The Spider's Reward

Front matter

The Spider's Reward

by Johnston McCulley

Author of “The Black Star” Series, “The Thubway Tham” Series, etc.

1. Startling Orders

CHAPTER I.

STARTLING ORDERS.

TOSSING away the end of his cigarette John Warwick got slowly out of the easy-chair, walked languidly across the big living room to the nearest window, and stood there looking at the busy avenue far below him, at the throngs of hurrying people, the rushing automobiles, the charging trucks.

Presently he turned around and paced the full length of the room, stopped before a bookcase in a moment of indecision, finally turned away from it without selecting a book to read, and sat down beside the table again. He sighed, rubbed one hand across his eyes, and then contemplated a corner of the room as a man who looks and yet fails to see.

Togo, Warwick's Japanese valet, was watching his master closely while pretending to go about his regular work. Togo was more than a mere valet. He was a gentleman's man, and almost a perfect one, but he also was a sort of comrade in arms to John Warwick, and he took a more personal interest in Warwick and his affairs that was something more than an evident desire to earn his salary and keep his position.

“You are not feeling well, sar?” Togo asked in a respectful manner, looking at John Warwick searchingly again. “Is there something I can get for you, sar?”

Warwick glanced across the room.

“I can't complain, old top,” Warwick replied. “Heart and liver are all right, and all that sort of thing. I imagine that I am not in for a bit of illness, if that is what you mean. Nothing of the sort! My word, no!”

“Pardon, sar, but I thought you were acting in a peculiar manner,” Togo said. “You seemed2”

“Seemed to be a bit undecided, eh?” Warwick asked. “Quite so! Precisely! Did I elect to speak in vulgar idioms, Togo, honorable Jap, I'd remark at this juncture that I fancy I have what is called a—well, a hunch.”

“Yes, sar.”

“Now and then it is my fortune to get one of those hunch things, as perhaps you may have noticed. It always pays to give some attention to a hunch—what? My word, yes! Quite so! Got in trouble once because I did not listen to the sound of a hunch; I remember it distinctly.”

“Yes, sar.”

“Life is a beastly bore at times; What?” Warwick went on. “In some ways it is great, and in other ways it appears to be absolutely useless, and all that sort of thing.”

“Yes, sar,” said Togo.

“Here I am, Togo, old top, with ample of the world's goods, and engaged to be married to the sweetest little girl in all the word, and yet I am not feeling at all fit. My word. I have it—inaction! That is the whole trouble!”

“I fancy so, sar,” Togo said, grinning slightly as he turned away from the table.

“That's right—grin, you fraud!” Warwick exclaimed. “You are suffering from inaction yourself, confound it! Eager to be up and doing, and all that sort of thing! I recognize the symptoms, honorable Jap. And I have a hunch!”

“Sar?”

“Our—er—that is to say, our flabby-cheeked friend whose name we need not mention at this time—he has not communicated with us recently, at least officially.”

“No, sar,” said Togo.

“And I have a hunch that it is about time for him to communicate with us,” Warwick went on. “Saw him the other day for a minute, but he did not mention business. Wish he'd communicate—what? My word, yes! Like to be busy, and all that sort of silly rot! And, besides2”

John Warwick ceased speaking, and smiled, and Togo grinned again as he caught his master's eye. And then, thinking that perhaps he had gone a bit too far, the wily Japanese hurried into the adjoining room and pretended to be very busy.

Lighting another cigarette, Warwick leaned back in the easy-chair, and gave himself up to thought. He was almost done with his work as a member of the band controlled by that individual known as The Spider, the clever super-criminal whose mere name caused the police of more than one country to gnash their teeth in rage. One more task, and then John Warwick would be free.

