CHAPTER III
_A Stranger Arrives_
It was almost two in the morning when Wilson heard the sound of wheelsin the street without, and conceived the fear that they had stoppedbefore the house. He found himself sitting rigidly upright in the roomwhich had grown chill, staring at the dark doorway. The fire hadburned low and the girl still slept in the shadows, her cheeks pressedagainst her hands. He listened with suspended breath. For a momentthere was no other sound and so he regained his composure, concludingit had been only an evil dream. Crossing to the next room, he drew ablanket from the little bed and wrapped the sleeping girl about withit so carefully that she did not awake. Then he gently poked up thefire and put on more coal, taking each lump in his fingers so as tomake no noise.
Her face, even while she slept, seemed to lose but little of itsanimation. The long lashes swept her flushed cheeks. The eyes, thoughclosed, still remained expressive. A smile fluttered about her mouthas though her dreams were very pleasant. To Wilson, who neither had asister nor as a boy or man had been much among women, the sight ofthis sleeping girl so near to him was particularly impressive. Herutter trust and confidence in his protection stirred within himanother side of the man who had stood by the gate clutching his clublike a savage. She looked so warm and tender a thing that he felt hisheart growing big with a certain feeling of paternity. He knew at thatmoment how the father must have felt when, with the warm little handwithin his own, he had strode down those foreign streets consciousthat every right-hearted man would turn to look at the pretty girl;with what joy he had stopped at strange bazaars to watch her eyesbrighten as the shopkeepers did their best to please. Those must havebeen days which the father, if alive, was glad to remember.
A muffled beat as upon the steps without again brought him toattention, but again the silence closed in upon it until he doubtedwhether he had truly heard. But the dark had become alive now, and heseemed to see strange, moving shadows in the corners and hearcreakings and rustlings all about him. He turned sharply at a softtread behind him only to start at the snapping of a coal in the firefrom the other side. Finally, in order to ease his mind, he crossedthe room and looked beyond the curtains into the darkness of the hall.There was neither movement nor sound. He ventured out and peered downthe staircase into the dark chasm marking the lower hall. He hearddistinctly the sound of a key being fitted rather clumsily into thelock, then an inrush of air as the door was thrown open and someoneentered, clutching at the wall as though unable to stand.
It never occurred to Wilson to do the natural and obviously simplething: awake the girl at once and steal down the stairs in the rearuntil he at least should have a chance to reconnoitre. It seemednecessary for him to meet the situation face to face, to stand hisground as though this were an intrusion upon his own domain. The girlin the next room was sleeping soundly in perfect faith that he wouldmeet every danger that should approach her. And so, by the Lord, hewould. Neither she nor he were thieves or cowards, and he refused toallow her to be placed for a minute in such a position.
Someone followed close behind the first man who had entered andlighted a match. As the light flashed, Wilson caught a glimpse of twomen; one tall and angular, the other short and broad-shouldered.
"The--the lights aren't on, cabby," said one of them; "but I--I canfind my way all right."
"The divil ye can, beggin' yer pardon," answered the other. "I'll jistgo ahead of ye now an'----"
"No, cabby, I don't need help."
"Jist to th' top of the shtairs, sor. I know ye're thot weak withsickness----"
The answer came like a military command, though in a voice heavy withweariness.
"Light a candle, if you can find one, and--go."
The cabby struck another match and applied it to a bit of candle hefound on a hall table. As the light dissolved the dark, Wilson saw thetaller man straighten before the anxious gaze of the driver.
"Sacre, are you going?" exclaimed the stranger, impatiently.
"Good night, sor."
"Good night." The words were uttered like a command.
The man went out slowly and reluctantly closed the door behind him.The echo pounded suddenly in the distance.
No sooner was the door closed than the man remaining slumped like anempty grain-sack and only prevented himself from falling by a wildclutch at the bannister. He raised himself with an effort, the candledrooping sidewise in his hand. His broad shoulders sagged until hischin almost rested upon his breast and his big slouch hat slopped downover his eyes. His breathing was slow and labored, each breath beingdelayed as long as possible as though it were accompanied by severepain. It was clear that only the domination of an extraordinary willenabled the man to keep his feet at all.
The stranger began a struggle for the mastery of the stairs that heldWilson spellbound. Each advance marked a victory worthy of abattlefield. But at each step he was forced to pause and rally all hisforces before he went on to the next. First he would twine his longfingers about the rail reaching up as far as he was able; then hewould lift one limp leg and swing it to the stair above; he would thenheave himself forward almost upon his face and drag the other leg to alevel with the first, rouse himself as from a tendency to faint, andstand there blinking at the next stair with an agonized plea as formercy written in the deep furrows of his face. The drunken candlesputtered close to his side, flaring against the skin of his hand andsmouldering into his coat, but he neither felt nor saw anything. Everysense was forced to a focus on the exertion of the next step.
