The Web of the Golden Spider Part 25

In the little Spanish he had picked up Wilson managed to make the fellow understand that he wished to find his way to the prison. But the effect of this was disastrous, for the man crumbled in his hands, sinking weak-kneed to the floor where he began to beg for mercy.

"It's not for you. I have friends there I wish to free."

"For the love of G.o.d, go not near them. It is death down there."

"Up," cried Wilson, s.n.a.t.c.hing him to his feet. "Lead the way or I shoot."

He placed the cold muzzle of his revolver against the nape of the fellow's neck and drew a shriek from him.

"No! No! Do not shoot! But do not go there!"

"Not another word. On, quickly!"

"I do not know where,--I swear I do not know, signor!"

But hearing the sharp click of the weapon as Wilson c.o.c.ked it, he led the way. They pa.s.sed the length of several corridors which brought them to an open courtyard on the further side of which lay a low, granite building connected with the palace proper by a series of other small buildings. The fellow pointed to an open door.

"In there, signor. In there."

"Go on, then."

"But the signor is not going to take me in there? I pray,--see, I pray on my knees not."

He slumped again like a whipped dog and Wilson in disgust and not then understanding his fear, kicked him to his feet. The fellow trembled like one with the ague; his cheeks were ashen, his eyes wide and startled. One would have thought he was on his way to his execution.

Half pushed by Wilson, he entered the door to what was evidently an outer guardroom, for it contained only a few rough benches, an overturned table which in falling had scattered about a pack of greasy cards and a package of tobacco. Out of this opened another door set in solid masonry, and this, too, stood ajar as though all the guards had suddenly deserted their posts, as doubtless they had at the first sound of firing. Still forcing his guide ahead, they went through this door into a smaller room and here Wilson made a thorough search for keys, but without result. It was, of course, possible that below he might still find a sentry or turnkey; but even if he did not, he ought at least to be able to determine definitely whether or not she were here. Then he would return with men enough to tear the walls down if necessary.

They pa.s.sed through an oak and iron door out of this room and down a flight of stone steps which took them into the first of the damp under-pa.s.sageways leading directly to the dungeons themselves. The air was heavy with moisture and foul odors. It seemed more like a vault for the dead than a house of the living. Wilson had found and lighted a lantern and this threw the feeblest of rays ahead. Before him his prisoner fumbled along close to the wall, glancing back at every step to make sure his captor was at his heels.

So they came to a second corridor running in both directions at right angles from that in which they stood. He remained very still for a moment in the hope that he might once more hear the voice which would give him some hint of which way to turn. But the only sound that greeted him was the scratch of tiny feet as a big rat scurried by. He closed his eyes and concentrated his thought upon her. He had heard that so people had communicated with one another and he himself had had proof enough, if it were true that she was here. But he found it impossible to concentrate his thoughts in this place,--even to keep his eyes closed.

Then the silence was pierced by a shriek, the sweat-starting, nerve-racked cry of a man in awful pain. It was not an appeal for mercy, or a cry for a.s.sistance, but just a naked yell wrung from a throat grown big-veined in the agony of torture. Wilson could think of only one thing, the rats. He had a vision of them springing at some poor devil's throat after he had become too weak to fight them off. The horrible damp air m.u.f.fled the cry instantly. He heard an oath from his guide and the next second the fellow flew past him like a madman and vanished from sight toward the outer door. For a second Wilson was tempted to follow. The thought of Jo turned him instantly. He leaped to the left from where the cry had come, holding the lantern above his head. His feet slipped on the slimy ooze covering the clay floors, but by following close to the wall he managed to keep his feet. So he came to an open door. Within, he saw dimly two figures, one apparently bending over the other which lay prostrate. Pushing in, he thrust the lantern closer to them. He had one awful glimpse of a pa.s.sion-distorted face; it was the Priest! It sent a chill the length of him. He dropped the lantern and shot blindly at the form which hurled itself upon him with the flash of a knife.

Wilson felt a slight sting upon his shoulder; the Priest's knife had missed him by the thickness of his shirt. He closed upon the skinny form and reached for his throat. The struggle was brief; the other was as a child before his own young strength. The two fell to the floor, but Wilson got to his feet in an instant and picking up the other bodily hurled him against the wall. For a second he tasted revenge, tingled with the satisfaction of returning that blow in the dark. The priest dropped back like a stunned rat.

The light in the overturned lantern was still flickering. s.n.a.t.c.hing it up he thrust it before the eyes of the man who now lay groaning in the aftermath of the agony to which he had been subjected. The lantern almost dropped from his trembling fingers as he recognized in the face distorted with pain, Don Sorez. In a flash he realized that the Priest had another and stronger reason for joining this expedition than mere revenge for his people; doubtless by a wile of some sort he had caused the arrest of these two, and then had led the attack upon the prison for the sake of getting this man as completely within his power as he had thought him now to be. The torture was for the purpose of forcing the secret of the hiding place of the image. For a second Wilson felt almost pity for the man who lay stretched out before him; he must have suffered terribly. But he wasted little thought upon this; the girl was still to be located. Wilson saw his eyes open. He stooped:

"Can you hear?" he asked. "Is the girl in this place?"

The thin lips moved, but there was no distinct response.

"Make an effort. Tell me, and I will get you out of here too."

