As he did so, I sniffed.  There was an unmistakable odor of garlic in the air which made me think of what I had already noticed in Elaine’s room.

“What is it?” I asked, mystified.

“Arseniuretted hydrogen,” he answered, still engaged in verifying his tests.  “This is the Marsh test for arsenic.”

I gazed from Kennedy to the apparatus, then to Rusty and a picture of Elaine, pale and listless, flashed before me.

“Arsenic!” I repeated in horror.

. . . . . . . .

I had scarcely recovered from the surprise of Kennedy’s startling revelation when the telephone rang again.  Kennedy seized the receiver, thinking evidently that the message might be from or about Elaine.

But from the look on his face and from his manner, I could gather that, although it was not from Elaine herself, it was about something that interested him greatly.  As he talked, he took his little notebook and hastily jotted down something in it.  Still, I could not make out what the conversation was about.

“Good!” I heard him say finally.  “I shall keep the appointment—­ absolutely.”

His face wore a peculiar puzzled look as he hung up the receiver.

“What was it?” I asked eagerly.

“It was Elaine’s footman, Michael,” he replied thoughtfully.  “As I suspected, he says that he is a confederate of the Clutching Hand and if we will protect him he will tell us the trouble with Elaine.”

I considered a moment.  “How’s that?” I queried.

“Well,” added Craig, “you see, Michael has become infuriated by the treatment he received from the Clutching Hand.  I believe he cuffed him in the face yesterday.  Anyway, he says he has determined to get even and betray him.  So, after hearing how Elaine was, he slipped out of the servant’s door and looking about carefully to see that he wasn’t followed, he went straight to a drug store and called me up.  He seemed extremely nervous and fearful.”

I did not like the looks of the thing, and said so.  “Craig,” I objected vehemently, “don’t go to meet him.  It is a trap.”

Kennedy had evidently considered my objection already.

“It may be a trap,” he replied slowly, “but Elaine is dying and we’ve got to see this thing through.”

As he spoke, he took an automatic from a drawer of a cabinet and thrust it into his pocket.  Then he went to another drawer and took out several sections of thin tubing which seemed to be made to fasten together as a fishing pole is fastened, but were now separate, as if ready for travelling.

“Well—­are you coming, Walter?” he asked finally—­the only answer to my flood of caution.

Then he went out.  I followed, still arguing.

“If you go, I go,” I capitulated.  “That’s all there is to it.”

Following the directions that Michael had given over the telephone Craig led me into one of the toughest parts of the lower West Side.