“Got a cab downstairs.  General Hospital.”

The driver, who had been taking a nap inside the cab, heard the sound of shooting, started up, threw back the lap-robe, and stepped to the sidewalk.  He listened, trying to count the shots.  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.  As he hung up the receiver a nurse told him that the patient was conscious and wanted to speak to Dr. Andover.  The house-doctor asked The Spider if he wished to make a statement.

The Spider moved his head in the negative.  “I’m done,” he whispered, “but I’d like to see Pete a minute.”

“Pete?”

“Room 218,” said the nurse.

“Oh, you mean young Annersley.  Well, I don’t know.”

“He’s my boy,” said The Spider, using the last desperate argument—­an appeal difficult to ignore.

“Take him to 218,” said the doctor, gesturing toward the stretcher.

The nurse, who went with them, roused Pete out of a quiet sleep and told him that they were bringing some one to see him.  “Your father,” she said, “who has been seriously injured.  He asked to see you.”

Pete could not at first understand what she meant.  “All right,” he said, turning his head and gazing toward the doorway.  The nurse stepped into the hall and nodded to the attendants and the doctor.

They were about to move forward when The Spider gestured feebly to the doctor.  “Get me to my feet.”  “I won’t bother you much after that.”  And The Spider, who felt that his strength was going fast, tried to raise himself on the stretcher.  This effort brought the internes to his side.  They lifted him to his feet and shuffled awkwardly through the doorway.