Elaine tore it open and looked at the paper within.

“Oh, how thoughtful of you!” she exclaimed in surprise.

It was a permit from the police made out in her name allowing her to carry a revolver.

A moment later, Kennedy reached into his coat pocket and produced a little automatic which he handed to her.

“Thank you,” she cried eagerly.

Elaine examined the gun with interest, then, raising it, pointed it playfully at Bennett.

“Oh—­no—­no!” exclaimed Kennedy, taking her arm quickly, and gently deflecting the weapon away.  “You mustn’t think it is a toy.  It explodes at a mere touch of the trigger—­when that safety ratchet is turned.”

Bennett had realized the danger and had jumped back, almost mechanically.  As he did so, he bumped into a suit of medieval armor standing by the wall, knocking it over with a resounding crash.

“I beg pardon,” he ejaculated, “I’m very sorry.  That was very awkward of me.”

Jennings, who had been busy about the portieres at the doorway, started to pick up the fallen knight.  Some of the pieces were broken, and the three gathered about as the butler tried to fit them together again as best he could.

“Too bad, too bad,” apologized Bennett profusely.  “I really forgot how close I was to the thing.”

“Oh, never mind,” returned Elaine, a little crestfallen, “It is smashed all right—­but it was my fault.  Jennings, send for someone to repair it.”

She turned to Kennedy.  “But I do wish you would teach me how to use this thing,” she added, touching the automatic gingerly.

“Gladly,” he returned.

“Won’t you join us, Mr. Bennett?” asked Elaine.

“No,” the young lawyer smiled, “I’m afraid I can’t.  You see, I had an engagement with another client and I’m already late.”

He took his hat and coat and, with a reluctant farewell, moved toward the hallway.

A moment later Elaine and Craig followed, while Jennings finished restoring the armor as nearly as possible as it had been.

. . . . . . . .

It was late that night that a masked figure succeeded in raising itself to the narrow ornamental ledge under Elaine’s bedroom window.

Elaine was a light sleeper and, besides, Rusty, her faithful collie, now fully recovered from the poison, was in her room.

Rusty growled and the sudden noise wakened her.

Startled, Elaine instantly thought of the automatic.  She reached under her pillow, keeping very quiet, and drew forth the gun that Craig had given her.  Stealthily concealing her actions under the covers, she levelled the automatic at the figure silhouetted in her window and fired three times.

The figure fell back.

Down in the street, below, the assistant of the Clutching Hand who had waited while Taylor Dodge was electrocuted, was waiting now as his confederate, “Pitts Slim”—­which indicated that he was both wiry in stature and libellous in delegating his nativity—­made the attempt.