Part 26 (2/2)

Everything we could do to make Rusty understand that we wanted him to follow a trail was unavailing. He simply could not do it. Kennedy coaxed and scolded. Rusty merely sat up on his hind legs and begged with those irresistible brown eyes.

”You can't make a bloodhound out of a collie,” despaired Craig, looking about again helplessly.

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a police whistle. He blew three sharp blasts.

Would it bring help?

While we were thus despairing, the continued absence of Dr. Morton from home had alarmed his family and had set in motion another train of events.

When he did not return, and could not be located at the place to which he was supposed to have gone, several policemen had been summoned to his house, and they had come, finally, with real bloodhounds from a suburban station.

There were the tracks of his car. That the police themselves could follow, while two men came along holding in leash the pack, leaders of which were ”Searchlight” and ”Bob.”

It had not been long before the party came across the deserted runabout beside the road. There they had stopped, for a moment.

It was just then that they heard Kennedy's call, and one of them had been detailed to answer it.

”Well, what do YOU want?” asked the officer, eyeing Kennedy suspiciously as he stood there with the armor. ”What's them pieces of tin--hey?”

Kennedy quickly flashed his own special badge. ”I want to trail a girl,” he exclaimed hurriedly. ”Can I find a bloodhound about here?”

”A hound? Why, we have a pack--over there.”

”Bring them--quick!” ordered Craig.

The policeman, who was an intelligent fellow, saw at once that, as Kennedy said, the two trails probably crossed. He shouted and in a few seconds the others, with the pack, came.

A brief parley resulted in our joining forces.

Kennedy held the armor down to the dogs. ”Searchlight” gave a low whine, then, followed by ”Bob” and the others, was off, all with noses close to the ground. We followed.

The armor was, after all, the missing link.

Through woods and fields the dogs led us.

Would we be in time to rescue Elaine?

In the mysterious haunt of the Clutching Hand, all were still standing around Elaine and the wounded Pitts Slim.

Just then a cry from one of the group startled the rest. One of them, less hardened than the Clutching Hand, had turned away from the sight, had gone to the window, and had been attracted by something outside.

”Look!” he cried.

From the absolute stillness of death, there was now wild excitement among the crooks.

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