. . . . . . . .

Meanwhile, a closed car, such as had stood across from the laboratory, had drawn up not far from the Dodge house.  Near it was a man in rather shabby clothes and a visored cap on which were the words in dull gold lettering, “Metropolitan Window Cleaning Co.”  He carried a bucket and a small extension ladder.

In the darkened recesses of the car was the Clutching Hand himself, masked as usual.  He had his watch in his hand and was giving most minute instructions to the window cleaner about something.  As the latter turned to go, a sharp observer would have noted that it was Dan the Dude, still further disguised.

A few moments later, Dan appeared at the servants’ entrance of the Dodge house and rang the bell.  Jennings, who happened to be down there, came to the door.

“Man to clean the windows,” saluted the bogus cleaner, touching his hat in a way quietly to call attention to the words on it and drawing from his pocket a faked written order.

“All right,” nodded Jennings examining the order and finding it apparently all right.

Dan followed him in, taking the ladder and bucket upstairs, where Aunt Josephine was still reading.

“The man to clean the windows, ma’am,” apologized Jennings.

“Oh, very well,” she nodded, taking up her book, to go.  Then, recalling the frequent injunctions of Kennedy, she paused long enough to speak quietly to Jennings.

“Stay here and watch him,” she whispered as she went out.

Jennings nodded, while Dan opened a window and set to work.

. . . . . . . .

Elaine had scarcely started again in her car down the crowded narrow street.  From her position she could not possibly have seen Johnnie, another of the Brotherhood, watching her eagerly up the street.

But as her car approached, Johnnie, with great determination, pulled himself together and ran forward across the street.  She saw that.

“Oh!” she screamed, her heart almost stopping.

He had fallen directly in front of the wheels of the car, apparently, and although the chauffeur stopped with a jolt, it seemed that the boy had been run over.

They jumped out.  There he was, sure enough, under the very wheels.  People came running now in all directions and lifted him up, groaning piteously.  He seemed literally twisted into a knot which looked as if every bone in his body was broken or dislocated.

Elaine was overcome.  For, following their natural instincts the crowd began pushing in with cries of “Lynch the driver!” It would have gone hard with him, too, if she had not interfered.

“Here!” cried Elaine, stepping in.  “It wasn’t his fault.  The boy ran across the street right in front of the car.  Now—­we’re just going to rush this boy to the hospital—­right away!”

She lifted Johnnie gently into the car herself and they drove off, to a very vigorous blowing of the horn.