He reviewed his association with The Spider. Ruined by men of his own social set, whom he had believed to be his friends, Warwick had been enlightened by The Spider, and then had been offered membership in the band. He had accepted, for risk and adventure called to him, and he also wanted to acquire funds with which to maintain his place in society. John Warwick was the scion of an old family of prominence and culture, but the last of his line. He proved to be of great value to The Spider, working with the men and women of his own social circle, and being particularly happy when he could strike at the pocketbook of one of the pseudofriends who had ruined him financially through crooked business deals. He had built up his fortune again, the supercriminal helping him as a reward for work well done. And then love had come, unexpected and unannounced.

The Spider had a niece, Silvia Rodney. Warwick had pretended to be interested in her at first because it gave him an excellent excuse to visit frequently the mansion on American Boulevard, where The Spider had his home and headquarters. This interest had developed into love with a speed that was little less than amazing, and John Warwick found himself in a predicament, for Silvia Rodney had not known her uncle's true character. She had believed him to be the agent of a foreign power, and thought that he and the men and women working with him were laboring for the good of humanity. Warwick was too honorable to speak of love without telling the girl that he was a criminal of a sort, and The Spider had forbidden him doing that. So he had remained silent—and the girl had wondered at the reason for it.

Then there had come a day when Silvia Rodney told Warwick that she knew of her uncle's affairs. He declared his love after that, but also declared that he would not marry and take his proper place in society unless The Spider released him as a member of the band. There always was the chance of being caught, apprehended, branded as a criminal; in fact, Warwick had had some rather narrow escapes—and he did not care to put Silvia's happiness in jeopardy.

The Spider had made an agreement with him. Warwick was to aid in two more enterprises already arranged, and after that he was to be released as a a member of the band, and could marry Silvia. One of these enterprises already had been carried out successfully. John Warwick was eager to carry out the last and then claim his bride. For more than two weeks, however, there had come no orders from The Spider.

“It's about time for the old boy to pull off something,” Warwick mused. “He's getting things ready, I suppose. Ought to be hearing from him one of these fine days. My word, yes! Have a sort of premonition, too!”

Warwick decided that he would be glad when the affair was over. He had enjoyed the mad adventure of it, but he had discovered that a life of crime did not appeal to him, even if it was crime that was not particularly vicious.

He would have to be very careful about this last enterprise, he told himself now, shuddering a bit. He did not want to make some fatal mistake at the eleventh hour and have his life and happiness wrecked, as well as the life and happiness of Silvia. He'd have to be more than ordinarily careful, he mused.

Warwick got up again, and once more he paced the floor, and after a time came to a stop beside the window.

“Suppose I'd better drop in at the club,” he told himself. “Got to have human association—what?”

He heard the telephone bell ring, heard Togo hurry to answer the signal, and went himself into another room to prepare for his visit to the club. Togo appeared before him.

“Sar.”

“Well?”

“You are to go immediately, sar.”

“To the house of—er—our flabby-cheeked friend?” Warwick asked, light coming into his eyes.

“Yes, sar,” Togo said.

“Ah! Action at last, eh? Have my roadster at the curb, Togo, old top, inside five minutes.”

It did not take John Warwick quite five minutes to get down in the elevator, leave the apartment house, and reach the curb. He sprang into the powerful roadster and started across the city. He smiled at the traffic policemen, gave other machines the best of it, acted like a happy man.

“The last little enterprise, what?” Warwick told himself. “Be jolly well glad to have an end of it. Freedom, then—what? Silvia too. My word!”

He drove rapidly down American Boulevard and turned into the driveway at The Spider's residence. He got out of the roadster and hurried up the steps to the front door. Silvia Rodney opened it for him, her face wreathed in smiles.

“Glad to see me, what?” Warwick asked, indulging in the privilege of an engaged man.

“Of course,” she said. “But you are to hurry right up to uncle's den.”

“Jolly old uncle feeling fit?”

“He has been acting in a peculiar manner the last two days, John,” Silvia said.

“Nothing wrong, I hope?”

“He doesn't act as if anything were wrong; he acts as if he was happy about something.”

