The Web of the Golden Spider Read online

  CHAPTER VII

  _The Game Continues_

  It was almost noon, which made it eight hours since Wilson was carriedout of the house. He had had less than four hours' sleep and only theslight nourishment he had received at the hospital since he and thegirl dined at midnight, yet he was now fairly strong. His head feltsore and bruised, but he was free of the blinding ache which soweakened him in the morning. An austere life together with the ruggedconstitution he inherited from his Puritan ancestors was now standinghim in good stead. He turned into the narrow street which ran alongthe water front in the rear of the Beacon Street houses and began hissearch for the gate which had admitted him to so many unforeseencomplications. The river which had raged so turbulently in the darkwas now as mild and blue as the sky above. A few clouds, all that wereleft of the threatening skies of the morning, scudded before awesterly breeze. It was a fair June day--every house flooded withsunshine until, however humble, it looked for the moment like asultan's palace. The path before him was no longer a blind alleyleading from danger into chaos.

  He found that nearly a third of the houses were closed for the summer,and that of these at least one half had small doors leading intofenced courtyards in the rear. There was not a single mark by which hemight identify that one which he had battered down. He had only forcedthe lock so that the door when held closed again would show no sign ofhaving been touched. The priest, or whoever it was who had enteredafter him, must have taken the same precaution, for every gate was nowfast shut. It seemed a hopeless search. Then he happened to rememberthat the policeman had said that there was glass atop this particularwall. He retraced his steps. The clue was a good one; he discoveredwith a bounding heart that one alone of all the entrances was soprotected. He tried the door, and found to his further relief that itgave readily. He stepped within and closed the gate behind him. He sawthen that it had been held by the same piece of joist he himself hadused, but had been so hastily and lightly fixed as merely to hold thedoor shut. He ran across the yard and in another minute was throughthe window and once again in the lower hall. It was fairly light therenow; he did not feel as though this was the same house. This was thethird time that he had hurried along this passage on his way tounknown conditions above, and each time, though within a period ofless than a full day, had marked a crisis in his life.

  As he sprang up the stairs it did not occur to him that he was unarmedand yet running full ahead into what had proven a danger spot. Itwould have mattered nothing had he realized this. He had not beenlong enough in such games to value precaution. To reach her side asquickly as possible was the only idea he could grasp now. At the topof the second flight he called her name. He received no reply.

  He crossed the hall and pushed aside the curtains which before hadconcealed his unknown assailant. The blinds were still closed, so thatthe room was in semi-darkness. The fire had gone out. There was nosign of a human being. Wilson shouted her name once again. The silenceclosed in upon him oppressively. He saw the dead hearth, saw the chairin which she had curled herself up and gone to sleep, saw the rug uponwhich Sorez had reclined, saw the very spot where she had sat with theimage in her lap, saw where she had stood as she had thrust therevolver into his hand and sent him on his ill-omened errand. But allthese things only emphasized her absence. It was as though he werelooking upon the scene of events of a year past. She had gone.

  He hurried into the next room--the room where Sorez, fainting, hadfumbled at the safe until he opened it--the room where he hadfirst seen the image which had really been the source of all hismisfortunes. The safe door was closed, but about the floor lay anumber of loose papers, as though the safe had been hastilyransacked. The ebony box which had contained the idol was gone. Someof the papers were torn, which seemed to show that this had beendone by the owner in preparing for hasty flight rather than by athief, who would merely rummage through them. Wilson picked up anenvelope bearing a foreign postmark. It was addressed to Dr. CarlSorez, and bore the number of the street where this house was located.The stamp was of the small South American Republic of Carlina andthe postmark "Bogova." Wilson thrust the empty envelope in hispocket.

  Coming out of here, he next began a systematic examination of everyroom on that floor. In the boudoir where he had found clothes for thegirl, he discovered her old garments still hanging where she hadplaced them to dry. Her dress was spread across the back of a chair,her stockings were below them, and her tiny mud-bespattered shoes onthe floor. They made him start as though he had suddenly come upon thegirl herself. He crossed the room and almost timidly placed his handsupon the folds of the gown. These things were so intimate a part ofher that it was almost like touching her hand. It brought up to himvery vividly the picture of her as she stood shivering with the cold,all dripping wet before the flames. His throat ached at therecollection. It had never occurred to him that she might vanish likethis unless, as he had half feared, he might return to find Sorezdead. This new turn left him more bewildered than ever. He went intoevery room of the house from attic to cellar and returned again to thestudy with only this fact of her disappearance to reward him for hisefforts of the last three hours.

  Had this early morning intruder abducted them both, or had theysuccessfully hidden themselves until after he left and then, in apanic, fled? Had the priest, fearing for Wilson's life, thrown himinto the carriage rather than have on his hands a possible murder? Orafter the priest had gone did Sorez find him and take this way to ridhimself of an influence that might destroy his power over the girl?This last would have been impossible of accomplishment if the girlherself knew of it. The other theories seemed improbable. At any rate,there was little use in sitting here speculating, when the problemstill remained of how to locate the girl.

