Motion Picture Magazine, May 1914 (1914)

IN TEE MOON'S BAT 57 himself off as a detective and gets away wit' it, too. But wait till he lamps de goil!" Spider, indeed, seemed to have grounds for his fear, for Blake was undeniahly struck with the beauty of Miss Judith Hamilton. He seemed to have eyes for nothing or no one else— even when the host drew forth a case from his pocket and, opening it, ex- hibited to his admiring guests what Spider rightly guessed to be the famous scarab itself. Indeed, Spider was on the point of throwing up the whole job in disgust and leaving Blake to his fatuous fascination, when he saw his partner shoot one light- ning glance at the scarab, over Miss Judith's fan. A moment later he was making his adieu to the young lady and her father, and was gone. Ensued for Spider an endless dull- ness of waiting. One by one the guests took noisy leave, but some few persisted in lingering to the point of exasperation. Spider yawned, pinched himself, awoke and shivered. The night was colder, and even the moon seemed to exhale cold. He felt her bright, unwinking stare uneasily, and swore aloud. Wot th' devil was she looking like dat at him f'r? A clock in a near tower moaned out two strokes as the door opposite finally closed upon the last visitor. Spider fumed. Never had he seen servants so slow about turning out the lights. He registered a profane resolution to stick hereafter to the legitimate line. That porch yonder — he could have climbed that with the greatest non- chalance, but any other method of en- trance seemed needless daredeviltry. Spider Plynn was extremely shy of front doors. A light pricked the darkness above the porch. Mr. Hamilton's tall form was silhouetted a moment against the white shade. The chauffeur waited impatiently—still the light. Spider, whose method of retiring for the night was to remove his hat, felt indignant. "Say, aint dey got any heart, keep- in' us poor guys up s' late?" he mourned. "Ah-h! dere she winks! Now f'r Blake! An' say, w'en youse catches Spider Plynn out stealin' bugs on a bright moonlight night again! I must 'a' been nutty. Dis gets my goat." Ten minutes later he said it again. Then he clambered resolutely over the side of the car. The moon shone coldly bright, as a policeman's helmet, over the silent house, waiting. "Was that a scream ? The shuffle of feet? The thud of a limp body? Silence again as before, and the cold rays of moonshine staring like blind, awful eyes thru an open window. Then a hand like a white, knotted blot on the dark sill. The man in unruffled evening dress reached back and pulled vigorously. "D—n you, Spide! do you want to get us all pinched? Come along. Here, give me the girl—easy. There! Now beat it for the car— beat it, I say!" Spider Flynn did not look at his chief, nor down at the limp burden he carried. His eyes, distended with awful fear, were turned back into the room. His breath splashed noisily up from his lungs, and he spoke in a throaty, horrible fashion. "Gawd—I—I— croaked 'im. Lookee dere—on de bed— Gawd!" One ghastly finger of moonlight, pointing thru the parted curtain, showed a face, white, still, unsup- ported in the darkness. Blake sup- pressed a shudder, and seized the paralyzed Spider by the shoulder, shaking him like a rat. "It's you for the electric chair if you dont come along." "Ah-h-h-h—!" gasped the wretch, and came, staggering, swaying on loose limbs. At the taxi door Blake hesitated, then he deposited the girl in the seat and pushed Spider after her. Climbing to the chauffeur's seat, he started the machine. It darted swiftly along the side street, by dreaming windows and out into the white stretch of the Avenue. Within, on the cushions, Spider Flynn hud- dled, his face hidden in his hands. Now and then he shuddered from head to foot. Opposite, the limp