The Spider's Reward/Chapter 3

OHN WARWICK stopped the roadster before the apartment house, gave instructions that he would need it no more that day, and hurried inside. He had just come from the residence of The Spider. Darkness had descended, and Warwick was eager to have dinner and then proceed to the business of the night.

This last bit of work for The Spider promised to be interesting, he told himself. There was a bit of the unusual about it—something entirely different from stealing a valuable document or a woman's jewels. Warwick was glad that the supercriminal had not given him an ordinary task to perform to close his career with the band.

So The Spider himself was going to retire after this night's work had been done! The Spider was going to reward the members of his band and then allow them to go their several ways. Warwick guessed that the supercriminal could do it without fear—that none of the previous members of the band would betray him into the hands of the police. Trust The Spider to see to that! The crippled supercriminal would settle down to spend the remainder of his days in peace and, perhaps, contentment, and there would be no danger of the police spoiling the happiness of Silvia. Warwick had thought of that often, and he was glad that The Spider had made his decision.

As he went up in the elevator, Warwick was humming an air from a comic opera and thinking of the work he had to do. There would be no time to waste, he knew. It was a few minutes after six o'clock now, and he had to eat something before starting on his adventure, and change his clothes and make certain preparations.

He pressed the button outside his suite, and a faint clicking told him that the button inside had been pressed and that the outer door unlocked. Warwick threw it open and hurried inside, pulling at his gloves ward the living room.

“Togo, old top, have to hurry a bit!” he called. “Order dinner from the restaurant, and have it served as quickly as possible. Rush orders—all that sort of thing!”

He was through the door of the living room now. He tossed his gloves and hat on the table and started for his bedchamber. Togo had not answered.

“I say, Togo!” Warwick called.

He whirled around to face the door of Togo's room—and found himself looking down the muzzle of an automatic.

“My word!” Warwick gasped.

Behind the automatic was a medium-sized man dressed in inconspicuous clothing. His chin was thrust forward, his eyes glittered, he seemed to be very determined about something. He had on neither hat nor cap, and he wore no mask or face covering of any kind. Warwick knew the type instantly—a criminal who gathered false courage from drugs, a man to whom the rights of others were as nothing, a killer!

Here was a person with such a perverted sense of things that he thought the law-abiding man a weakling and admired none except those who broke the law systematically. Warwick was very much astonished at finding him there, and showed it—purposely. His mouth sagged open and his eyes bulged.

“My—word!” he gasped again.

The other man did not speak. Warwick gulped once or twice and spoke again.

“What—er—is the meaning of this?” he asked in a thin voice. “Robbery—all that sort of thing? Where is Togo, my man?”

“He's been taken care of!” the other retorted.

“You haven't injured him?”

“Never mind about that! I'm dealin' with you just now! Sit down there by the table, and don't get gay or try anything funny unless you want to be perforated. Get me?”

“I—I rather fancy that I do,” Warwick said, sitting down and putting his hands on the table before him. “Quite startled me, you did! My word! Fancy coming home and finding a chap in your house ready to hold a gun at your head! I shall be quite a hero at the club, what?”

“Aw, stow that line of chatter!” said the other man, taking a couple of steps toward him. “It don't get by with me; understand? I'm wise to you, Warwick!”

“My word!”

“Easy, there! You make a move I don't like, and I'll plug you!”

“And go to the electric chair?”

“I'm not worryin' about that. I'll make a get-away, all right. And I don't happen to be alone, either!”

As he spoke, another man came from Togo's room. This second man also was of the criminal type, but taller and larger in every way, more of a typical thug. Warwick looked at him with interest.

“Well, what does it all mean?” he asked. “Want my shirt studs and all that sort of thing? I fancy you'll not get enough to pay you for your trouble in”

“Stow it!” said the little man. “We ain't lookin' for any cheap jewelry.”

“Cheap, eh? My word! Reflection on my financial standing, what?” Warwick said.

“I told you to stow it!” the little man warned him. “You sit right there and keep your hands on the table in front of you. You'll be suddenly mussed up if you get funny and try any tricks. So you are the great John Warwick, are you?”

“Fancy! Didn't know I was great!”

“The Spider's right-hand man!” the other said with a sneer.

“I beg your pardon!”

“I suppose you never heard of The Spider.”

“Are you spoofing me?” Warwick demanded.

“If you don't know about The Spider, just tell us where you've been this afternoon.”

“My word! Paid a visit to my fiancée, if it is any of your business, my man,” Warwick replied. “Rather a bit out of your mind, aren't you—bats in the belfry, all that sort of thing? Talking of spiders, insects, all that!”

“Just lower that voice of yours and we'll hold a little conversation with you,” said the little man.

“Can't converse unless we know names,” Warwick said.

“Well, I'm Brown, and this other man is Green.”

“Quite a color combination; thank you. Well, Brown, what is this all about, what?”

