The Web of the Golden Spider Part 14

"All right, sir."

Wilson started on, but stopped to look into the drugstore window. The man went down the street to the car corner. Wilson again circled the block and waited until he saw Riley board the car on the front platform. He kept out of sight until the car had almost pa.s.sed him and then swung on to the rear. The stratagem was simplicity itself.

At the end of a ten-minute ride the inspector swung off and at the next corner Wilson followed. It was easy enough to keep the man in sight, and apparently he himself had escaped detection. The inspector approached a modest looking house setting a bit back from the road and, going to the front door, rang the bell. At the end of perhaps three minutes he rang again. At the end of another five he rang a third time. The curtains were down in the front windows, but that was not uncommon in hot June days. The inspector went to the rear. In a few minutes he came back. He tried the door once more and then, apparently bewildered, came out. He hung around for some ten minutes more, and then, returning to the corner, took the first car back.

It seemed clear enough that the occupants of the house were gone, but Wilson waited a few minutes longer, unwilling to accept the possibilities this suggested. He even went up and tried the bell himself. A servant from the neighboring house called across to him:

"They all drove off in a carriage an hour ago, sir," she said.

"How many of them?" he asked.

"Mr. Davis and his aunt and his friend, the old man, and the young girl--all of them."

"But the servants----"

"Ain't but one--old man Sullivan," she answered with some scorn.

"And they went where?"

"Lord, now how d' ye suppose I know that?"

For a second Wilson looked so disconsolate that she offered her last bit of information.

"They took their trunks with 'em."

"Thanks," he replied as he turned on his heels and ran for the approaching car.

He made it. During the ride in town his mind was busy with a dozen different conjectures, each wilder than the preceding one. He was hoping against hope that she had written him and that her letter now awaited him in the post-office.

Reaching the Federal Building, he waited breathlessly at the tiny window while the indifferent clerk ran over the general mail. With a large bundle of letters in his hand he skimmed them over and finally paused, started on, returned, and tossed out a letter. Wilson tore it open. It was from Jo. It read:

"DEAR COMRADE:

I have made my decision--I am going with Dr. Sorez to Bogova, South America. I have just written them at home and now I am writing you as I promised. I'm afraid you will think, like the others, that I am off on a senseless quest; but perhaps you won't. If only you knew how much my father is to me! Dr. Sorez is sure he is still living. I know he used to go to Carlina, of which Bogova is the capitol. Why he should let us believe him dead is, of course, something for me to learn. At any rate, I am off, and off--to-day. The priest makes it unsafe for Dr. Sorez to remain here any longer. You see, I have a long journey before me. But I love it. I'm half a sailor, you know.

I am writing this in the hope that you will receive it in time to meet me at the steamer--the Columba, a merchantman. It sails at four from Pier 7, East Boston. If not, let me tell you again how much I thank you for what you have done--and would do. From time to time I shall write to you, if you wish, and you can write to me in care of Dr. Carl Sorez, the Metropole, Bogova, Carlina. When I come back we must meet again. Good luck to you, comrade.

Sincerely yours, JO MANNING."

Meet her at the steamer! The boat sailed at four. It was now quarter of. He ran from the building to Washington street. Here he found a cab.

"Five dollars," he panted, "if you get me to Pier 7, East Boston, at four o'clock."

He jumped in and had hardly closed the door before the cabby had brought his whip across the flanks of the dozing horse. The animal came to life and tore down Washington Street at a pace that threatened to wreck the vehicle. The wheels skimmed sides of electric cars and brushed the noses of pa.s.sing teams. A policeman shouted, but the cabby took a chance and kept on. Down Atlantic Avenue the light cab swayed from side to side, swerving to within a hair's distance of the elevated structure. They wasted five precious minutes at the Ferry.

From here the distance was short. At one end of the wharf Wilson sprang through the small group of stevedores who, their work done, were watching the receding steamer. He was too late by five minutes.

But he pushed on to the very tip of the wharf in his endeavor to get as near as possible to the boat. The deck looked deserted save for the bustling sailors. Then Fate favored him with one glance of her. She had come up from below, evidently for a last look at the wharf. He saw her--saw her start--saw her hesitate, and then saw her impulsively throw out her arms to him. He felt a lump in his throat as, with his whole heart in the action, he in his turn reached towards her.

