It was the room he
sought--the Spider's bedroom, or, better perhaps, the Spider's den that
served the man for all purposes. The Spider, it was very plain, was not
fastidious! The room was dingy beyond description; the furnishings poor
and poverty-stricken in appearance. It was here the Spider met his
clients of a sort--and drove his bargains. There was no hint of
affluence--the room was miserly.
The flashlight swept in a circle around the room. There was a bed in one
corner, a table and two chairs in another, and a miserable washstand in
still another. The centre of the room, save for an old carpet on the
floor, was quite bare of furnishings. Jimmie Dale's survey of the
appointments, however, was most cursory--they concerned him little. The
flashlight's ray was even lifted above them, as it moved about. There
was only one door--the door by which he had entered; and only one
window--which, with a sudden frown, he mentally noted did not open on
the alleyway, for the very sufficient reason that the alleyway was on
the other side of the house. He stepped quickly to the window, and
looked out. It was a moment before he could see; and then, with a quick
nod of his head, he began, with extreme caution to loosen the window
catches on the sill.
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