The Spider's Reward/Chapter 1
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 seemed”
“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, besides”
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 so”
“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!”