There was something of the look of the hunted animal brought to bay
at last in Carlton Dunlap's face as he let himself into his
apartment late one night toward the close of the year.
"Jameson, I want you to get the real story about that friend of
yours, Professor Kennedy," announced the managing editor of the
Star, early one afternoon when I had been summoned into the
sanctum.
"Jameson, here's a story I wish you'd follow up," remarked the
managing editor of the Star to me one evening after I had turned
in an assignment of the late afternoon.
"You are aware, I suppose, Marshall, that there have been
considerably over a million dollars' worth of automobiles stolen
in this city during the past few months?" asked Guy Garrick one
night when I had dropped into his office.
Kennedy's suit-case was lying open on the bed, and he was literally
throwing things into it from his chiffonier, as I entered after a
hurried trip up-town from the Star office in response to an urgent
message from him.
Rescued by Kennedy at last from the terrible incubus of Bennett's
persecution in his double life of lawyer and master criminal,
Elaine had, for the first time in many weeks, a feeling of
security.
"I am not by nature a spy, Professor Kennedy, but--well, sometimes
one is forced into something like that." Maude Euston, who had
sought out Craig in his laboratory, was a striking girl, not
merely because she was pretty or because her gown was modish.
Perhaps it was her sincerity and art ...
As I look back now on the sensational events of the past months
since the great European War began, it seems to me as if there had
never been a period in Craig Kennedy's life more replete with
thrilling adventures than this.