CHAPTER X

Strange Fishing

Yes, her arms were extended towards him. The fact made the world swim before his eyes. Then he thought of Sorez and--it was well Sorez was not within reach of him. Slowly the barrier widened between Wilson and his Comrade--slowly she faded from sight, even while his eyes strained to hold the last glimpse of her. It seemed as though the big ship were dragging the heart out of him. On it went, slowly, majestically, inevitably, tugging, straining until it was difficult for him to catch his breath. She was taking away not only her own sweet self, but the joy and life from everything about him; the color from the sky, the gold from the sunbeams, the savor from the breezes. To others the sky was blue, the sun warm, and the salt-laden winds came in from over the sea with pungent keenness. To others the waters were sprinkled with joyous colors--the white sails of yachts, the weather-beaten sails of the fishermen, and the gaudy funnels of the liners. But to him it was all gray, gray--a dull, sodden gray.

He felt a tug at his sleeve and heard the gruff voice of the cabby.

"What about my fare?"

"Your fare?"

He had forgotten. He reached in his pocket and drew out a roll of bills, thrusting them into the grimy hands of the man without looking at them.

"Now get out," he ordered.

Wilson watched the fading hulk until it was lost in the tangle of other shipping. Then he tried to hold the line of black smoke which it left in its wake. When that finally blended with the smoke from other funnels which misted into the under surface of the blue sky, he turned about and stared wearily at the jumble of buildings which marked the city that was left. The few who had come on a like mission dispersed,--sucked into the city channels to their destinations as nickel cash boxes in a department store are flashed to their goals. Wilson found himself almost alone on the pier.

There was but one other who, like himself, seemed to find no interest left behind by the steamer. Wilson merely glanced at him, but soon looked back, his interest excited by something or other in the man's appearance. He was no ordinary looking man--a certain heavy, brooding air relieved of moroseness by twinkling black eyes marked him as a man with a personality. He was short and thick set, with s.h.a.ggy, iron-gray eyebrows, a smooth-shaven face speckled on one side as by a powder scar. Beneath a thin-lipped mouth a stubborn chin protruded.

He was dressed in a flannel shirt and corduroy trousers, fastened by a black belt. He had the self-sufficient air of the sailor or miner, which is developed by living a great deal apart from other men. It seemed to Wilson that the man was watching him, too, with considerable interest. Every now and then he removed the short clay pipe which he was smoking and covered a half circle with his eyes which invariably included Wilson. Finally he lounged nearer and a few minutes later asked for a match.

Wilson, who was not much given to forming chance acquaintanceships, was at first inclined to be suspicious, and yet it was he who made the next advance, prompted, however, by his eagerness for information.

"Do you know anything about sailing lines to South America?" he asked.

The older man removed his pipe. Wilson thought he looked a bit startled--a bit suspicious at the question.

"What port?" he asked.

It occurred to Wilson that it might be just as well not to divulge his real destination. The only other South American port he could think of was Rio Janeiro, on the east coast.

"How about to Rio?"

"h.e.l.l of a hole--Rio," observed the stranger, with a sad shake of his head. "But fer that matter so's everywhere. Never found a place what wasn't. This is," he affirmed, sweeping his pipe in a semicircle.

"You're right there," agreed Wilson, the blue sky above clouding before his eyes.

"I've heern there's goneter be an earthquake here some day. Swaller up the whole darned place. Guess it's so."

Wilson studied the man once more; he began to think the fellow was a trifle light-headed. But he decided not; he was probably only one of those with so strong an individuality as to be thought queer. The stranger was staring out to sea again as though, in the trend of fresh speculations, he had lost all interest in the conversation. However, in a minute he withdrew his pipe from his mouth, and, without turning his head, asked,

"Was you reckoning as a pa.s.senger or was yer lookin' for a chance to ship?"

That was a proposition Wilson had not considered. It had no more occurred to him that a man untrained could secure work on a ship than on a railroad.

"Think it is possible for me to get a job?" he asked. "I've not had any experience."

"There's some things yer don't need experience fer."