CHAPTER VI
_Blind Man's Buff_
Wilson undoubtedly would have been stopped by the police within threeblocks had it not been for the seriousness of his lean face and theevident earnestness with which he was hurrying about his business. Asit was, he gathered a goodly sized crowd of street gamins who hootedat his heels until he was forced to take to the side streets. Here fora few squares he was not annoyed. The thing that was most disturbinghim was the realization that he knew neither the name of the streetnor the number of the house into which he had so strangely come lastnight. He knew its general direction--it lay beyond the Public Gardensand backed upon the water front, but that was all. With only thisvague description he could not ask for help without exciting allmanner of suspicion. He must depend upon his instinct. The situationseemed to him like one of those grotesque predicaments of a dream. Hadhis brain been less intently occupied than it was with the urgency ofhis mission, he would have suffered acutely.
He could not have had a worse section of the city to traverse--hiscourse led him through the business district, where he passed oddlyenough as a fantastic advertisement for a tea house,--but he keptdoggedly on until he reached Tremont Street. Here he was beset by afresh crowd of urchins from the Common who surrounded him until theyformed the nucleus of a crowd. For the first time, his progress wasactually checked. This roused within him the same dormant, savage manwho had grasped the joist--he turned upon the group. He didn't domuch, his eyes had been upon the ground and he raised them, throwingback his head quickly.
"Let me through," he said.
A few, even at that, shifted to one side, but a half dozen larger boyspressed in more closely, baiting him on. They had not seen in his eyeswhat the others saw.
"I'm in a hurry," he said. "Let me through."
Some of the crowd laughed; some jeered. All of them waited expectantly.Wilson took a short, quick breath. His frame stiffened, and thenwithout a word he hurled himself forward. He must have been halfmad, for as he bored a passage through, striking to the right andleft, he saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing. His teethtogether, his mind once again centered with burning intensity upon thesolitary fact that he must get back to the girl who had sent him outto protect her. He was at this moment no more the man who crammedHebrew verbs in the confines of that small, whitewashed room at thetheological school than as though born of a different mother. He wasmore like that Wilson who in the days of Miles Standish was thought tobe possessed of devils for the fierceness with which he foughtIndians. It would have taken a half dozen strong men to stop him, andno one ventured to do more than strike at him.
Once he was free of them, he started on, hoping to get across ParkStreet and into the Common. But the pack was instantly at his heelsagain after the manner of their kind. He glanced about him baffled,realizing that with the increasing excitement his chances of pullingclear of them lessened. He dreaded the arrival of the police--thatwould mean questioning, and he could give no satisfactory explanationof his condition. To tell the truth would be to incriminate himself,compromise the girl, and bring about no end of a complication. Heturned sharply and made up the hill at a run. He was a grotesqueenough figure with the long robe streaming at his heels, his headsurmounted by the fantastic turban, and his face roughened with twodays' beard, but he made something of a pathetic appeal, too. He wasputting up a good fight. It took only half an eye to see that he wasrunning on his nerve and that in his eagerness to get clear, there wasnothing of cowardice. Even now there was not one of the rabble whodared come within fighting distance of him. It was the harrying theyenjoyed--the sight of a man tormented. A policeman elbowed his waythrough the crowd and instead of clubbing back the aggressors, pushedon to the young man who was tottering near his finish.
Wilson saw him. He gave one last hurried look about on the chance offinding some loophole of escape from that which was worse than thecrowd. His eyes fell upon the face of a young man in an automobilewhich was moving slowly up the hill. It took the latter but a glanceto see that Wilson was a gentleman hard pushed. The appeal in the eyeswas enough. He ordered the machine stopped and threw open the door. AsWilson reached it, he leaned forward and grasped his shoulders,dragging him in. Then the driver threw back his lever and the machineleaped forward like an unleashed dog. The officer ordered them tostop, but they skimmed on up the hill and turning to the left foundBeacon Street a straight path before them.
"Narrow squeak that time, old man," smiled the stranger. "What thedevil was the trouble?"
"This, I suppose," answered Wilson, as soon as he had caught hisbreath, lifting a corner of the elaborate gown. "And this," touchingthe bandages on his head.
"But what in thunder did they chase you for?"
"I guess they thought I was crazy--or drunk."
"Well, it wasn't fair sport at a hundred to one. Where shall I landyou?"
Wilson pondered a second. He would only lose time if he got out andattempted again to find the house in that rig.
