100%: the Story of a Patriot

Section 11

Section 11Again Peter did not know how long he lay shivering in the blackdungeon. He only knew that they brought him bread and water threetimes, before Guffey came again and summoned him forth. Peter nowsat huddled into a chair, twisting his trembling hands together,while the chief detective of the Traction Trust explained to himhis new program. Peter was permanently ruined as a witnessin thecase. The labor conspirators had raised huge sums for theirdefense; they had all the labor unions of the city, and in fact ofthe entire country behind them, and they were hiring spies andinformers, and trying to find out all they could abouttheprosecution, the evidence it had collected and the moves it waspreparing. Guffey did not say that he had been afraid to kick Peterout because of the possibility that Peter might go over to theGoober side and tell all he knew; but Peter guessed this while hesat listening to Guffey’s explanation, and realized with athrill of excitement that at last he had really got a hold upon theladder of prosperity. Not in vain had his finger been almost brokenand his wrist almost dislocated!

“Now,” said Guffey, “here’s my idea: Asa witness you’re on the bum, but as a spy, you’re it.They know that you blabbed, and that I know it; they knowI’ve had you in the hole. So now what I want to do is to makea martyr of you. D’you see?”

Peter nodded; yes, he saw. It was his specialty, seeing thingslike that.

“You’re an honest witness, you understand? I triedto get you to lie, and you wouldn’t, so now you go over tothe other side, and they take you in, and you find out all you can,and from time to time you meet somebodyas I’ll arrange it,and send me word what you’ve learned. You get me?”

“I get you,” said Peter, eagerly. No words couldportray his relief. He had a real job now! He was going to be asleuth, like Guffey himself.

“Now,” said Guffey, “the first thing I want toknow is, who’s blabbing in this jail; we can’t doanything but they get tipped off. I’ve got witnesses that Iwant kept hidden, and I don’t dare put them here for fear ofthe Goober crowd. I want to know who are the traitors. I want toknow a lot of things that I’ll tell you from time to time. Iwant you to get next to these Reds, and learn about their ideas, soyou can talk their lingo.

“Sure,” said Peter. He could not help smiling alittle. He was supposed to be a “Red” already, to havebeen one of their leading conspirators. But Guffey had abandonedthat pretence—or perhaps had forgotten about it!

It was really an easy job that Peter had set before him. He didnot have to pretend to be anything different from what he was. Hewould call himself a victim of circumstances, and would be honestlyindignant against those who had sought to use him in a frame-upagainst Jim Goober. The rest would follow naturally. He would getthe confidence of the labor people, and Guffey would tell him whatto do next.

“We’ll put you in one of the cells of thisjail,” said the chief detective, “and we’llpretend to give you a ‘third degree.’ You’llholler and make a fuss, and say you won’t tell, andfinallywe’ll give up and kick you out. And then all you haveto do is justhang around. They’ll come after you, or I missmy guess.”

So the little comedy was arranged and played thru. Guffey tookPeter by the collar and led him out into the main part of the jail,and locked him in one of a row of open cells. He grabbed Peter bythe wrist and pretended to twist it, and Peter pretended toprotest. He did not have to draw on his imagination; he knew how itfelt, and how he was supposed to act, and he acted. He sobbed andscreamed, and again and again he vowed that he had told the truth,that he knew nothing else than what he had told, and that nothingcould make him tell any more. Guffey left him there until late thenext afternoon, and then came again, and took him by the collar,and led him out to the steps of the jail, and gave hima partingkick.

Peter was free! What a wonderful sensation—freedom! God!Had there ever been anything like it? He wanted to shout and howlwith joy. But instead he staggered along the street, and sank downupon a stone coping, sobbing, with his head clasped in his hands,waiting for something to happen. And sure enough, it happened.Perhaps an hour passed, when he was touched lightly on theshoulder. “Comrade,” said a soft voice, and Peter,looking between his fingers, saw the skirts of a girl. A foldedslip of paper was pressed into his hand and the soft voice said:“Come to this address.” The girl walked on, andPeter’s heart leaped with excitement. Peter was a sleuth atlast!