had carefully
leveled it at the door. Before he could
fire, however, Bennett had rushed
ahead.
I followed. We looked down the
hall. Sure enough, the figure of a
man could be seen disappearing
around an angle. I followed Ben
nett out of the door and down the
hall.
Words cannot keep pace with what
follow'ed. Together we rushed to the
back stairs.
“Down there, while I go down the
front!” cried Bennett.
I went down, and he turmd and
went down the other flight. As he did
so Craig followed him.
Suddenly, in the drawing room, I
bumped into a figure on the other side
of the portieres. I seized him.
We struggled. Rip! The portieres
came down, covering me entirely.
Over and over w r e went, smashing a
lamp. It was vicious. Another man
attacked me, too.
“I’ve got him —Kennedy!” I heard
a voice pant over me.
A scream followed from Aunt Jo
sephine. Suddenly the portieres were
pulled off me.
“The deuce!" puffed Kennedy. “It’s
Jameson.”
Bennett had rushed plump into
me, coming the other way, hidden
by the portieres!
If we had known at the time, our
Michael of the sinister face had
gained the library and was standing
in the center of the room. He had
heard me coming and had fled to the
drawing room. As we finished our
struggle in the library he rose hastily
from behind the divan in the other
room, where he had dropped, and had
quietly and hastily disappeared
through another door.
Laughing and breathing hard, they
helped me to my feet. It was no
joke to me. I was sore in every
bone.
"Well, where did he go?” insisted
Bennett.
“I don’t know —perhaps back there,”
I cried.
Bennett and I argued a moment,
then started and stopped short. Aunt
Josephine had run downstairs and
was now shoving the letter into
Craig’s hands.
We gathered about him curiously.
He opened it. On it vras that awe
some Clutching Hand again.
Kennedy read it. For a moment
he stood and studied it, then slowly
crushed it in his hand.
Just then Elaine, pale and shaken
from the ordeal she had voluntarily
gone through, burst in upon us from
upstairs. Without a word she ad
vanced to Craig and took the letter
from him.
Inside, as on the envelope, was
that same signature of the Clutching
Hand.
Elaine gazed at it, wild-eyed, then
at Craig. Craig smilingly reached for
the note, took it, folded it, and un
concernedly thrust it into his pocket.
“My God!” she cried, clasping her
hands convulsively, and repeating the
wordr of the letter, “YOUR LAST
WARNING!”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)