There she saw us.  To that extent the valet had told the truth.  Kennedy was standing in deep thought, while I sat on an old box, smoking a cigarette—­very miserable.

. . . . . . . .

Was this to be the sole outcome of Kennedy’s clever ruse, I was wondering.  Were we only to be shipwrecked in sight of port?

Watching his chance, when the street was deserted, the Clutching Hand and his followers had hustled us over to the new hangout across from the laboratory.  There they had met more crooks and had thrust us into this vile hole.  As the various ineffectual schemes for escape surged through my head, I happened to look up and caught a glance of horror on Craig’s face.  I followed his eyes.  There, above us, was Elaine!

I saw her look from us to the Clutching Hand in terror.  But none of us uttered a word.

“I will now show you, my dear young lady,” almost hissed the Clutching Hand at length, “as pretty a game of hide and seek as you have ever seen.”

As he said it, another trap door near the infra-red ray machine was opened and a beam of light burst through.  I knew it was not that which we had to fear, but the invisible rays that accompanied it, the rays that had affected the bolometer.

Just then a spot of light showed near my foot, moving about the cement floor until it fell on my shoe.  Instantly, the leather charred, even before I could move.

Kennedy and I leaped to our feet and drew back.  The beam followed us.  We retreated further.  Still it followed, inexorably.

Clutching Hand was now holding Elaine near the door where she could not help seeing, laughing diabolically while he directed LeCroix and the rest to work the infra-red ray apparatus through the trap.

As we dodged from corner to corner, endeavoring to keep the red ray from touching us, the crooks seemed in no hurry, but rather to enjoy prolonging the torture as does a cat with a mouse.

“Please—­oh, please—­stop!” begged Elaine.

Clutching Hand only laughed with fiendish delight and urged his men on.

The thing was getting closer and closer.

Suddenly we heard a strange voice ring out above us.

“Police!”

“Where?” growled the Clutching Hand in fury.

“Outside—­a raid!  Run!  He’s told them!”

Already we could hear the hammers and axes of the police whom Kennedy had called upon before, as they battered at the outside door.

At that door a moment before, the lookout suddenly had given a startled stare and a suppressed cry.  Glancing down the street he had seen a police patrol in which were a score or more of the strongarm squad.  They had jumped out, some carrying sledgehammers, others axes.

Almost before he could cry out and retreat to give a warning, they had reached the door and the first resounding blows had been struck.