The Spider's Reward/Chapter 7

ARWICK was nauseated for a few minutes, and then was himself again. Once more he went up the stairs, not caring now whether he pressed foot against every third step or not. He investigated the electric switch and found that Bertram Blaine had thrown off the current before descending, and then he ran down the stairs again and helped Togo carry the unconscious master of the house up to his bedchamber.

“It will not last long, sar,” Togo said. “I did not get the chance to grip his throat properly, sar.”

Warwick issued his orders quickly then. They tore a sheet into strips, propped the unconscious Bertram Blaine in a chair, and lashed him there. They put the chair against the wall, and then Warwick glanced at his watch and went across to send the shade of one of the windows flying up.

“What else, sar?” Togo asked.

“Nothing—except to wait,” Warwick said. “You are due for a shock, honorable Japanese. By the way, you'd better make a mask out of a part of that sheet and cover your face and head. The gentleman in the chair does not need to know you.”

Togo sprang to the bed and obeyed. Warwick was watching Bertram Blaine closely, who after a time gave signs of returning consciousness.

When finally the man in the chair threw up his head Warwick carried a glass of water across the room and offered it to him, holding it while he drank.

“You see, Mr. Blaine,” he said, “what you got for playing a trick on me. A good friend of mine happened to put in an appearance in the nick of time. I trust that you are finally recovered from your heart attack?”

Warwick laughed, and Blaine glared at him. He glared at Togo, too, who had made a rough mask out of a piece of the sheet.

“Well, what do you want of me?” he demanded.

“For the present, we want nothing, Warwick said. “You are to collect your wits and courage—especially the latter—and wait.”

Warwick whispered instructions to Togo, who slipped from the room and hurried down the stairs,

“If you want money” Blaine began.

“Thanks; but I do not want money,” Warwick said. “If that were all, I'd merely open your safe and take it.”

“In Heaven's name”

“Careful, Mr. Blaine, or you'll have another heart attack,” Warwick warned. “That was a very clever trick you played on me, and came near to being successful. I honor you for it—but I happen to have the upper hand at present.

“I—I don't understand this,” Blaine said.

There was a note of fear in his voice again. He licked his lips and glanced around the room, especially at the door through which Togo had disappeared.

“You'll understand it in time,” Warwick said.

“Listen to me! I have enemies, and it is possible that some of them have engaged you to do this thing,” Blaine said. “I'll pay you well, pay you better than your employers, if you'll do as I tell you.”

“I'm afraid that we cannot make a deal,” Warwick said, chuckling behind his mask.

“Can't you tell me what you intend doing with me? Am I always to be kept in the dark?”

“Not always, I hope,” Warwick replied. “I am anxious to be gone from here myself before daylight. That is only about three hours away, you know.”

The sound of voices came from below, and Warwick walked across to the door. The expression on Bertram Blaine's face now was one of abject terror, that of a man whose crime had found him out. Warwick, knowing that he was bound securely, gave him not the slightest attention. He stepped into the hall and snapped on the electric lights there.

Togo was coming up the stairs, and three other men were with him. All were dressed in dark suits, each had a mask over his face. The foremost stopped at the head of the stairs, raised one hand above his head, and folded his fingers in a peculiar manner. It was the sign of The Spider.

Warwick answered it and led the way into Blaine's bedroom. One by one the men followed him and arranged themselves against the wall. They did not speak a word.

Bertram Blaine tugged at his bonds, tried to hurl himself from the chair.

“Careful, Mr. Blaine, or you'll have another heart attack,” Warwick said. “If you do, I'll not be as merciful as I was before. Not even a drink of water”

“What does it mean?” Blaine demanded. “What are you going to do with me?”

“For myself, I intend doing nothing except hold you prisoner,” John Warwick told him; “and I am sure that these four companions of mine intend you no harm, if you behave yourself. Wait, Mr. Blaine—just wait!”

Again there came the sound of voices from below, and Warwick threw the hall door open wide and stepped to one side. The voices came nearer, steps sounded in the hall, and two more masked men walked through the door.

Bertram Blaine gave a shriek and tugged at his bonds once more. Between them the two masked men carried—The Spider!

Again Blaine shrieked, but no one gave him attention. Warwick placed a chair a few feet before the bound man, and the two assistants put The Spider in it. He was facing Bertram Blaine. His flabby cheeks shook, his little piglike eves glittered with malevolence, his fat hands opened and closed as if they would clutch at the throat of Bertram Blaine and choke the life out of his body. Blaine ceased shrieking, began gasping. His face was white now, and fear was in his eyes.

