The Spider Strain | Page 2

gasped. "I always had a suspicion that
girls liked to hear men say that sort of thing."
"But I am not a silly girl!" Silvia Rodney declared, pouting a bit--and
she turned half away from him and looked at the river sparkling in the
bright sunshine.
John Warwick managed to glance at her from the corners of his
eyes--and sighed.

Silvia Rodney was the niece of The Spider. When Warwick first joined
the supercriminal's band, he had made a pretense of paying a great deal
of attention to her--it gave him an excuse for visiting so much at the
mansion on American Boulevard where The Spider had his home and
headquarters. This acquaintance had developed into love with a speed
that was truly amazing. John Warwick, a man of society, hunter of big
game, world roamer in days gone by, the man many women had sought
for husband and could not capture, had fallen in love with the sweet,
unassuming girl--and had been forced through circumstances to hold
his tongue.
For from Silvia Rodney had been kept the knowledge of her uncle's
true character. She had been taught to believe that he was the
representative of a certain European power, and that he was working in
the interests of humanity.
John Warwick was too honest to speak to her of love without telling
her that he was a criminal of a sort--and The Spider had forbidden him
doing that. He knew that Silvia Rodney returned his love, and was
wondering why he did not ask her to become his wife.
Warwick had been a ruined man when he had joined The Spider's band.
But, because of his excellent work, he had gathered a small fortune
again; and The Spider, by way of reward, also had engineered a
campaign on the Stock Exchange that had netted Warwick almost a
quarter of a million dollars.
Warwick was all right financially now, yet he remained true to The
Spider, not through fear of what might happen to him if he left the
supercriminal's band, but out of gratitude to The Spider for his help.
There were times when John Warwick wished that he might marry
Silvia Rodney and cease his nefarious work. It had not been so very
nefarious at that. The Spider and his followers committed thefts, but
generally on the side of right. Ill-gotten gains were what they generally
took from their victims; and now and then The Spider contracted to
obtain and return something that had been procured by improper means
from its rightful owner. There were worse criminals than The Spider

and his people, but nevertheless, what they did was outside the law.
Warwick stopped the roadster in a grove beside the highway and helped
Silvia Rodney out.
"Dear young lady," he said, "we will walk about one hundred feet
through these woods and come to a high place overlooking a bend in
the river. It is the most beautiful spot in the entire state, especially at
this time of the year."
Warwick led the way through the brush, and finally they emerged on
the top of a giant rock at the river's edge. Silvia gave a little cry of
delight at the scene that unfolded before them.
A great river was at their feet, curving into the distance, and the woods
on both shores were dressed in red and brown and gold. In the far
distance, they could see the city.
They sat down on a fallen log to watch the scene--and John Warwick
sighed again.
"Why--why not say it, John?" Silvia Rodney whispered to him, after a
time.
"Pardon?"
"Must I say it?" she asked.
"My word! Whatever can you mean?"
"John Warwick, there seems to be some deep and dark mystery about
you," the girl said. "Perhaps it is forward of me to speak in this way,
but I flatter myself that I am a modern young woman, not bound by
every silly and narrow-minded convention--and I always like to have
mysteries solved. John Warwick, you have been in--in love with me for
a year!"
"Certainly, my dear little lady!" Warwick replied. "What man would
not be?"

"John Warwick, I want you to know that I am speaking seriously. A
woman always can tell when a man really is in love with her. And--and
I should think--that a big, wise man--could tell when a girl--was really
in love with him."
"My word!"
"And you know that I--well, that I am!" she gasped. "And yet you--you
never speak of it. I suppose that it must be because I am not good
enough for you."
"Oh, my word! You're a great girl--and I'm a regular rotter, really."
"I know better than that--you are nothing of the sort!" she declared.
"And I'll not have you defaming yourself in that way! Perhaps it