The Dream Doctor HTML version
22. The X-Ray "Movies"
Still holding Dana Phelps between us, we hurried toward the tomb and entered. While our
attention had been diverted in the direction of the swamp, the body of Montague Phelps
had been stolen.
Dana Phelps was still deliberately brushing off his clothes. Had he been in league with
them, executing a flank movement to divert our attention? Or had it all been pure chance?
"Well?" demanded Andrews.
"Well?" replied Dana.
Kennedy said nothing, and I felt that, with our capture, the mystery seemed to have
deepened rather than cleared.
As Andrews and Phelps faced each other, I noticed that the latter was now and then
endeavouring to cover his wrist, where the dog had torn his coat sleeve.
"Are you hurt badly?" inquired Kennedy.
Dana said nothing, but backed away. Kennedy advanced, insisting on looking at the
wounds. As he looked he disclosed a semicircle of marks.
"Not a dog bite," he whispered, turning to me and fumbling in his pocket. "Besides, those
marks are a couple of days old. They have scabs on them."
He had pulled out a pencil and a piece of paper, and, unknown to Phelps, was writing in
the darkness. I leaned over. Near the point, in the tube through which the point for
writing was, protruded a small accumulator and tiny electric lamp which threw a little
disc of light, so small that it could be hidden by the hand, yet quite sufficient to guide
Craig in moving the point of his pencil for the proper formation of whatever he was
recording on the surface of the paper.
"An electric-light pencil," he remarked laconically, in an undertone.
"Who were the others?" demanded Andrews of Dana.
There was a pause as though he were debating whether or not to answer at all. "I don't
know," he said at length. "I wish I did."
"You don't know?" queried Andrews, with incredulity.
"No, I say I wish I did know. You and your dog interrupted me just as I was about to find