“Keep that voice of yours lower,” Brown advised. “If the telephone rings, or anybody comes to the door, you'll not answer. You can't get away with it if you do. I'll plug you if you try a single trick. I've got orders.”

“My word! Can't seem to get to the bottom of this,” Warwick complained. “Must be making a mistake—what?”

“We're not making any mistake,” Brown assured him. “I reckon I can explain in a mighty few words. We're wise, Warwick. You've got orders, too—but you ain't goin' to carry them out. Understand that?”

“My word! Never heard such silly rot. Talking in riddles, and all that sort of thing!”

“It's no riddle to you, Warwick—and don't think you can bluff us with that crazy talk of yours. You've got orders from The Spider to do a certain thing—and you ain't goin' to do it! That's all.”

“My sacred word

“We're here to see that you stay right in these rooms until a certain time to-morrow mornin'. See? That Jap of yours ain't hurt any. He was decoyed away, but he'll be turned loose to-morrow. He won't suffer any, unless he tries to get gay.”

“I never heard of such a thing!” Warwick said. “A chap held a prisoner in his own apartment? Rot! I fancy you chaps will suffer arrest one of these days, possibly go to some prison for a term.”

“Say,” said Green, speaking for the first time, “you might as well save your breath. That kind of talk don't get you anything. Can't you understand that we're wise? I guess you ain't anxious to call in any police. Here's all there is to it: You stay here until a certain hour to-morrow, and we're right here to see that you do. Make a move, and we'll get out. That's all!”

“But I have an engagement,” Warwick persisted.

“We understand all about that little engagement, but she's goin' to be broken,” Brown told him.

“And I haven't had any dinner!”

“Sorry, but we can't help that. Maybe we'll be able to slip you a sandwich later. I guess you understand the situation now, all right. You may be the clever John Warwick, but you won't be clever this evening. Nope! You'll do as we say to-night.”

“But”

“And the less talk, the better!” Green warned him.

“Can't I even smoke?”

“Smoke your fool head off, if you want to!” said Brown. “It might be healthier for you than talkin' too much!”

Warwick reached out and took a cigarette, lighted it, and puffed. Brown and Green—the color combination—placed chairs before him and sat down, but Brown still menaced him with the automatic. Warwick stretched back in the chair, as if trying to make himself comfortable, looked at Brown and Green, smiled, and then began to chuckle.

“Seems funny to you,” Brown suggested.

Warwick did not reply. He bent forward and flicked ashes from the tip of his cigarette, then stretched back in the chair to chuckle once more. That chuckle plainly disconcerted his foes. They could not fathom it, did not know what to make of it.

“What's the joke?” Green asked.

“It's on you chaps,” Warwick assured him. “Keep me here until morning, eh? You're making a mistake; took me for some other chap; got your confounded orders mixed. I'm chuckling to think what will happen to you when you find it out.”

“No, we ain't makin' any mistakes!” Brown told him. “We know you, all right, and we know the whole deal. You're a clever man and you work for a smooth crook, but there's others just as smooth, believe me. No use beatin' around the bush any more, Warwick.”

Warwick's demeanor changed instantly. He tossed the cigarette to the ash tray and sat up straight in his chair.

“All right,” he announced; “have it you own way. So you understand, do you? You know that I am associated with The Spider, do you? Then you must know what happens to men who go against The Spider!”

“We know what has happened to several of 'em, but it ain't goin' to happen this time,” Brown declared. “We ain't scared of The Spider and his whole gang. He's a has-been!”

“You want war with me, do your” Warwick said. “Very well! Go at it hammer and tongs, and all that sort of thing. Called me clever, did you? Have to live up to my reputation, I suppose!”

“You make a move, and we'll hogtie you and gag that mouth of yours!” Green said.

“Don't care what you do!” Warwick told him. “If I couldn't outwit a pair of poor specimens of humanity like you, I'd take a dose of poison. Want war, do you?) Watch yourselves, then! It'll be a fight to a finish, and don't you forget it!”

Warwick lighted a fresh cigarette, stretched back in the chair again, and closed his eyes as if there was nothing on earth to trouble him. But his brain was racing. What did this mean? He knew the task The Spider had set him for to-night. He wondered how these men could be concerned in it, or how any person for whom they might be working could be concerned in it.

He had to be at a certain place at a certain time, and he did not intend to let these men prevent him. If he was not there the enterprise The Spider had planned would fail. The supercriminal did not countenance failure or accept excuses. He gave orders—and he expected results!

Warwick thought of what failure would mean. It would mean the wrecking of one of the supercriminal's pet plans, would delay his retirement from a life of crime, perhaps would mean that The Spider would be so angry that he would refuse to release Warwick from the band.

He opened his eyes and looked at the two men before him again, studying them from the standpoint of psychology. He tried to visualize their characters, their likes and dislikes, their fears. He was searching for the inevitable weak spot, so that he might take advantage of it.