Wilson had plenty of time to study him. His lean face was shaven savefor an iron-gray moustache which was cropped in a straight line fromone corner of his mouth to another. His eyes were half hidden beneathshaggy brows. Across one cheek showed the red welt of an old sabrewound. There was a military air about him from his head to his feet;from the rakish angle to which his hat tumbled, to his squareshoulders, braced far back even when the rest of his body fell limp,and to his feet which he moved as though avoiding the swing of ascabbard. A military cape slipped askew from his shoulders. All thesedetails were indelibly traced in Wilson's mind as he watched thisstruggle.
The last ten steps marked a strain difficult to watch. Wilson, at thetop, found his brow growing moist in sheer agony of sympathy, and hefound himself lifting with each forward heave as though his arms wereabout the drooping figure. A half dozen times he was upon the point ofspringing to his aid, but each time some instinct bade him wait. A manwith such a will as this was a man to watch even when he was as neardead as he now appeared to be. So, backing into the shadows, Wilsonwatched him as he grasped the post and slouched up the last stair,seeming here to gain new strength for he held his head higher andgrasped the candle more firmly. It was then that Wilson stepped intothe radius of shallow light. But before he had time to speak, he sawthe eyes raised swiftly to his, saw a quick movement of the hand, andthen, as the candle dropped and was smothered out in the carpet, hewas blinded and deafened by the report of a pistol almost in hisface.
He fell back against the wall. He was unhurt, but he was for themoment stunned into inactivity by the unexpectedness of the assault.He stood motionless, smothering his breathing, alert to spring at thefirst sound. And he knew that the other was waiting for the firstindication of his position to shoot again. So two, three secondspassed, Wilson feeling with the increasing tension as though an ironband were being tightened about his head. The house seemed to settleinto deeper and deeper silence as though it were being enfolded inlayer upon layer of felt. The dark about him quivered. Then he heardher voice,--the startled cry of an awakened child.
He sprang across the hall and through the curtains to her side. Shewas standing facing the door, her eyes frightened with the suddenawakening.
"Oh," she trembled, "what is it?"
He placed his fingers to her lips and drew her to one side, out ofrange of the door.
She snuggled closer to him and placed her hand upon his arm.
"You're not hurt?" she asked in
a whisper.
He shook his head and strained his ears to the hall without.
He led her to the wall through which the door opened and, pressing herclose against it, took his position in front of her. Then the silenceclosed in upon them once again. A bit of coal kindled in the grate,throwing out blue and yellow flames with tiny crackling. The shadowsdanced upon the wall. The curtains over the oblong entrance hung limpand motionless and mute. For aught they showed there might have been adozen eyes behind them leering in; the points of a dozen weaponspricking through; the muzzles of a dozen revolvers ready to barkdeath. Each second he expected them to open--to unmask. The suspensegrew nerve-racking. And behind him the girl kept whispering, "What isit? Tell me." He felt her hands upon his shoulders.
"Hush! Listen!"
From beyond the curtains came the sound of a muffled groan.
"Someone's hurt," whispered the girl.
"Don't move. It's only a ruse."
They listened once more, and this time the sound came more distinct;it was the moaning breathing of a man unconscious.
"Stay where you are," commanded Wilson. "I'll see what the matteris."
He neared the curtains and called out,
"Are you in trouble? Do you need help?"
There was no other reply but that spasmodic intake of breath, thejerky outlet through loose lips.
He crossed the room and lighted the bit of remaining candle. With thisheld above his head, he parted the curtains and peered out. Thestranger was sitting upright against the wall, his head fallensideways and the revolver held loosely in his limp fingers. As Wilsoncrossed to his side, he heard the girl at his heels.
"He's hurt," she exclaimed.
Stooping quickly, Wilson snatched the weapon from the nervelessfingers. It was quite unnecessary. The man showed not the slightesttrace of consciousness. His face was ashen gray. Wilson threw back theman's coat and found the under linen to be stained with blood. He toreaside the shirt and discovered its source--a narrow slit just over theheart. There was but one thing to do--get the man into the next roomto the fire and, if possible, staunch the wound. He placed his handsbeneath the stranger's shoulders and half dragged him to the rugbefore the flames. The girl, cheeks flushed with excitement, followedas though fearing to let him out of her sight.