"If--if I could only get some clothes."
"Where's your hotel or home? Take you anywhere you say."
"I haven't either a home or a hotel," answered Wilson, deliberately."And these are all the clothes I have in the world."
"Is that a dream?"
"It is the truth."
"But how----" exclaimed the other.
"I can't tell you now how it came about, but it is the truth that I amwithout a cent, and that this is my entire wardrobe."
"Where did you come from this morning?" asked the other, stillincredulous.
"From the hospital."
Wilson hesitated just a second; he knew that in asking anythingfurther he ran the risk of being mistaken for a charlatan, but thisseemed now his only chance of getting back to her. They were speedingout through the Fenway, but the driver had now slowed down to awaitfurther orders. The man would drop him anywhere he said, but evensupposing he brought him back to the vicinity of the house, he couldnot possibly escape observation long enough to locate that little doorin the rear--the only clue he had to identification of the house. Ifever a man's exterior gave promise of generous help, the features ofthis fellow by his side did. He was of about his own age, smoothshaven, with a frank, open face that gave him a clean and wholesomeappearance. He had the lithe frame and red cheeks of an athlete intraining--his eyes clear as night air, his teeth white as a hound's.But it was a trick of the eyes which decided Wilson--a brighteagerness tinged with humor and something of dreams, which suggestedthat he himself was alert for just such adventures as this in whichWilson found himself. He glanced up and found the other studying himcuriously as though trying to decide for himself just what sort of afellow he had rescued.
"I don't blame you for being suspicious," began Wilson, "but I've toldyou only the truth. Furthermore, I've done nothing any decent fellowwouldn't do. The police have no right to me, although they might makea lot of trouble."
"That's all right, old man. You needn't feel obliged to 'fess up tome."
"I wanted to tell you that much," answered Wilson, "because I want toask something of you; I want you to give me a suit of clothes andenough money to keep me alive for a week."
Wilson saw the other's brows contract for a second as though in keenannoyance or disappointment at this mediocre turn in a promisingsituation. He added quickly:
"I'm not asking this altogether for myself; there's a girl involved--agirl in great danger. If I get back to her soon, there is still hopethat I can be of some use."
The other's face brightened instantly.
"What's that you say? A girl in danger?"
"In serious danger. This----" he pointed at the linen turban, "thisought to give you some idea of how serious; I was on my way to herwhen I received this."
"But good Lord, man, why didn't you say so before? Home, Mike, and lether out!"
The chauffeur leaned forward and once again the machine vibrated tothe call. They skimmed along the park roads and into the smooth roadsof Brookline. From here Wi
lson knew nothing of the direction or thelocality.
"My name is Danbury," his rescuer introduced himself, "and I'm glad tobe of help to you. We're about the same size and I guess you can getinto some of my clothes. But can't I send a wire or something to thegirl that you are coming?"
Wilson shook his head. "I don't know exactly where she is myself. Yousee I--I found her in the dark and I lost her in the dark."
"Sort of a game of blind man's buff," broke in Danbury. "But how thedevil did you get that swipe in the head?"
"I don't know any more than you where that came from."
"You look as though you ought to be tucked away in bed on account ofit. You are still groggy."
Wilson tried to smile, but, truth to tell, his head was getting dizzyagain and he felt almost faint.
"Lie back and take it easy until we reach the house. I'll give you adose of brandy when we get there."
The machine slid through a stone gateway and stopped before a fine,rambling white house set in the midst of green trees and with a widesweep of green lawn behind it. A butler hurried out and at a nod tookhold of one of Wilson's arms and helped him up the steps--though itwas clear the old fellow did not like the appearance of his master'sguest. Of late, however, the boy had brought home several of whom hedid not approve. One of them--quite the worst one to his mind--wasnow waiting in the study. The butler had crossed himself after havingescorted him in. If ever the devil assumed human shape, he would saythat this was no other than his satanic majesty himself.
"A gentleman to see you, sir, in the study."
"The devil you say," snapped Danbury.
"I did not say it, sir."
"I wanted to take this gentleman in there. However, we will go to theden."
Danbury led the way through a series of rooms to a smaller room whichopened upon the green lawn. It was furnished in mahogany with plentyof large, leather-bottomed chairs and a huge sofa. The walls weredecorated with designs of yachts and pictures of dogs. This roomevidently was shut off from the main study by the folding doors whichwere partly concealed by a large tapestry. Danbury poured out a stiffdrink of brandy and insisted upon Wilson's swallowing it, which he didafter considerable choking.