  He made his way back to the safe and examined some of the tornletters; they were all in Spanish. A large part of them bore the samepostmark, "Bogova, Republic of Carlina." The sight of the safe againrecalled to him the fact that he still had in his possession theparchment which had dropped from the interior of the idol. It waspossible that this might contain some information which would at anyrate explain the value which these two men evidently placed upon it.He took it out of his pocket and looked at it with some curiosity. Itwas very tightly rolled in a covering of what appeared to be oilskin.He cut the threads which held it together and found a second coveringsewed with sinew of some sort. This smelled musty. Cutting this, hefound still a third covering of a finely pounded metal looking likegold-foil. This removed revealed a roll of parchment some four incheslong and of about an inch in thickness. When unrolled Wilson saw thatthere were two parchments; one a roughly drawn map, and the other adocument covered with an exceedingly fine script which he could not inthis light make out at all. Without a strong magnifying glass, not aword was decipherable. He thrust it back in his pocket with a sense ofdisappointment, when he recalled that he could take it to the PublicLibrary which was not far from there and secure a reading glass whichwould make it all clear. He would complete his investigation in thehouse and then go to the reading room where he had spent so much ofhis time during the first week he was in Boston.

  He picked up several fragments of the letters scattered about, in thehope of obtaining at least some knowledge of Sorez. The fact that theman had stopped to tear them up seemed to prove that he had made plansto depart for good, sweeping everything from the safe and hastilydestroying what was not valuable. Wilson knew a little Spanish and sawthat most of the letters were of recent date and related to the deathof a niece. Others mentioned the unsettled condition of governmentaffairs in Carlina. At one time Sorez must have been very close to theruling party, for several of the letters were from a man who evidentlystood high in the ministry, judged by the intimacy which he displayedwith affairs of state. He spoke several times of the Expedition of theHills, in which Sorez had apparently played a part. But the mostsignificant clause which Wilson found in his hasty examination of theremnants was this reference:

  "There is still, I hear, a g
reat bitterness felt among the Mountain tribes over the disappearance of the idol of their Sun God. They blame this on the government and more than half suspect that you were an important factor in its vanishing. Have a care and keep a sharp lookout. You know their priest is no ordinary man. They have implicit faith that he will charm it back to them."

  This was dated three months before. Wilson put the few remaining bitsof this letter in his pocket. Was it possible that this grinning idolwhich already had played so important a part in his own life was theone mentioned here? And the priest of whom Sorez spoke--could it be hewho ruled these tribes in the Andes? It was possible--Lord, yes,_anything_ was possible. But none of these things hinted as to wherethe girl now was.

  He came back into the study and took a look into the small room to theleft. He saw his own clothes there. He had forgotten all about them.They were wrinkled and scarcely fit to wear--all but his old slouchhat. He smiled as he recalled that at school it was thought he showedundue levity for a theological student in wearing so weather-beatenand rakish a hat. He was glad of the opportunity to exchange for itthe one he now wore. He picked it up from the chair where it lay.Beneath the rim, but protruding so as to be easily seen, was a note.He snatched it out, knowing it was from her as truly as though he hadheard her voice. It read:

  "DEAR COMRADE:

  I don't know what has become of you, but I know that if you're alive you'll come back for me. We are leaving here now. I haven't time to tell you more. Go to the telephone and ring up Belmont 2748.

  Hastily, your comrade, JO MANNING."

  Wilson caught his breath. With the quick relief he felt almostlight-headed. She was alive--she had thought of him--she had trustedhim! It deepened the mystery of how he had come to be carried from thehouse--of where they succeeded in hiding themselves--but, Lord, he wasthankful for it all now. He would have undergone double what he hadbeen through for the reward of this note--for this assurance of herfaith in him. It cemented their friendship as nothing else could. Forhim it went deeper. The words, "You'll come back here for me," tingledthrough his brain like some sweet song. She was alive--alive andwaiting for him to come back. There is nothing finer to a man thanthis knowledge, that some one is waiting his return. It was an emotionthat Wilson in his somewhat lonely life had never experienced save inso attenuated a form as not to be noticeable. He lingered a momentover the thought, and then, crushing the old hat--now doublydear--over his bandaged head, hurried out of this house in which hehad run almost the gamut of human emotions. He went out by the laundrywindow, closing it behind him, across the courtyard, and made thestreet without being seen. That was the last time, he thought, that hewould ever set foot within that building. He didn't find a publictelephone until he reached Tremont Street. He entered the booth withhis heart beating up in his throat. It didn't seem possible that whena few minutes ago he didn't know whether she was dead or alive, thathe could now seat himself here and hope to hear her voice. His handtrembled as he took down the receiver. It seemed an eternity before hegot central; another before she connected him with Belmont. He grewirritable with impatience over the length of time that elapsed beforehe heard,

  "A dime, please."

