Then came silence.
Then another shot. He was aware that his best policy was to leave that
neighborhood quickly. Yet curiosity held him, and finally drew him
toward the dimly lighted stairway. He wondered what had happened.
"Cab?" somebody called from above. The cabby answered.
"Give us a hand here," cried a voice from the top of the stairs. "A
man's been shot--bad."
The cabby clumped up and helped get The Spider to the street.
"Where'll I take him?" he stammered nervously, as he recognized the
shrunken figure.
"He said something about the General Hospital. He's going--fast."
"He used to call there, regular," asserted the cabby. "Anybody else
git hurt?"
"Christ, yes! It's a slaughter-pen up there. Beat it, or he'll cash
in before you can get him to the hospital."
The cabby pulled up at the General Hospital, leapt down, and hastened
round to the garage. He wakened the night ambulance-driver, stayed
until the driver and an interne had carried The Spider into the
hospital, and then drove away before he could be questioned.
The house-doctor saw at once that The Spider could not live,
administered a stimulant, and telephoned to the police station, later
asking the ambulance-driver for the cabman's number, which the other
had failed to notice in the excitement.
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