Read Online THE SPIDER-City of Doom by Norvell W. Page - Free Book Online
Authors: Norvell W. Page
Tags: Science-Fiction
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across four stories of deep blackness to the sill, crouched there while a cold wind flapped his cloak dully behind him. The window slid up noiselessly and slipping into place his false celluloid fangs, he crept inside, stepping on a steam radiator that hissed dimly, then to the floor. Abruptly the light snapped on, smashing into his eyes. A woman stood in the doorway with an automatic in her hand. "So what do you want, baby?" she sneered. "Come out and show your ugly mug."
Evidently she had started to undress. Her long hennaed hair hung down her naked left shoulder and her clothing consisted of a magenta silken underskirt and, above the waist, nothing but a narrow brassier that compressed her ample breasts. Her undress did not appear to concern her.
"Come on, baby," she urged, mockingly. "Come out where mama can see you better."
Wentworth saw that her lips were brilliantly carmined and their sullen curve was hard as brass. He came forward two slow steps, bared those ugly, inch-long fangs, and lifted his head so that the light crept in under the broad brim of his hat. The woman gasped, retreated a step. Her gun hand began to waver, and then she seized the automatic with both hands and jerked it eye high.
" The Spider! The Spider! " she gabbled and began shooting.
Chapter Six
The Hot Trail
WENTWORTH had counted on the woman's fright. He dived in under the gun an instant before she yanked the trigger. His shoulder caught the woman's ankles and spilled her across his back. He heard the gun smash into a mirror, heard the woman's frightened shriek. Her head thudded against the edge of the wash bowl. Wentworth scrambled up, and the woman crouched on hands and knees, head hanging, swaying from side to side like an injured animal. The rest of her hair had come down and its dyed and lifeless ends swept the floor.
Wentworth seized her shoulders, dragged her erect and pinned her against the wall. Her mouth was sagging open, her eyes barely showed the irises. She was half out, but a dashing of water from the bowl jerked her back to full consciousness. He thrust his face, the sallow, menacing face of the Spider, close to hers; his lips snarled back from pointed fangs.
"You're going with me," he snapped, "and you're going fast—or you're going out feet first. Which will it be?"
The woman's over-red mouth gagged. She shook her head in bewilderment.
"Police are at the door," Wentworth said, emphasizing his words with a violent shake of her shoulders. "Either come with me or I drop you right here." He dragged out his gun and stabbed its muzzle against her abdomen.
"I—I'll go," she whimpered.
Wentworth led her into the next room, snatched a coat from a closet and threw it at her, and she got into it with fumbling hands. He listened at the door, then hurried her through it to the hall beyond. They went down the fire-escape while police were coming up in the elevator, dived through the passageway that a steel grating closed and moments later reached Wentworth's car. The woman huddled in the opposite corner. The winter night bit through her and her lips beneath the carmine were purple with cold. She watched the Spider with cringing eyes.
Wentworth apparently paid her no attention. The woman hugged herself for warmth. "Where—where are you taking me?" she asked.
Wentworth skated to the curb and twisted his long-nosed face toward her.
"Nowhere," he said softly. "You're taking me to Devil Hackerson, or else—" He let his voice trail off and the flat mocking laughter of the Spider filled the car.
The woman shivered and huddled miserably in her corner. "He'd—he'd kill me."
"Probably," Wentworth agreed carelessly. "Start talking."
Stark fright was on the face. She stammered out a hoarse plea for mercy, but her voice was hopeless. Wentworth took out his automatic slowly and once more the ugly mirth of the Spider spilled from his lips. Beatrice Ross whimpered.
"Get out," Wentworth ordered.
"No, no!"
"Then take it here!"
Evidently she had started to undress. Her long hennaed hair hung down her naked left shoulder and her clothing consisted of a magenta silken underskirt and, above the waist, nothing but a narrow brassier that compressed her ample breasts. Her undress did not appear to concern her.
"Come on, baby," she urged, mockingly. "Come out where mama can see you better."
Wentworth saw that her lips were brilliantly carmined and their sullen curve was hard as brass. He came forward two slow steps, bared those ugly, inch-long fangs, and lifted his head so that the light crept in under the broad brim of his hat. The woman gasped, retreated a step. Her gun hand began to waver, and then she seized the automatic with both hands and jerked it eye high.
" The Spider! The Spider! " she gabbled and began shooting.
Chapter Six
The Hot Trail
WENTWORTH had counted on the woman's fright. He dived in under the gun an instant before she yanked the trigger. His shoulder caught the woman's ankles and spilled her across his back. He heard the gun smash into a mirror, heard the woman's frightened shriek. Her head thudded against the edge of the wash bowl. Wentworth scrambled up, and the woman crouched on hands and knees, head hanging, swaying from side to side like an injured animal. The rest of her hair had come down and its dyed and lifeless ends swept the floor.
Wentworth seized her shoulders, dragged her erect and pinned her against the wall. Her mouth was sagging open, her eyes barely showed the irises. She was half out, but a dashing of water from the bowl jerked her back to full consciousness. He thrust his face, the sallow, menacing face of the Spider, close to hers; his lips snarled back from pointed fangs.
"You're going with me," he snapped, "and you're going fast—or you're going out feet first. Which will it be?"
The woman's over-red mouth gagged. She shook her head in bewilderment.
"Police are at the door," Wentworth said, emphasizing his words with a violent shake of her shoulders. "Either come with me or I drop you right here." He dragged out his gun and stabbed its muzzle against her abdomen.
"I—I'll go," she whimpered.
Wentworth led her into the next room, snatched a coat from a closet and threw it at her, and she got into it with fumbling hands. He listened at the door, then hurried her through it to the hall beyond. They went down the fire-escape while police were coming up in the elevator, dived through the passageway that a steel grating closed and moments later reached Wentworth's car. The woman huddled in the opposite corner. The winter night bit through her and her lips beneath the carmine were purple with cold. She watched the Spider with cringing eyes.
Wentworth apparently paid her no attention. The woman hugged herself for warmth. "Where—where are you taking me?" she asked.
Wentworth skated to the curb and twisted his long-nosed face toward her.
"Nowhere," he said softly. "You're taking me to Devil Hackerson, or else—" He let his voice trail off and the flat mocking laughter of the Spider filled the car.
The woman shivered and huddled miserably in her corner. "He'd—he'd kill me."
"Probably," Wentworth agreed carelessly. "Start talking."
Stark fright was on the face. She stammered out a hoarse plea for mercy, but her voice was hopeless. Wentworth took out his automatic slowly and once more the ugly mirth of the Spider spilled from his lips. Beatrice Ross whimpered.
"Get out," Wentworth ordered.
"No, no!"
"Then take it here!"
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