The Mystery of the Silver Spider - Артур Роберт - Страница 5

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• 5/22
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Almost instantly a voice that could not be heard three feet away answered.

“I read you,” Bert Young said. “Anything to report?”

“Just testing. We haven’t seen Prince Djaro yet. We’re due to meet him for breakfast.”

“I’ll be standing by. Keep alert. Over and out.”

“Roger,” Jupe said and came back into the room just as a knock sounded on the door.

Pete opened it and there stood Prince Djaro, beaming at them.

“My friends! Pete! Bob! Jupiter!” he exclaimed and threw his arms around them warmly, in a European-style greeting. “I’m glad to see you! What do you think of my country and my city? But you haven’t had much time to see them, have you? We’ll take care of that soon — as soon as we’ve all had breakfast.”

He turned and signaled with his hand. “Come in,” he directed. “Set the table by the window.”

Eight servants, wearing the royal livery of gold and scarlet, brought in a table, chairs, and several platters with silver covers on them. Djaro kept up a stream of cheerful talk while the servitors set up the table, put a white linen cloth on it, set it with heavy silver, and then uncovered plates of eggs and bacon and sausage, toast and waffles, and glasses of milk.

“That looks good!” Pete exclaimed. “I’m starved.”

“Sure thing,” Djaro said. “Let’s all eat. Come on, Bob, what are you looking at?”

Bob was staring at a large spider web which had been spun from the head of the bed to the corner of the room about two feet away. A big spider peered at him from a crack between the floor and the wainscoting. Bob was thinking that Djaro had a lot of servants but the maids weren’t very tidy.

“I just noticed that spider web,” he said. “I’ll brush it off.”

He started toward it. To the boys’ amazement, Prince Djaro hurled himself at Bob’s legs and in a flying tackle brought him to the floor just before he could sweep away the spider web.

Pete and Jupe looked on in astonishment as Djaro helped Bob to his feet. He was speaking rapidly.

“I should have warned you sooner, Bob,” he said. “But I haven’t had time. Thank goodness I stopped you from destroying that spider web. I would have had to send you home at once. As it is, I am very happy to see it. It is a good omen. It means you will be able to help me.”

He dropped his voice as if someone might be listening. Then he strode to the door and flung it suddenly open. A red-jacketed man was standing there at attention, looking very impressive with black hair and a tightly curled black mustache.

“Yes, Bilkis, what is it?” Djaro demanded.

“I merely waited in case Your Highness wished something,” the man said.

“Nothing now. Leave us. Return in half an hour for the dishes,” Djaro barked. The man bowed again, turned away and strode down the long hall.

Djaro closed the door. Then he came close to them and spoke in a low voice.

“One of Duke Stefan’s men. He may have been spying on us. I have something very important to talk to you about. I need your help. The silver spider of Varania has been stolen!”

“I HAVE a lot to tell you,” Djaro said, “so we’d better eat first. It’ll be easier talking afterwards.”

So eat they did, until they were stuffed. Then the servitors came and removed the table, chairs, and dishes. After making sure that Bilkis was not lurking again in the corridor, Djaro pulled up chairs close to the window and began to talk.

“I have to tell you something of the history of Varania,” he said. “In 1675, when Prince Paul was about to be crowned ruler, there was a revolution and he had to hide. He took refuge in the home of a humble family of minstrels, street singers who earned their living by entertaining in public.

“At the risk of their lives, they hid Prince Paul in the attic of their home. He would surely have been found, for his enemies searched high and low for him, except for the fact that a spider built a web across the trap door almost immediately after he went through. Thus it looked as if it had not been touched for days. The revolutionists saw it and did not bother to look into the attic.

“For three days Prince Paul hid there without food or water. The family of minstrels could not feed him without opening the trap door and disturbing the spider web, you see, and that was what protected him. In the end my ancestor emerged, rang the bell we now call the bell of Prince Paul to summon his followers, and drove the rebels from the city. “When he ascended the throne, he wore about his neck an emblem created for him by the nation’s finest silversmith—a silver spider on a silver chain. He proclaimed the spider Varania’s national mascot and the royal symbol of the reigning family, and decreed that henceforth no prince should be crowned unless he wore around his neck the silver spider of Prince Paul.

“From that day the spider has been a symbol of good luck in Varania. Housewives are glad when one builds its web in their homes. The webs are not disturbed and no one would injure a spider deliberately.”

“You could never get my mother to go along with that!” Pete exclaimed. “She’s death on spider webs. She thinks spiders are dirty and poisonous.”

“On the contrary,” Jupiter spoke up, “spiders are very clean creatures, frequently cleansing themselves like tiny cats. And while the black widow spider is somewhat poisonous, it only bites if you practically make it do so. Even the big spiders, the tarantulas, are not nearly as dangerous as popularly supposed. In tests they have had to be teased to make them bite anyone. Most spiders, especially in this part of the world, are harmless and do a lot of good by catching other insects.”

“That is true,” Prince Djaro said. “Here in Varania there are no harmful spiders. The one we call Prince Paul’s spider is the largest species we have, and it is very handsome. It is black with gold markings, and usually builds its web out of doors, but sometimes it comes inside. That web you almost brushed away, Bob, belongs to a Prince Paul spider. It is an omen that you have come to bring me help in my difficulty.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped me from brushing it off,” Bob said. “But what is your trouble?”

Djaro hesitated. Then he shook his head.

“No one knows this but myself,” he said. “Unless, as I am sure, Duke Stefan knows. A new prince of Varania, by long tradition, must wear the silver spider of Prince Paul when he is crowned. So I must wear it around my neck two weeks from now when I’m crowned. And I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” Pete asked.

“Djaro means because it has been stolen,” Jupe put in. “Is that it, Djaro?”

Djaro nodded emphatically.

“It has been stolen and a substitute put in its place. But the substitute won’t do. Unless I can find the real silver spider soon, I can’t be crowned on schedule. There will be an inquiry, a scandal. And if that happens — but no, I will not speak of that.

“I know this seems to you like a lot of fuss about a little piece of jewelry. But the silver spider means to us of Varania what the crown jewels mean to the English. No, more — for it is the emblem of the royal family, and no one else in Varania may make or own an imitation spider. Except for the Order of the Silver Spider, which is bestowed upon a Varanian for the highest service to his country.

“We are a small country, but we have old traditions and we cling to them in this modern age of change. Perhaps we cling to them more strongly because so much is changing all around us. You are investigators. You are also my friends. Do you think you can find the real silver spider for me?”

Jupiter pinched his lower lip thoughtfully.

“I don’t know, Djaro,” he said. “Is this silver spider life-size?”

Djaro nodded. “About as large as an American quarter.”

“Then that means it’s very small. It could be hidden anywhere. Maybe it has been destroyed.”

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