Togo, they had said, had been decoyed away. He might escape and he might not; Warwick could not depend upon him at this juncture. Nobody was due to call at the apartment. The clerk in the office had seen him enter, but the clerk would not disturb him for any reason. If the telephone rang and there was no answer, it would be the same. Warwick, the clerk knew, answered the telephone only when he so wished.

It all depended upon himself. He would have to overcome these two men before him. It was almost seven o'clock now, and he should be going about The Spider's work within a short time, and there were things to be done first.

He began chuckling again, for he saw that it made Brown and Green nervous. Now and then Green glanced around the room as if expecting an attack from some unexpected quarter, but Brown always watched Warwick closely and held the weapon ready.

“It'll be a bad thing for you,” Brown insisted, “if any of your friends happen to drop in and start something. Don't forget that for a minute!”

Warwick chuckled again. He flicked the ash from the tip of his cigarette and hummed a bit of song. He picked up an evening paper that Togo had left on the table, and began reading it as if nothing unusual had occurred.

He gave the impression that he was waiting for something, and this bothered Brown and Green. Plainly they did not know what to make of it. They had been bold enough to belittle Warwick's reputed cleverness, but they did not believe their own words. They had heard many tales of how John Warwick could take care of himself.

Turning the pages of the newspaper Warwick continued to read. He appeared to be reading, that is, but, in reality, he was thinking of some way out of his predicament. In the first place, he was obliged to go about The Spider's business soon; and, in the second place, he wanted to outwit these men for the simple love of outwitting them. Warwick did not fancy being bested by any man or group of men.

Nor did he want to take any unnecessary risks. He did not fear to chance a wound because of what it might mean to him physically, but he knew that, were he wounded, he would be unable to attend to the little matter The Spider had planned, and regarding which he had issued his orders. The little man who called himself Brown would shoot, Warwick felt sure. He was just the type of man to do so. Warwick feared Brown more than he did Green.

He glanced at his watch; it was exactly seven o'clock. Folding the newspaper he placed it upon the table. He looked at Brown and Green again.

“Well, since you have the drop on me, and all that sort of thing, I suppose there is no sense in making a fuss,” Warwick said. “We might as well be comfortable.”

“You'd better see the sense in that!” Brown told him.

“No objection to my having a drink, I suppose, since I can have no dinner.”

“Might join you,” Brown said, grinning. “Where is the stuff?”

“In the cellarette in the room adjoining,” Warwick Said.

He stood up, and so did Brown, and Green whirled toward him menacingly.

“No tricks!” Brown warned.

“You're rather a suspicious person, what?” Warwick said. “Don't seem to realize when a man knows he is up against it. My word! I'm one of those chaps who never puts up a fight when he knows that he's licked. Come with me, by all means!”

Brown stepped close behind him and held the muzzle of the automatic against his back, and Green followed a couple of steps in the rear. Warwick opened the door and led the way into the adjoining room. He got bottles from the cellarette, also a box of cigars, and went back to the other room, where he placed the bottles and cigars on the table.

“If I'm willing to be decent about this thing, I think one of you chaps might get me a bit of food later,” Warwick said.

“We'll see about that,” muttered Brown.

He winked at Green. So John Warwick expected one of them to go for food later, did he, and then he would try to catch the other off guard? They'd see about that!

It was what Warwick wanted. It lulled them to a false sense of security, made them look into the future and forget the present. Warwick opened the box of cigars and put it on one end of the table.

“Help yourselves,” he said. “I fancy you'll find them first-rate smokes. I import them, you know.”

Then he arranged three whisky glasses, poured his own drink, and motioned for them to do the same. They did, but Brown was careful not to get too close to him, and he always watched.

Warwick lifted the siphon. He charged Brown's glass, and then he charged Green's, and they stood back a half a dozen feet, watching him and waiting.

“Rather a bit unusual to drink with chaps who hold a gun on you,” Warwick said, “but I always did like the unusual. If we've got to pass the entire night this way, there's no sense in sitting around like a lot of turtles on a log eh, what? My word, no!”

Once more Brown winked at Green. Oh, Brown understood! This clever John Warwick would play with them, expect to catch them off guard in an hour or so, and then”

Warwick placed his own glass at the end of the table, bent his head, picked up the siphon, and pressed the lever.

“Nothing like a good drink to brace a man when he has had a shock,” he said. “You chaps want to be careful and not drink too much—might get intoxicated, and then I'd have you.”

“You needn't worry about that,” Brown told him, grinning.

Warwick pressed the lever of the siphon bottle again, and charged his drink.

Suddenly he straightened, and pressed the lever to its limit—and a stream of the hissing carbonated water struck Mr. Brown straight in the eyes. At the same moment, Warwick sprang to one side and forward. The bottle crashed against Brown's wrist. The automatic dropped to the floor. Warwick grasped it and sprang backward.