"Now," said Danbury, "you lie down while John is getting some clothestogether, and I'll just slip into the next room and see what my queerfriend wants."
Wilson stretched himself out and gave himself up to the warm influx oflife which came with the stimulation from the drink. Pound after poundseemed to be lifting from his weary legs and cloud after cloud fromhis dulled brain. He would soon be able to go back now. He felt a newneed for the sight of her, for the touch of her warm fingers, for thesmile of good fellowship from her dark eyes. In these last few hourshe felt that he had grown wonderfully in his intimacy with her andthis found expression in his need of her. Lying there, he felt acraving that bit like thirst or hunger. It was something new to himthus to yearn for another. The sentiment dormant within him had alwaysfound its satisfaction in the impersonal in his vague and distantdreams. Now it was as though all those fancies of the past hadsuddenly been gathered together and embodied in this new-foundcomrade.
The voices in the next room which had been subdued now rose to a pointwhere some phrases were audible. The younger man seemed to be gettingexcited, for he kept exclaiming,
"Good. That's bully!"
Their words were lost once more, but Wilson soon heard the sentence,
"I'm with you--with you to the end. But what are _you_ going to getout of this?"
Then for the first time he heard the voice of the other. There wassome quality in it that made him start. He could not analyze it, butit had a haunting note as though it went back somewhere in his ownpast. It made him--without any intention of overhearing the burden ofthe talk--sit up and listen. It was decidedly the voice of an olderman--perhaps a foreigner. But if this were so, a foreigner who hadlived long in this country, for the accent consisted of a scarcelyperceptible blur. He spoke very slowly and with a cold deliberationthat was unpleasant. It was so a judge might pronounce sentence ofdeath. It was unemotional and forbidding. Yet there were littlecatches in it that reminded Wilson of some other voice which he couldnot place.
"My friend," came the voice more distinctly, as though the owner hadrisen and now faced the closed doors between the two rooms, "myfriend, the interests I serve are truly different from yours; youserve sentiment; I, justice and revenge. Yet we shall each receive ourreward in the same battle." He paused a moment. Then he added,
"A bit odd, isn't it, that such interests as yours and mine shouldfocus at a point ten thousand miles from here?"
"Odd? It's weird! But I'm getting used to such things. I picked up achap this morning whose story I wouldn't have believed a year ago. NowI've learned that most anything is possible--even you."
"I?"
"Yes, you and your heathen army, and your good English, and yourgolden idol."
"I object to your use of the word 'heathen,'" the other repliedsharply.
Wilson started from his couch, now genuinely interested. But the twohad apparently been moving out while this fag-end of the conversationwas going on, for their voices died down until they became but a hum.He fell back again, and before he had time to ponder further Danburyhurried in with a suit of clothes over his arm.
"Here," he cried excitedly, "try on these. I must be off again in ahurry. I didn't mean to keep you waiting so long, but we'll make upthe time in the machine."
He tossed out a soft felt hat and blue serge suit. Wilson struggledinto the clothes. Save that the trousers were a bit short, the thingsfitted well enough. At any rate, he looked more respectable than in alounging robe. The latter he cast aside, and as he did so somethingfell from it. It was a roll of parchment. Wilson had forgotten allabout it, and now thrust it in an inside pocket. He would give it backto Sorez, for very possibly it was of some value. He had not thoughtof it since it had rolled out of the hollow image.
Danbury led the way out the door as soon as Wilson had finisheddressing. The latter felt in one of the vest pockets and drew out aten dollar bill. He stared from Danbury to the money.
"Tuck it away, man, tuck it away," said Danbury.
"I can't tell you----"
"Don't. Don't want to hear it. By the way, you'd better make a note ofthe location of this house in case you need to find me again. Threehundred and forty Bellevue,--remember it? Here, take my card and writeit down."
It took them twenty minutes to reach the foot of Beacon street, andhere Wilson asked him to stop.
"I've got to begin my hunt from here. I wish I could make youunderstand how more than grateful I am."
"Don't waste the time. Here's wishing you luck and let me know how youcome out, will you?"
He reached forth his hand and Wilson grasped it.
"I will."
"Well, s'long, old man. Good luck again."
He spoke to the chauffeur. In less than a minute Wilson was aloneagain on the street where he had stood the night before.
The Web of the Golden Spider Page 7