Norvell Page

“ The Spider and those with him faded into the shadows.
The rising sun was red in the sky as Wentworth and his tired company threaded the city. But even at this early hour the streets resounded with the shouts of newsboys, crying the toll of the Black Death. A hundred killed!
Wentworth's jaws locked. A hundred dead! The Black Death was striking more savagely. While Wentworth battled futilely against his traps, sought frantically for some clue to the man's identity, the black wings of the Plague were sweeping the city, as its purple flower of pain blossomed on scores of throats. ”

“ Then a man with a gun had interrupted their conversation. It was that fear which had led the Spider to believe that she might hold some clue to the identity of the Black Death.
“Who besides yourself,” he asked again, “had the opportunity to substitute the forged bonds for the genuine?”
And once more the girl evaded his keenly questioning gaze. Wentworth frowned. “Surely now,” he said, “you must realize the importance of answering that question. Your failure to answer it was the reason for all that has happened. Your kidnapping by that masked man.”
“Oh,” she shuddered, “that horrible Spider.” ”

“ Gun flame lanced at Wentworth. His answering shot was lightning fast and drew a curse of pain.
“The lights, Ram Singh,” he shouted.
Darkness shut down like a lid. Gun din filled the hall, and lead chunked into the door at the Spider's elbow. Suddenly then he groaned aloud, threw himself noisily to the floor and rolled silently toward the gunman. ”