“So!” The Spider said.

“You—you'll suffer for this!” Blaine asserted.

“For what? For making a call upon you?” the supercriminal asked, laughing horribly. “Are you always frightened when you have a guest? There must be some special reason in this case.”

The Spider laughed again, and his eyes narrowed until they were but two tiny slits. Then he ceased laughing, and Warwick never had seen such a look in his face as came into it now. In it were rage and hatred.

“Bertram Blaine, your day has come!” The Spider said. “It is quite a shock to you to see me, is it not? I have been in this city for more than a year, Bertram Blaine. I came here because I knew that you were here. I have been keeping track of you for more than twenty years. I know as much about you and your affairs as you do yourself. Why, one of my men, coming here to-night, even knew about your traps, your wired third steps.”

“You fiend! You fiend!” Blaine exclaimed

“It has been a score of years, hasn't it, Bertram Blaine?” The Spider said. “You thought, perhaps, that you never would be bothered by me. But you must not quite have believed that, or you would not have taken such precautions. You cannot dodge retribution, Bertram Blaine. And this is your night for it!”

“You—You fiend!”

“I am a fiend, am I? And what were you a score of years ago? The Spider has left his web, Bertram Blaine, to make you pay for what you did then. After he has made you pay, he will go back to his web—but he will be The Spider no longer. No longer will he set his snare to catch poor flies. He will think over his life—and wait for death.”

The Spider glanced around the room. Warwick, Togo and the others stood against the wall, their arms folded, and made no move, said nothing. Even John Warwick did not know what the supercriminal intended doing. The Spider had told him a part, but not all. It had been Warwick's task to get control of Bertram Blaine and hold him a prisoner until The Spider arrived.

Blaine was almost paralyzed with fear now, and Warwick wondered at the cause of it, wondered what this man had done twenty years before that made him so afraid of retribution. But The Spider cleared his throat and began speaking again.

“Two decades ago,” he said, “you were a young man, Bertram Blaine, and were spending time and money in Paris. You had ample money then. You were wild, inclined toward the criminal, wanted adventure. You associated with the lower orders of human beings. And so you came to my notice finally.

“You became a member of my band, Bertram Blaine, not because you wanted or needed money, but simply because you were a degenerate and criminal at heart. I accepted you because I could use you. It was great fun for a time, wasn't it? You became an important man in the band. You lived in a gorgeous hotel, and yet you were one of The Spider's men!

Then I was forced to protect from you a woman, a member of my band who was a spy and a thief, but a good woman in other ways. Because of that you turned against me. You thought that because you had wealth you could play the traitor. You were not content to leave France and return to the United States, simply saying that you were tired of the game. Had you done that, I would have allowed you to go your way, after making sure that you were loyal.

“But you had to turn traitor—informer. You waited until you knew of something big my band contemplated. I was young and active in those days, and did something more than sit in an office and plan; I went out with my men and women—for I loved adventure, too.

“You turned informer. You told the authorities, by means of an anonymous letter, what was to happen. You helped plan a trap—and I walked into it with some of my people. There was a battle with the officers of the law. I was cornered in a certain building, the location of which you know. My people fought, the building was fired—and you know what happened. I almost perished, Bertram Blaine. Some of my faithful men rescued me at risk of their own lives—but they rescued me as I am now.

“You see these crippled legs, Bertram Blaine? There are great scars on my poor body, too. You are the man to blame for it all!”

Warwick gave a gasp of horror and looked at Blaine again. He understood everything now. So Bertram Blaine was the traitor who had caused The Spider so much suffering! The supercriminal often had told Warwick how it had happened, but never before had he named the man responsible.

“Had an officer of the law done it,” The Spider went on, “I should have accepted it as a part of the game and said nothing. But you were a member of my band—you played the traitor. I always reward traitors, Bertram Blaine, even as I reward those who help me and are kind to me. I am here to-night to give you your reward. Are you ready to receive it?”

Blaine shrieked at him again. The man was in an agony of fear now. The Spider motioned to Warwick, who got a glass of water and held it to Blaine's lips.

“There were years when I was inactive,” The Spider went on to say, “but never did I lose trace of you, Bertram Blaine. I knew that you were living in fear, and that pleased me. I know how you rejoiced when it was rumored that The Spider was dead, and I know how you feared again when you heard that he lived. I saw that you got word that he lived. Then you came here, purchased this house, and imagined that you were safe. You had a small part of your fortune left. You surrounded yourself with protective devices and traps. You poor fool! I knew of them as soon as they were completed. Your two old servants are people of mine.”