“Um! Got something up his sleeve then, what? Old boy planning a big thing, no doubt.”

“And this—this is to be the last, John?”

“So your jolly old uncle promised. Released from the band after this—and then we can be married.”

Silvia blushed and walked with him to the foot of the stairs. Warwick left her there and hurried up the flight, and went along the hall to the door of the supercriminal's den.

He knocked, and the voice of The Spider bade him enter. Warwick stepped into the room and closed and bolted the door behind him, as was customary when reporting in the den for a conference or orders. Then he turned to face the supercriminal.

The Spider was sitting in an invalid's chair behind the big mahogany desk, his fat hands spread out before him, his little eyes glittering, his flabby cheeks shaking. He had been repulsive to John Warwick at first, but Warwick was getting over that now. He knew that The Spider, despite his past history, was kind at heart and just in many things.

“Sit down, John,” The Spider said.

He spoke as a father might speak to a son, and then he closed his eyes and brushed one fat hand across them, as if thinking. Warwick waited for him to speak, meanwhile glancing around the room.

The Spider's den was unique in many ways. There were the little windows with the network of steel bars across them. Against the walls were rows of filing cases, and John Warwick knew that they were filled with information valuable to The Spider. Many things were filed there concerning many men, things that some of those men did not believe were known to others.

Information in those filing cabinets dealt with criminals and officers of the law, with poor men and wealthy men, with the scum of the earth and the highest in society throughout the world. The Spider was a methodical man; he handled his band with intelligence, and he never worked in the dark.

After a time, The Spider opened his eyes and smiled across the desk at Warwick. It was a horrible smile, but Warwick knew that it was a kind one.

“Well, John, I suppose that you are eager for work?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So eager to leave my band, then?”

“Not exactly that.”

“I understand,” said The Spider. “You want to engage in this last bit of work so that you can marry Silvia and start on your honeymoon. I cannot say that I blame you. Well, John, you will be leaving the band soon, if this last thing works out all right. I may as well tell you, in strict confidence, that within a short time there will be no band.”

“Sir?” Warwick gasped.

“I am an old man, and a crippled one,” said The Spider. “Now that Silvia knows her uncle for what he is, I am eager to reform. You would not marry her without getting your release, because you feared something might happen to bring sorrow to her. I am going to disband my men and women for the same reason.”

“Sir?” Warwick gasped again.

“This last little enterprise—it is to square accounts with two men, John. After it is done, I am going to be liberal with my people, and then dismiss them. I shall spend my remaining days in idleness and honest living. I feel that I owe it to Silvia. If anything happened to me after her marriage to you—if I were apprehended, for instance—it would bring shame to you both. And so2”

“You don't know how happy this makes me, sir,” Warwick told him.

“I thought that you'd be pleased, John. Well, let us get down to business. I want to impress upon you that a great deal depends upon this last bit of work. The slightest mistake might wreck everything, you see.”

“Under the circumstances, you may depend upon me to be extremely careful, sir,” Warwick said. “Never failed yet, have I? Certainly do not want to fail now. My word, no!”

“Listen attentively, John, while I give you your instructions,” The Spider said. “I think that everything can be done by to-morrow morning. I have made certain arrangements.”

“You always make perfect arrangements, sir,” Warwick told him sincerely.

“There are two men in this city with whom I had certain dealings years ago,” the supercriminal said, ignoring the compliment, as he always did. “One of them did me a great service—and the other did a great wrong. John, I intend to reward them both—and to-night. I shall need your help.”

“You have but to command, sir.”

“Pay close attention, then.”

John Warwick bent across the desk, his elbows resting upon it, and the supercriminal spoke in low, tense tones, whispering at times, his little, black eyes glittering, now with malevolence and now with humor. Warwick's mouth dropped open, he breathed quicker, and gave every evidence of being excited, something that was foreign to the nature of John Warwick. The Spider spoke for almost half an hour.