The lips fluttered as though Sorez was spurred by this promise to a supreme effort.

"The key--he has it."

"Who?"

Wilson followed the eyes and saw the bra.s.s thing lying near the Priest.

He turned again to Sorez--

"Can you tell me anything about where she is? Is she near you?"

"I--don't know."

There was nothing for it but to open each door in order. It was of course likely that the two had been thrust into nearby cells, but had these been filled she might have been carried to the very end of the pa.s.sageway. He fitted the ponderous bra.s.s thing into the first lock.

It took a man's strength to turn the rusty and clumsy bolt, but it finally yielded. Again it took a man's strength to throw open the door upon its rusted hinges. A half savage thing staggered to the threshold and faced him with strange jabbering. Its face and hands were cruelly lacerated, its eyes bulging, its tattered remnants of clothes foul.

Wilson faced it a second and then stepped back to let it wander aimlessly on down the corridors.

The cold sweat started from his brow. Supposing Jo had gone mad? If the dark, the slime, the rats, could do this to a man, what would they not do to a woman? He knew her; she would fight bravely and long.

There would be no whimpering, no hysterics, but even so there would be a point where her woman's strength would fail. And all the while she might be calling for him and wondering why he did not come. But he _was_ coming,--he _was_! He forced the key into the next door and turned another creaking lock. And once again as the door opened he saw that a thing not more than half human lay within. Only this time it crouched in a far corner laughing horribly to itself. It glared at him like some animal. He couldn't let such a thing as that out; it would haunt him the rest of his life. It was better that it should laugh on so until it died. He closed the door, throwing against it all his strength with sudden horror. G.o.d, he might go mad himself before he found her!

At the end of a dozen cells and a dozen such sights, he worked in a frenzy. The prison now rang to the shrieking and the laughter of those who wandered free, and those who, still half sane, but savage, fought with their fellows, too weak to do harm. The farther he went the more hopeless seemed the task and the more fiercely he worked. He began to sicken from the odors and the dampness. Finally the bit of metal stuck in one of the locks so fast that he could not remove it. He twisted it to the right and to the left until his numbed fingers were upon the point of breaking. In a panic of fear he twisted his handkerchief in the handle and throwing all his weight upon it tried to force it out.

Then he inserted the muzzle of his revolver in the key handle and using this for a lever tried to turn it either way. It was in vain; it held as firmly as though it had been welded into the lock. In a rage he pounded and kicked at the door. Then he checked himself.

If ever he hoped to finish his task, he must work slowly and calmly.

With his back to the door, he rested for so long a time as a man might count five hundred. He breathed slowly and deeply with his eyes closed. Then he turned and began slowly to work the key back and forth, in and out. It fell from the lock. He reinserted it and after a few light manipulations, turned it carefully to the right. The bolt snapped back. He opened the door.

Within, all was dark. The cell seemed empty. In fact, he was about to close the door and pa.s.s on to the next cell, when he detected a slight movement in the corner. He entered cautiously and threw his light in that direction. Something--a woman--sat bolt upright watching him as one might watch a vision. He moved straight forward and when within two feet paused, his heart leaping to his throat, his hand grown so weak that he dropped the lantern.

"Jo!" he gasped tremblingly, still doubting his own senses.

"David. You--you came!"

He moved forward, arms outstretched, half fearing she would vanish.

CHAPTER XVII

_'Twixt Cup and Lip_

He took her in his arms and she lay there very quietly, her head upon his shoulder, in the lethargy of exhaustion. She clasped her hands about his neck as a very tired child would do. The curve of her cheek lay near his lips and, though he yearned to do so, he would not kiss it. He did not speak to her, but was satisfied to hold her there in silence. The feel of her heart beating against his, the warmth of her breath as it brushed his bare throat, the perfume of her hair--those things were enough now. After the last long weeks of doubt, after the last day of gruelling fear, after the terror of the last half hour, such things as these were soul-satisfying. So he allowed himself to stand a few minutes there in this dark cell which to him had become suddenly fairer than any garden. Then he spoke softly to her:

"Come," he said, "we will go out into the sunshine now."

She raised her head, looking at him through half-closed eyes.

"I--I don't want to move, David."

He unclasped the hands from about his neck and, placing an arm about her waist, led her slowly out into the corridor. She followed his guidance, resting her weight upon him. And he who had come into this foul place in terror and despair walked out in a dizzy bewilderment of joy. As he pa.s.sed the open door of Sorez' cell he hesitated. The evil prompting of his heart was to pa.s.s by this man--so to let him go forever out of his life. He had but to move on. He could find a refuge for the girl where she would be safe from this influence, but this would not be possible if he stopped to take Sorez with them. Once the girl knew the man was alive and in this condition her sympathies would be so aroused that she would never desert him. Wilson knew that he must decide instantly. To leave that prison without him was to leave him to his death. He turned towards the cell door; he had promised.

The man had evidently recovered his strength somewhat, for he sat upon the edge of the wooden bunk staring about him. He was alone in the cell--the Priest was gone! On the whole, Wilson was glad of this. He felt the better for not having the burden of his death, however richly it was deserved, upon his hands. The girl apparently was still in too much of a daze to recognize Sorez. Wilson spoke to him.

"Can you walk?"