The Web of the Golden Spider. Bartlett Frederick Orin

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СКАЧАТЬ roll of parchment some four inches long and of about an inch in thickness. When unrolled Wilson saw that there were two parchments; one a roughly drawn map, and the other a document covered with an exceedingly fine script which he could not in this light make out at all. Without a strong magnifying glass, not a word was decipherable. He thrust it back in his pocket with a sense of disappointment, when he recalled that he could take it to the Public Library which was not far from there and secure a reading glass which would make it all clear. He would complete his investigation in the house and then go to the reading room where he had spent so much of his time during the first week he was in Boston.

      He picked up several fragments of the letters scattered about, in the hope of obtaining at least some knowledge of Sorez. The fact that the man had stopped to tear them up seemed to prove that he had made plans to depart for good, sweeping everything from the safe and hastily destroying what was not valuable. Wilson knew a little Spanish and saw that most of the letters were of recent date and related to the death of a niece. Others mentioned the unsettled condition of government affairs in Carlina. At one time Sorez must have been very close to the ruling party, for several of the letters were from a man who evidently stood high in the ministry, judged by the intimacy which he displayed with affairs of state. He spoke several times of the Expedition of the Hills, in which Sorez had apparently played a part. But the most significant clause which Wilson found in his hasty examination of the remnants was this reference:

      “There is still, I hear, a great bitterness felt among the Mountain tribes over the disappearance of the idol of their Sun God. They blame this on the government and more than half suspect that you were an important factor in its vanishing. Have a care and keep a sharp lookout. You know their priest is no ordinary man. They have implicit faith that he will charm it back to them.”

      This was dated three months before. Wilson put the few remaining bits of this letter in his pocket. Was it possible that this grinning idol which already had played so important a part in his own life was the one mentioned here? And the priest of whom Sorez spoke–could it be he who ruled these tribes in the Andes? It was possible–Lord, yes, anything was possible. But none of these things hinted as to where the girl now was.

      He came back into the study and took a look into the small room to the left. He saw his own clothes there. He had forgotten all about them. They were wrinkled and scarcely fit to wear–all but his old slouch hat. He smiled as he recalled that at school it was thought he showed undue levity for a theological student in wearing so weather-beaten and rakish a hat. He was glad of the opportunity to exchange for it the one he now wore. He picked it up from the chair where it lay. Beneath the rim, but protruding so as to be easily seen, was a note. He snatched it out, knowing it was from her as truly as though he had heard her voice. It read:

      “Dear Comrade:

      I don’t know what has become of you, but I know that if you’re alive you’ll come back for me. We are leaving here now. I haven’t time to tell you more. Go to the telephone and ring up Belmont 2748.

Hastily, your comrade,Jo Manning.”

      Wilson caught his breath. With the quick relief he felt almost light-headed. She was alive–she had thought of him–she had trusted him! It deepened the mystery of how he had come to be carried from the house–of where they succeeded in hiding themselves–but, Lord, he was thankful for it all now. He would have undergone double what he had been through for the reward of this note–for this assurance of her faith in him. It cemented their friendship as nothing else could. For him it went deeper. The words, “You’ll come back here for me,” tingled through his brain like some sweet song. She was alive–alive and waiting for him to come back. There is nothing finer to a man than this knowledge, that some one is waiting his return. It was an emotion that Wilson in his somewhat lonely life had never experienced save in so attenuated a form as not to be noticeable. He lingered a moment over the thought, and then, crushing the old hat–now doubly dear–over his bandaged head, hurried out of this house in which he had run almost the gamut of human emotions. He went out by the laundry window, closing it behind him, across the courtyard, and made the street without being seen. That was the last time, he thought, that he would ever set foot within that building. He didn’t find a public telephone until he reached Tremont Street. He entered the booth with his heart beating up in his throat. It didn’t seem possible that when a few minutes ago he didn’t know whether she was dead or alive, that he could now seat himself here and hope to hear her voice. His hand trembled as he took down the receiver. It seemed an eternity before he got central; another before she connected him with Belmont. He grew irritable with impatience over the length of time that elapsed before he heard,

      “A dime, please.”

      He was forced to drop the receiver and go out for change. Every clerk was busy, but he interrupted one of them with a peremptory demand for change. The clerk, taken by surprise, actually obeyed the command without a word. When Wilson finally succeeded in getting the number, he heard a man’s voice, evidently a servant. The latter did not know of a Miss Manning. Who did live there? The servant, grown suspicious and bold, replied,

      “Never mind now, but if ye wishes to talk with any Miss Manning ye can try somewheres else. Good-bye.”

      “See here–wait a minute. I tell you the girl is there, and I must talk to her.”

      “An’ I’m telling ye she isn’t.”

      “Is there a Mr. Sorez there–”

      “Oh, the man who is just after comin’? Wait a minute now,” he put in more civilly, “an’ I’ll see, sor.”

      Wilson breathed once more. He started at every fairy clicking and jingle which came over the waiting line.

      “Waiting?”

      He almost shouted his reply in fear lest he be cut off.

      “Yes! Yes! waiting. Don’t cut me off. Don’t–”

      “Is this you?”

      The voice came timidly, doubtingly–with a little tremor in it, but it was her voice.

      He had not known it long, and yet it was as though he had always known it.

      “Jo–comrade–are you safe?”

      “Yes, and you? Oh, David!” she spoke his name hesitatingly, “David, where did you go?”

      “I was hurt a little. I lost consciousness.”

      “Hurt, David?”

      “Not seriously, but that is why I couldn’t come back. I was carried to a hospital.”

      “David!”

      Her voice was tender with sympathy.

      “And you–I came back to the study for you. You were gone.”

      “We were hidden. There is a secret room where we stayed until daylight.”

      “Then it was–”

      “The priest. Sorez was so weak and frightened.”

      “He came for the image?”

      “Yes, but he did not get it. Was it he who–who hurt you, David?”

      “It must have been. It was just as I came into the study.”

      “And he carried you out?”

      “Because he thought the house empty, I guess, and feared I was СКАЧАТЬ