“My word!” Warwick gasped, when the supercriminal had finished. “Oh, my word!”

2. What Happened to Togo

CHAPTER II.

WHAT HAPPENED TO TOGO.

HIS work about Warwick's apartment finished, Togo walked through the rooms to see that everything was in its proper place, and then went to a window and looked down at the street.

There was an unusual grin on Togo's face. That countenance was alight with anticipation. Whenever the supercriminal issued orders to John Warwick, there was a chance that Togo would be called in to aid in carrying out those orders, and Togo lived for the moments when he was indulging in some sort of adventure with Warwick.

There had been times when Togo had given Warwick help at the crucial moment. On one occasion, the hand of the law might have clutched John Warwick by the shoulder, had it not been for Togo. He gloried in Warwick's spirit, admired his mannerisms and bodily strength, and liked to see him triumph.

Togo knew that Warwick was to retire from The Spider's band when he had accomplished one more task, that Warwick would be married to Silva Rodney, and that he would be retained in Warwick's employ. He felt reasonably certain that this last task would be something stupendous, and so he hoped to have a hand in the work.

It was dusk outside, and the street lights were beginning to flash. Togo drew the shades down and fixed the curtains and snapped on soft lights throughout the suite. Warwick would return, eager for his work and probably in a hurry. Undoubtedly he would want dinner served at once from the restaurant on the ground floor, would require certain articles of clothing, and Togo would be busy.

Togo sat down beside the table and began rearranging some things on it. The telephone bell rang, and he hurried into the entrance hall to answer.

“That you, Togo?” came over the wire.

“Yes, sar"

“I want you to get a taxicab, Togo, and drive as swiftly as possible along the river, road. Get out of the cab at the old summer resort, pay the chauffeur and send him back to the city. You understand that much?”

“Yes, sar.”

“After the chauffeur has driven away, walk along the road toward the north. You will come to an old shed at the left of the road. Old, ramshackle ruin—all that sort of thing. Meet me at the shed. Got it—what?”

“Yes, sar. Any further orders, sar?”

“Yes; bring me that old black suit, and a dark cap of some sort—that is all.”

“Yes, sar.”

“And be a bit quick about it!”

The connection was broken. Togo, grinning again, hung up the receiver and turned away from the telephone. His wish had come true—John Warwick was going to use him in this last adventure under the banner of The Spider.

Togo wasted no time. He telephoned down to the office to have a taxicab waiting, and then he got the suit and a cap and put them into a small bag. He hurried down in the elevator and sprang into the taxi, giving the chauffeur his directions and urging speed.

The machine followed the broad avenue until it came to a boulevard; then traversed a district of pretentious residences. After a time the boulevard ran into the road that followed the winding course of the river,

Here there were but few houses. It was quite dark now, but there was a bright moon. Togo leaned back against the cushions, consulted his watch every few minutes, and wished that he already was at his destination. When the time for action did arrive, Togo wanted to be up and doing.

Presently the chauffeur stopped the taxicab before the old summer resort, now a jumble of weather-beaten buildings that had seen gay times in years gone by, before a larger and better resort had been constructed at a greater distance up the river.

Togo got out, put the bag on the ground, and paid the chauffeur, giving him a handsome tip. Then he picked up the bag and started along the road.

When he came to the first clump of trees, he dodged into the shadows and remained there until the chauffeur had turned the taxi around and started back toward the city, and the red tail-light was but a pin point in the distance. Then Togo went on along the road.

He walked at the edge, near the woods, walked softly and listened for unusual noises. Togo was alert when attending to the business of The Spider or John Warwick. He did not pretend to guess what task Warwick had to accomplish, or why he should direct Togo to such an out-of-the-way place. Warwick, he knew, would reveal as much as he pleased when he pleased.

