He saw Kennedy and Miss Dodge and slunk unobtrusively against a railing, with his head turned away.  Laughing and chatting, they passed.  As they walked down the street, Clutching Hand turned and gazed after them.  Involuntarily the menacing hand clutched in open hatred.

Then he turned in the other direction and, going up the steps of the Dodge house, rang the bell.

“Telephone inspector,” he said in a loud tone as Michael, in Jennings’ place for the afternoon, opened the door.

He accompanied the words with the sign and Michael, taking care that the words be heard, in case anyone was listening, admitted him.

As it happened, Aunt Josephine was upstairs in Elaine’s room.  She was fixing flowers in a vase on the dressing table of her idolized niece.  Meanwhile, Rusty, the collie, lay, half blinking, on the floor.

“Who is this?” she asked, as Michael led the bogus telephone inspector into the room.

“A man from the telephone company,” he answered deferentially.

Aunt Josephine, unsophisticated, allowed them to enter without a further question.

Quickly, like a good workman, Clutching Hand went to the telephone instrument and by dint of keeping his finger on the hook and his back to Aunt Josephine succeeded in conveying the illusion that he was examining it.

Aunt Josephine moved to the door.  Not so, Rusty.  He did not like the looks of the stranger and he had no scruples against letting it be known.

As she put her hand on the knob to go out into the hall, Rusty uttered a low growl which grew into a full-lunged snarl at the Clutching Hand.  Clutching Hand kicked at him vigorously, if surreptitiously.  Rusty barked.

“Lady,” he disguised his voice, “will yer please ter call off the dog?  Me and him don’t seem to cotton to each other.”

“Here, Rusty,” she commanded, “down!”

Together Aunt Josephine and Michael removed the still protesting Rusty.

No sooner was the door shut than the Clutching Hand moved over swiftly to it.  For a few seconds, he stood gazing at them as they disappeared down-stairs.  Then he came back into the center of the room.

Hastily he opened his bag and from it drew a small powder-spraying outfit such as I have seen used for spraying bug-powder.  He then took out a sort of muzzle with an elastic band on it and slipped it over his head so that the muzzle protected his nose and mouth.

He seemed to work a sort of pumping attachment and from the nozzle of the spraying instrument blew out a cloud of powder which he directed at the wall.

The wall paper was one of those rich, fuzzy varieties and it seemed to catch the powder.  Clutching Hand appeared to be more than satisfied with the effect.

Meanwhile, Michael, in the hallway, on guard to see that no one bothered the Clutching Hand at his work, was overcome by curiosity to see what his master was doing.  He opened the door a little bit and gazed stealthily through the crack into the room.