“You devil!” Blaine shrieked.

“I had some work to do, Blaine, and so I merely had you watched, and waited. I waited until there came a time when it was for me to decide that The Spider should be a criminal no more. That time has arrived. I have finished after to-night. My men and women will be rewarded and will go their several ways. And you, too, shall he rewarded. What reward do you expect, Bertram Blaine?”

The supercriminal stared at the man before him, but Blaine made no reply. He was gasping for breath. Abject terror was in his face. He could not meet The Spider's eyes. He looked at the masked men against the wall, gulped, tried to speak and could not.

“I am waiting for you to name the reward,” The Spider. said.

“Mercy—mercy!” Blaine begged.

“Did you show me mercy?” the supercriminal asked. “You see my crippled legs, my repulsive face. I once was one of the best-looking young men in Paris. That is your fault. The scars on my body—they are your fault. The hours and days of pain—all your fault. All because you played the traitor, Bertram Blaine!”

“I—I was young and”

“You were twenty-six, to be exact—old enough to know the meaning of loyalty. When you joined my band you were made acquainted with the penalty for treason. You were old enough to understand. There is no excuse. I could have had you slain within a year, but I preferred to wait, to let you suffer as I suffered, to let you live in continual fear. What reward do you expect?”

The Spider spoke the last sentence in ringing tones. Bertram Blaine gurgled low in his throat, but could speak no words. He was breathing in gasps, his face was ashen, he struggled at his bonds and then sank back in the chair.

“I have been investigating you recently,” The Spider said. “You have left of your fortune about eighteen thousand dollars in cash. It has been deposited in two banks, but to-day every cent was withdrawn. Some of my people did it with forged checks and letters of instruction.”

“I'll—I'll declare the forgeries and”

“You will not have the chance, Bertram Blaine. In addition to that money, you had in this house, in a hidden place, bonds that are negotiable and are valued at about fifty thousand dollars. Less than half an hour ago, Bertram Blaine, one of my men removed them. You had an interest in a certain manufacturing company; late yesterday afternoon that company went into the hands of a receiver. I arranged that, Bertram Blaine. You'd be informed of it within a few hours—if you were here to receive the information.”

“You fiend!”

“Hard names do not hurt me, Blaine. I have been through the fire, thanks to you! You are stripped clean; you have nothing left. This property is worth a few thousand, but it will not be here long.”

“What do you mean?” Blaine asked. “Tell me what you mean?”

“It is very simple. I believe in just retribution, Blaine!” The Spider said. “I intend to give you a dose of your own medicine. Since you have not been committing crimes, I cannot send the police down upon you as you sent them upon me. But I can do the rest. I was penned in a burning house, Blaine, through your fault. And you'll be penned in a burning house—in this one. There is one difference: I was rescued, but there will be nobody to rescue you!”

Now Bertram Blaine shrieked like a maniac, and tugged again at the bonds that would not give. Warwick, standing against the wall, felt some sorrow for the man, felt horror at what The Spider had said he contemplated. He could not believe that the supercriminal would do such a thing. He could not believe that Silvia's uncle would create such a horror, though Bertram Blaine might deserve it. He stood against the wall and said no word.

“At the time you turned against me, a physician saved my life,” The Spider went on. “He was a young American physician who happened to be studying in Paris at the time. He may have guessed that I was a criminal, but he asked no questions. He was a physician—and a gentleman. He saved me, Bertram Blaine, and said nothing to anybody about his suspicions. I am rewarding him, too.

“He has struggled through the years, and at present is in this city. He has a wife, children grown. But he has not wealth. Do you know what is going to happen to that man, Blaine? He is going to find suddenly that everything he touches turns to gold. I am arrangeing [sic] that. He will have great good fortune within the next year. Perhaps I shall send him word anonymously that the man whose life he saved in Paris twenty years ago is repaying the debt. For I always repay debts, Bertram Blaine, no matter what sort they are!”

Blaine no longer was listening. He struggled against the bonds that held him, in a futile effort to get free. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and now and then he shrieked like a madman.

“You must give me some credit,” The Spider said; “I waited until you were alone in the world. I did not strike while your wife lived, for I had no wish to make an innocent woman suffer for something that you had done. But now you stand alone—and your time has come!”