On along the road he went, like a shadow, making not the slightest noise and yet walking swiftly. In time he could see the old shed to the left of the road. He stopped behind a clump of brush and watched it for a moment. He could see no human being in the vicinity, but he thought that a tiny flash of light came from the shed once or twice, as if some man there was using an electric torch.

Then he rememberd Warwick's junction to hasten, and hurried forward with the bag. He crossed a tiny clearing where the bright moonlight revealed him, and entered the shadows again. He reached the side of the old shed and started around it to find a window or door by which he could enter, expecting momentarily to hear the sibilant hiss of John Warwick directing him.

He came to the corner of the building and went on, feeling the wall. Out of the darkness came a blow. Togo groaned once and sank to the ground.

He returned to consciousness to find himself almost smothered. For a moment Togo made no move. His head ached because of the blow he had received, the effects of it made him ill. He knew only that he scarcely could breathe, could not move hands or legs, and that something had been thrust into his mouth as a gag, something that seemed filled with lint and dust.

Then he realized something else. To his ears came a creaking as of an old wagon, the sounds of horses' hoofs beating the hard earth, the muttered voices of two men in conversation. There was a peculiar motion, also.

Togo's brain cleared, and he realized what had taken place. He had walked into a trap of some sort, though he did not understand just how. He had been rendered unconscious by a blow, and now he was stretched in the bottom of a wagon, lashed there, gagged, and with something flung over him to hide him from the view of any passer-by. The wagon was in motion, carrying him—where?

A sense of alarm came to Togo then. John Warwick had called him on the telephone and had ordered him to go to the old shed with the suit and cap. He had gone there, and had met with violence. Did that mean that some of The Spider's foes had intercepted Warwick and attended to him before Togo arrived, and then had waited for Togo and attended to him? Had John Warwick been harmed? Was he in danger now? And where was Togo being taken.

The feeling of dizziness and nausea had left him in part now, and he began to take stock. He was covered with a mass of old sacks, he made out. Part of one of them was jammed into his mouth and fastened there. His legs were bound together, and his arms, and he was lashed to something in the sides of the wagon, probably bolts. He scarcely could move. He could see a bit, though. The sacks had not been placed over his nostrils and eyes. His head was beneath the wagon seat, but he could get a glimpse of the bright moonlight, could see that the wagon was being driven along a road bordered with woods.

That told Togo nothing except that it still was night and that he had not been driven back into the city. He supposed he was being taken up the river. Along the bank were many small farms, abandoned factories, shacks formerly used by fishermen—scores of places where a man could be kept prisoner, or where something more sinister could happen to him without being discovered for some time to come.

Togo did not worry about his own circumstances to any great extent. He knew that he was not an important personage in himself, and that in all probability this violence had come to him because of his association with John Warwick. It did not stand to reason, then, that he was to be murdered no matter in what enterprise Warwick might be engaged. It was more probable that these men had merely made sure of getting Togo out of the way—and possibly Warwick—so that some certain thing might not be consummated. Togo had a belief that he exercised at such times—which was simply to wait and see. And, in the meantime, his brain would clear, he would gather strength—and he could think of Warwick.

That was what bothered him most—thought of John Warwick. He knew, and none better, that The Spider had enemies among certain powerful criminals, and that these enemies knew of Warwick's connection with The Spider. They had clashed before.

They were the sort of men who would not think of betraying Warwick to the police, but they would stop at nothing to get him out of the way and prevent him aiding The Spider in doing something they might want to do themselves. Had the supercriminal's made away with Warwick? Had there been a slip? Had they followed Warwick to that old shed in the dismal grove beside the river, and there conquered him, and then lain in wait to overpower Togo, too?

“Wait—and see,” Togo told himself.

He was breathing quietly now, and his strength was coming back to him. He did not waste any of it in futile struggles against his bonds. He managed to move his tongue, and, after a time, got one corner of the foul sack out of his mouth, so that his jaws were not spread so wide and he could breathe better.

