The Spider's Reward/Chapter 2

IS 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 [sic] 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.

It dawned upon Togo that perhaps John Warwick was safe. He did not pretend to guess why he had been decoyed and taken prisoner, unless as they intimated, they did not want him to aid Warwick in some enterprise. If Warwick was safe, Togo did not care so much about himself. Togo had escaped from close quarters before.

“You be a good little Jap and you won't come to any harm,” Jones told him now. “We're hospitable fellers, we are. We'll give you water and a few bites of grub—but we'll give you blazes if you try any of your funny heathen tricks.”

“Why?” Togo asked again.

“Why what?” Jones demanded,

“Why you do this, sar?”

“If you don't know, you're ignorant,” Jones told him. “We've been given to understand that you ain't as ignorant as you're painted. Don't try any of that innocent stuff on us, Mister Jap! It won't work—see?”

“How long you keep me here?” Togo asked suddenly. His voice was quivering, and he was giving an excellent imitation of a man very badly frightened.

“Scared, are ye?” asked Jones. “No reason to be if you behave yourself. Oh, we'll probably keep you here until some time to-morrow mornin'. You're one of them week-end guests, sorter. We ain't aimin' to associate with you for life, or anything like that. Nope! You're just makin' us a short visit.”

The words of Jones gave Togo another clew. John Warwick was engaged in some work to-night, it was evident. Jones had said that Togo might be released on the following morning. That meant that, by morning, all necessity for keeping him a prisoner would be at an end. By that time Warwick would have succeeded or failed.

If he was to help John Warwick, he would have to escape—and very soon at that. Perhaps his detention endangered Warwick's success. Perhaps he had been decoyed because Warwick had special need of him. And, if Warwick failed in whatever task The Spider had set him, the supercriminal might refuse to release him from the band and to allow him to marry Silvia Rodney.

Togo stretched his legs as well as he could, and was glad to note that there was some feeling in them now. He would be able to use them before long. He still appeared to be frightened and weak. But his brain was working at high speed.

He would have to escape, make his way to the city, get in touch with The Spider, and report. Perhaps the supercriminal would understand about these men and know what some of his foes contemplated.

But escape, Togo sensed, was going to be no easy task. He guessed that Jones and Landren were not the sort of men to be taken in easily, that they had specific orders, and that they would be on guard continually, ready to use violence if necessary.

Togo could not hope to contend against them both physically unless he could catch them off guard and use methods peculiarly his own. This was a game where strategy would count for as much as strength, if not for more.