Under the influence of the heat the man seemed to revive a bit--enoughto ask for brandy and direct Wilson to a recess in the wall whichserved as a wine closet. After swallowing a stiff drink, he regainedhis voice.
"Who the devil----" he began. But he was checked by a twitch in hisside. He was evidently uncertain whether he was in the hands ofenemies or not. Wilson bent over him.
"Are you badly hurt? Do you wish me to send for a surgeon?"
"Go into the next room and bring me the leather chest you'll findthere."
Wilson obeyed. The man opened it and took out a vial of catgut, a rollof antiseptic gauze, several rolls of bandages, and--a small,pearl-handled revolver. He levelled this at Wilson.
"Now," he commanded, "tell me who the Devil you are."
Wilson did not flinch.
"Put it down," he suggested. "There is time enough for questionslater. Your wound ought to be attended to. Tell me what to do."
The man's eyes narrowed, but his hand dropped to his side. He realizedthat he was quite helpless and that to shoot the intruder would servehim but little. By far the more sensible thing to do was to use him.Wilson, watching him, ready to spring, saw the question decided in theprostrate man's mind. The latter spoke sharply.
"Take one of those surgical needles and put it in the candle flame."
Wilson obeyed and, as soon as it was sterilized, further followed hisinstructions and sewed up the wound and dressed it. During thisprocess the stranger showed neither by exclamation nor facialexpression that he felt in the slightest what must have beenexcruciating pain. At the conclusion of the operation the mansprinkled a few pellets into the palm of his hand and swallowed them.For a few minutes after this he remained very quiet.
Wilson glanced up at the girl. She had turned her back upon the twomen and was staring into the flames. She was not crying, but her twotightly clenched fists held closely jammed against her cheeks showedthat she was keeping control of herself by an effort. It seemed toWilson that it was clearly his duty to get her out of this at once.But where could he take her?
The stranger suddenly made an effort to struggle to his feet. He hadgrasped his weapon once again and now held it aggressively pointed atWilson.
"What's the matter with you?" demanded Wilson, quietly steppingforward.
"Matter?" stammered the stranger. "To come into your house and--and----"he pressed his hand to his side and was forced to put out an arm toWilson for support.
"I tell you we mean you no harm. We aren't thieves or thugs. We weredriven in here by the rain."
"But how----"
"By a window in the rear. Let us stay here until morning--it is toolate for the girl to go out--and you'll be none the worse."
Wilson saw the same hard, determined look that he had noted upon thestairs return to the gray eyes. It was clear that the man's wholenature bade him resent this intrusion. It was evident that heregarded the two with suspicion, although at sight of the girl, whohad turned, this was abated somewhat.
"How long have you been here?" he demanded.
"Some three or four hours."
"Are--are there any more of you?"
"No."
"Has--has there been any call for me while you have been in thehouse?"
"No."
He staggered a little and Wilson suggested that he lie down once more.But he refused and, still retaining his grip on the revolver, he badeWilson lead him to the door of the next room and leave him. He wasgone some fifteen minutes. Once Wilson thought he caught the clickingas of a safe being opened. The girl, who had remained in thebackground all this while, now crossed to Wilson's side as he stoodwaiting in the doorway. He glanced up at her. In her light silk gownshe looked almost ethereal and added to the ghostliness of the scene.She was to him the one thing which lifted the situation out of therealm of sheer grim tragedy to piquant adventure from which a hundredlanes led into the unknown.
She pressed close to his side as though shrinking from the silencebehind her. He reached out and took her hand. She smiled up at him andtogether they turned their eyes once again into the dark of the roombeyond. Save for the intermittent clicking, there was silence. In thissilence they seemed to grow into much closer comradeship, each minuteknitting them together as, ordinarily, only months could do.
Suddenly there was a cessation of the clicking and quickly followingthis the sound of a falling body. Wilson had half expected some suchclimax. Seizing a candle from the table before the fire, he rushed in.The stranger had fallen to the floor and lay unconscious in front ofhis safe.
A quick glance about convinced Wilson that the man had not beenassaulted, but had only fainted, probably from weakness. His pulse wasbeating feebly and his face was ashen. Wilson stooped to place hishands upon his shoulders, when he caught sight of that which haddoubtless led the stranger to undertake the strain of opening thesafe--a black ebony box, from which protruded through the opened coverthe golden head of a small, quaint image peering out like some fatspider from its web. In falling the head had snapped open so that fromthe interior of the thing a tiny roll of parchment had slipped out.Wilson, picking this up, put it in his pocket with scarcely otherthought than that it might get lost if left on the floor. Then he tookthe still unconscious man in his arms and dragged him back to thefire.
The Web of the Golden Spider Page 4