I bent over and together we compared the T’s with those in the Clutching Hand letter, the paper from the bomb and the letter which Craig had taken from Elaine’s desk.

As Craig pointed out the resemblances with a pencil, my amazement gradually changed into comprehension and comprehension into conviction.  The meaning of it all began to dawn on me.

The writing was identical.  There were no differences!

. . . . . . . .

While we were locked in the secretary’s office, Bennett and Elaine were continuing their chat on various social topics.  Suddenly, however, with a glance at the clock, Bennett told Elaine that he had an important letter to dictate, and that it must go off at once.

She said that she would excuse him a few minutes and he pressed a button to call his secretary.

Of course the secretary did not appear.  Bennett left his office, with some annoyance, and went into the adjoining room the door to which Kennedy had not locked.

He hesitated a moment, then opened the door quietly.  To his astonishment, he saw Kennedy, the secretary, and myself apparently making a close examination of the typewriter.

Gliding rather than walking back into his own office, he closed the door and locked it.  Almost instantly, fear and fury at the presence of his hated rival, Kennedy, turned Bennett, as it were, from the Jekyll of a polished lawyer and lover of Elaine into an insanely jealous and revengeful Mr. Hyde.  The strain was more than his warped mind could bear.

With a look of intense horror and loathing, Elaine watched him slowly change from the composed, calm, intellectual Bennett she knew and respected into a repulsive, mad figure of a man.

His stature even seemed to be altered.  He seemed to shrivel up and become deformed.  His face was terribly distorted.

And his long, sinewy hand slowly twisted and bent until he became the personal embodiment of the Clutching Hand.

As Elaine, transfixed with terror, watched Bennett’s astounding metamorphosis, he ran to the door leading to the outer office and hastily locked that, also.

Then, with his eyes gleaming with rage and his hands working in murderous frenzy, he crouched, nearer and nearer, towards Elaine.

She shrank back, screaming again and again in terror.

He was the Clutching Hand!

. . . . . . . .

In spite of closed doors, we could now plainly hear Elaine’s shrieks.  Craig, the secretary and myself made a rush for the door to Bennett’s private office.  Finding it locked, we began to batter it.

By this time, however, Bennett had hurled himself upon Elaine and was slowly choking her.

Kennedy quickly found that it was impossible to batter down the door in time by any ordinary means.  Quickly he seized the typewriter and hurled it through the panels.  Then he thrust his hand through the opening and turned the catch.