So Togo waited, with a patience that men of another race would never understand. The wagon went on along the road, the horses walking, the men speaking in low tones. Togo was unable to understand a word that they said.

He still could see the woods along the highway, and the bright moonlight. As he watched, he realized that the wagon had been driven from the main road and was following a rougher, narrower one through the woods. The moonlight was only faint now, because of overhanging trees, and the wagon was jolting over ruts.

Darker and darker it grew, but presently the moonlight flooded out again, and Togo knew that the wagon had been driven into a clearing. There it stopped.

He heard the men spring to the ground, heard them talking again, and knew that the horses were being unhitched. They were led away, and Togo still remained waiting. After a time he heard the men return, and the sacks were taken off him. An electric torch flashed in his face.

“Hello! He's awake!” one of the men said.

3ecause of the glare of the torch, Togo could not see the man's face. He still waited.

One of the men sprang into the wagon and began fumbling at the ropes. Presently they lifted Togo out and carried him across the clearing.

“Fine sack of potatoes,” he heard one of the men say sneeringly.

They came to a shack and entered, and one of the men struck a match and lighted a kerosene lamp. Togo was tossed onto a bunk in one corner. The two men stood before him, looking down at him.

“Take that stuff out of his mouth, Landren, and let him howl,” said the other.

“Be a little easy with that name.”

“What's the difference? You don't see this bird running to the police with a tale, do your”

“All right, Jones, have it your own way.”

They unwrapped the sack, and Togo gulped for breath and to ease the pain in his jaws. The men before him laughed. Jones and Landren, eh? Togo knew neither name as applied to an enemy, and now, when he saw the faces of the men before him, he knew neither.

“Untie his feet, Landren, and brace him against the wall,” Jones ordered. “If he remains in that position much longer he'll be a live stiff. Won't be able to bend his back or knees, I reckon!”

Jones laughed raucously, and Landren unfastened Togo's ankles and legs and propped him up, but with his arms and wrists still lashed behind his back.

“Why don't you yell?'” Jones demanded. “Yell all you please, old-timer! We're quite a way from any other human habitation, if you ask me, and I reckon there ain't any pleasure parties floatin' along the river to hear you.”

Togo digested that. So he was near the river, though probably at some distance from the city.

“Ain't you got a word to say?” Jones asked.

“Maybe them jaws of his are so sore he can't talk,” Landren suggested.

“Give him a drink to limber 'em up, then. I want to hear him howl some,” Jones complained.

Landren went to the corner of the shack and returned with a dipper filled with water. He held it forward, and Togo took it eagerly, thankful for the chance to wash the lint from his mouth and to cool his parched throat. The water was warm, but it was as the nectar of the gods to Togo at that moment.

“Now, blast you, up and talk!” Jones commanded.

“What does this mean?” Togo asked, pretending to be weak of voice and body.

“Why, we took a notion to have you visit us for a while, that's all,” Jones replied, laughing again. “Quite a bit of trouble gettin' you here, but we did it. You certainly did fall for that telephone message, Jap. Landren, here, has hung around a month or more listenin' to John Warwick talk, and, believe me, he's got Warwick's voice down pat! Sounded all right over the telephone, didn't it?”

“But—why?” Togo stammered.

“We wanted to get you out of the way, Mister Japanese. We didn't aim to have you and John Warwick botherin' us any. So we watched our chance, and sent you that little telephone message when we saw Warwick leave the house. Oh, we're wise to a few things, all right! That was a neat touch tellin' you to bring the suit and cap, eh? Kinder killed all suspicion, didn't it?”

Jones threw back his head and laughed again; and Landren stepped back a few feet, pretended to screw a monocle into his eye, and mimicked John Warwick in a wonderful manner.

“Fell for it—what?” he said. “Quite so! Walked right into the trap like a bally wild animal. My word, yes!”

And then they both laughed, while Togo glared at them.