The Web of the Golden Spider. Bartlett Frederick Orin

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ father is not here, comrade. He has not been here. You–you drowsed a bit, I guess.”

      She caught sight of the image on the floor and instantly understood. She passed her hands over her eyes in an effort to recall what she had seen.

      “I remember–I remember,” she faltered. “I was in some foreign land–some strange place–and I saw–I saw my father.”

      She looked puzzled.

      “That is odd, because it was here that I saw him yesterday.”

      Her lips were dry and she asked Wilson for a glass of water. A pitcher stood upon the table, which he had brought up with the other things. When she had moistened her lips, she sat down again still a bit stupid. The wounded man spoke.

      “My dear,” he said, “what you have just seen through the medium of that image interests me more than I can tell you. It may be that I can be of some help to you. My name is Sorez–and I know well that country which you have just seen. It is many thousand miles from here.”

      “As far as the land of dreams,” interrupted Wilson. “I think the girl has been worried enough by such nonsense.”

      “You spoke of your father,” continued Sorez, ignoring the outburst. “Has he ever visited South America?”

      “Many times. He was a sea captain, but he has not been home for years now.”

      “Ah, Dios!” exclaimed Sorez, “I understand now why you saw so clearly.”

      “You know my father–you have seen him?”

      He waived her question aside impatiently. His strength was failing him again and he seemed anxious to say what he had to say before he was unable.

      “Listen!” he began, fighting hard to preserve his consciousness. “You have a power that will lead you to much. This image here has spoken through you. He has a secret worth millions and–”

      “But my father,” pleaded the girl, with a tremor in her voice. “Can it help me to him?”

      “Yes! Yes! But do not leave me. Be patient. The priest–the priest is close by. He–he did this,” placing his hand over the wound, “and I fear he–he may come again.”

      He staggered back a pace and stared in terror about him.

      “I am not afraid of most things,” he apologized, “but that devil he is everywhere. He might be–”

      There was a sound in the hall below. Sorez placed his hand to his heart again and staggered back with a piteous appeal to Wilson.

      “The image! The image!” he gasped. “For the love of God, do not let him get it.”

      Then he sank in a faint to the floor.

      Wilson looked at the girl. He saw her stoop for the revolver. She thrust it in his hand.

      CHAPTER V

      In the Dark

      Wilson made his way into the hall and peered down the dark stairs. He listened; all was silent. A dozen perfectly simple accidents might have caused the sound the three had heard; and yet, although he had not made up his mind that the stranger’s whole story was not the fabric of delirium, he had an uncomfortable feeling that someone really was below. Neither seeing nor hearing, he knew by some sixth sense that another human being stood within a few yards of him waiting. Who that human being was, what he wished, what he was willing to venture was a mystery. Sorez had spoken of the priest–the man who had stabbed him–but it seemed scarcely probable that after such an act as that a man would break into his victim’s house, where the chances were that he was guarded, and make a second attempt. Then he recalled that Sorez was apparently living alone here and that doubtless this was known to the mysterious priest. If the golden image were the object of his attack, truly it must have some extraordinary value outside its own intrinsic worth. If of solid gold it could be worth but a few hundred dollars. It must, then, be of value because of such power as it had exercised over the girl.

      There was not so much as a creak on the floor below, and still his conviction remained that someone stood there gazing up as he was staring down. If only the house were lighted! To go back and get the candle would be to make a target of himself for anyone determined in his mission, but he must solve this mystery. The girl expected it of him and he was ready to sacrifice his life rather than to stand poorly in her eyes. He paused at this thought. Until it came to him at that moment, in that form, he had not realized anything of the sort. He had not realized that she was any more to him now than she had ever been–yet she had impelled him to do an unusual thing from the first. Yes, he had done for her what he would have done for no other living woman. He had helped her out of the clutches of the law, he had been willing to strike down an officer if it had been necessary, he had broken into a house for her, and now he was willing to risk his life. The thought brought him joy. He smiled, standing there in the dark at the head of the stairs, that he had in life this new impulse–this new propelling force. Then he slid his foot forward and stepped down the first stair.

      He still had strongly that sense of being watched, but there was no movement below to indicate that this was anything more than a fancy. Not a sound came from the room he had just left. Evidently the girl was waiting breathlessly for his return. He must delay no longer. He moved on, planning to try the front door and then to examine the window by which he himself had entered. These were the only two possible entrances to the house; the other windows were beyond the reach of anyone without a ladder and were tightly boarded in addition. He found the front door fast locked. It had a patent lock so that the chance of anyone having opened and closed it again was slight. He breathed more easily.

      Groping along the hallway he was vividly reminded of the time a few hours past when the girl had placed her hand within his. It seemed to him that he now felt the warmth of it–thrilled to the velvet softness of it–more than he had at the time. He was full of illusions, excited by all the unusual happenings, and now, as he felt his way along the dark passage, he could have sworn that her fingers still rested upon his. It made him restless to get back to her. He should not have left her behind alone and unprotected. It was very possible that this swoon of Sorez’ was but a ruse. He must hurry on about his investigation. He descended to the lower floor and groped to the laundry. It was still dark; the earth would not be lighted for another hour. He neither heard nor saw anything here. But when he reached the window by which he himself had entered but which he had closed behind him, he gave a start–it was wide open. It told him of another’s presence in this house as plainly as if he had seen the person. There was of course one chance in a hundred that the intruder had become frightened and taken to his heels. Wilson turned back with fresh fear for the girl whom he had been forced to leave behind unprotected. If it was true, as the terrified Sorez had feared, that the priest, whoever this mysterious and unscrupulous person might be, had returned to the assault, there certainly was good cause to fear for the safety of the girl. A man so fanatically inspired as to be willing to commit murder for the sake of an idol must be half mad. The danger was that the girl, in the belief which quite evidently now possessed her–that this golden thing held the key to her father’s whereabouts–might attempt to protect or conceal it. He stumbled up the dark stairs and fell flat against the door. It was closed. He tried the knob; the door was locked. For a moment Wilson could not believe. It was as though in a second he had found himself thrust utterly out of the house. His first suspicion flew to Sorez, but he put this from his mind instantly. There was no acting possible in that man’s condition; he was too weak to get down the stairs. But this was no common thief who had done this, for a thief, once realizing a household is awakened, thinks of nothing further but flight. It must then be no other than the priest СКАЧАТЬ