  He was forced to drop the receiver and go out for change. Every clerkwas busy, but he interrupted one of them with a peremptory demand forchange. The clerk, taken by surprise, actually obeyed the commandwithout a word. When Wilson finally succeeded in getting the number,he heard a man's voice, evidently a servant. The latter did not knowof a Miss Manning. Who did live there? The servant, grown suspiciousand bold, replied,

  "Never mind now, but if ye wishes to talk with any Miss Manning ye cantry somewheres else. Good-bye."

  "See here--wait a minute. I tell you the girl is there, and I musttalk to her."

  "An' I'm telling ye she isn't."

  "Is there a Mr. Sorez there----"

  "Oh, the man who is just after comin'? Wait a minute now," he put inmore civilly, "an' I'll see, sor."

  Wilson breathed once more. He started at every fairy clicking andjingle which came over the waiting line.

  "Waiting?"

  He almost shouted his reply in fear lest he be cut off.

  "Yes! Yes! waiting. Don't cut me off. Don't----"

  "Is this you?"

  The voice came timidly, doubtingly--with a little tremor in it, but itwas her voice.

  He had not known it long, and yet it was as though he had always knownit.

  "Jo--comrade--are you safe?"

  "Yes, and you? Oh, David!" she spoke his name hesitatingly, "David,where did you go?"

  "I was hurt a little. I lost consciousness."

  "Hurt, David?"

  "Not seriously, but that is why I couldn't come back. I was carried toa hospital."

  "David!"

  Her voice was tender with sympathy.

  "And you--I came back to the study for you. You were gone."

  "We were hidden. There is a secret room where we stayed untildaylight."

  "Then it was----"

  "The priest. Sorez was so weak and frightened."

  "He came for the image?"

  "Yes, but he did not get it. Was it he who--who hurt you, David?"

  "It must have been. It was just as I came into the study."

  "And he carried you out?"

  "Because he thought the house empty, I guess, and feared I was hurtworse than I was."

  "And you really are not badly hurt?"

  "Not badly."

  "But how much--in what way?"

  "Just a blow on the head. Please not to think about it."

  "I have thought so many horrible things."

  "Where are you now?"

  "Mr. Sorez did not dare to stay there. He really is much stronger, andso he came here to a friend's. I did not dare to let him come alone."

  "But you aren't going to stay there. What are you going to do now?"

  He thought she hesitated for a moment.

  "I can't tell, David. My head is in such a whirl."

  "You ought to go back home," he suggested.

  "Home? My home is with my father, and nowhere else."

  "I want to see you."

  "And I want to see you, David, but----"

  "I'm coming out there now."

  "No! no! not yet, David."

  "Why not?"

  "Because----"

  "Why not? I must see you."

  "Because," she said, as though with sudden determination, "becausefirst I wish to make up my mind to something. I must do it by myself,David."

  "I'll not disturb you in that. I just wish to see you."

  "But you would disturb me."

  "How?"

  "I can't tell you."

  There was a moment's pause. Then,

  "David, I may go away a long distance."

  "Where?"

  "I can't tell you now, but I may go at once. This--this may be thelast time I can talk with you for--oh, for months."

  He caught his breath.

  "What do you mean by that? What has happened?"

  "I have promised not to tell."

  "But you must, girl. Why--you--this man Sorez has no right to exactpromises from you. He----"

  "You don't understand, David. It--it has to do with my father andwith--with what I saw."

  "In that cursed image?"

  "Yes, the image. But it is not cursed, David."

  "It is--it is if it takes you away."

  "You see," she trembled, "you see, I can't discuss it with you."

  "But I don't see. I think you ought--you must----"

  "Must, David?"

  "No--not that. I suppose I haven't the right, only--well, it sort oftakes my breath away, you see, to think of your going off--out of mylife again."

  "It's odd that you should mind--I've been in it so short a time."

  "You've been in it for years," he ran on impulsively. "You
've been init ever since I learned to look between the stars and found youthere."

  There was silence for a moment, and then he heard her voice,

  "David."

  "Yes."

  "I have a feeling that I may come back into it again."

  "You'll never go out of it. I'll not let you. I'll----"

  "Don't be foolish, David. And now I must go. But, David--are youlistening, David?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't try to find me. Don't try to see me. I'm safe, but if I shouldneed you, I'll send for you. Will you come?"

  "To the ends of the earth."

  "You must not ring me up again. But before I go away, if I do go away,I'll write to you and tell you where. I will write you in care of theGeneral Delivery, Boston--will that reach you?"

  "Yes, but----"

  "That is all, David. That _must_ be all now, for I must go.Good-bye."

  "Jo--comrade!"

  "Good-bye."

  "Just a minute, I----"

  But he heard the little click of the receiver and knew that she hadgone.