Norvell Page

“ No room to dodge. The Spider dropped to his knees. His right hand closed on something silken and hard in the corner. Gripping it, he lunged to his feet again, dived beneath another blow aimed at his head. He glanced down at the thing he had seized. Through smoke bleared eyes he caught the gleam of crimson silk. A woman's parasol! Despite the shallow gasping of his breath, the menace of the flames, and the crouching menace of the Black Death's hireling, Wentworth smiled—and it was a smile of triumph!
He now had a weapon. To any other man it would have been futile; to Wentworth it was perfect. ”

“ People had been already awakened by the screaming sirens. The dread cry in their own building tumbled them out in panic.
Men with no coats, with trousers dragged on so hurriedly their suspender straps dangled; women in night clothes with kimonos caught across their breasts; young children laughing and shouting.
Wentworth tousled his own hair, let his suspender straps dangle, swiftly untied his shoes. He affected a limp in one leg. His smoke-swollen eyes seemed sleepy and his mouth drooped stupidly. In the midst of a jam of fleeing people, he ran to the street. ”

“ Smoke streaked with flame billowed around him, but Wentworth, instead of climbing out, groped across the room and yanked open the door. In the street fire sirens wailed, men raised excited cries. Somewhere an axe thudded on metal. The Spider ran through the halls looking for Ram Singh, who, he felt sure had been overcome on his post of duty. Dark rooms and passageways yielded no trace of the Hindu.
Wentworth could wait no longer. At any instant now, police or firemen might crash into the building, find upon him the marks of battle and connect that with the man who lay dead in the yard. ”