Chapter 2
III. Peter's imaginings were brought to an end by the packing-box being pulled out from the wall. Hello! said a voice. Peter groaned but did not look up.
The box was pulled out further, and a face peered in. What do you hide in there for? Peter stammered feebly. What? You hurt?
demanded the voice. I don't know, moaned Peter. The box was pulled out further, and its occupant slid out. Peter looked up and saw three or four policemen bending over him. He moaned again.
How did you get in there? asked one. I crawled in. What for? To get away from the... What was it?
Bomb! said one of the policemen. Peter was astounded that for a moment he forgot to be a nervous wreck. Bomb! he cried, and at that same moment one of the policemen lifted him to his feet. Can you stand up? he demanded, and Peter tried and found that he could, and forgot that he couldn't.
He was covered with blood and dirt and was an un-presentable object, but he was really relieved to discover that his limbs were intact. What's your name? demanded one of the policemen, and when Peter answered he asked, Where do you work? I got no job, replied Peter.
Where'd you work last? and then another broke in. What did you crawl in there for? My God! cried Peter. I wanted to get away!
The policemen seemed to find it suspicious that he had stayed hidden so long. They were in a state of excitement themselves, it appeared. A terrible crime had been committed, and they were hunting for any trace of the criminal. Another man came up, not dressed in uniform, but evidently having authority, and he fell on to Peter, demanding to know who he was and where he had come from and what he had
been doing in that crowd. And of course Peter had no very satisfactory answers to give to any of these questions. His occupations had been unusual and not entirely credible, and his purposes were hard to explain to a suspicious questioner. The man was big and burly, at least a foot taller than Peter, and as he talked he stooped
down and stared into Peter's eyes as if he were looking for dark secrets hidden back in the depths of Peter's skull. Peter remembered that he was supposed to be sick, and his eyelids drooped and he reeled slightly so that the policemen had to hold him up. I want to talk to that fellow, said the questioner.
Take him inside. One of the officers took Peter under one arm and the other under the other arm, and they half walked and half carried him across the street and into a building. End of Section 3 Section 4
It was a big store which the police had opened up. Inside there were wounded people lying on the floor with doctors and others attending them. Peter was marched down the corridor and into a room where sat or stood several other men, more or less in a state of collapse like himself, people who had failed to satisfy the police
and were being held under guard. Peter's two policemen backed him against the wall and proceeded to go through his pockets, producing the shameful contents, a soiled rag and two cigarette butts picked up on the street and a broken pipe and a watch which had once cost a dollar but was now out of order and too badly damaged to be pawned.
That was all they had any right to find so far as Peter knew. But there came forth one thing more, the printed circular which Peter had thrust into his pocket. The policemen who pulled it out took a glance at it and then cried, He stared at Peter. Then he stared at the other policemen and handed him the paper.
At that moment the man not in uniform entered the room. Mr. Guffy, cried the policeman, see this. The man took the paper and glanced at it and Peter, watching with bewildered and fascinated eyes, saw a most terrifying sight. It was as if the man went suddenly out of his mind.
He glared at Peter and under his black eyebrows the big staring eyes seemed ready to jump out of his head. Aha! he exclaimed and then, so I've got you. The hand that held the paper was trembling and the other hand reached out like a great claw and fastened itself in the neck of Peter's coat and drew it together until Peter was
squeezed tight. You threw that bomb, hissed the man. What? gasped Peter, his voice almost fainting. B-b-bomb?
cried the man and his face came close to Peter's, his teeth gleaming as if he were going to bite off Peter's nose. Out with it, quick! Who helped you? My good God! said Peter, I didn't know what you mean.
You dare lie to me? roared the man and he shook Peter as if he meant to jar his teeth out. No nonsense now. Who helped you make that bomb? Peter's voice rose to a scream of terror.
I never saw no bomb. I don't know what you're talking about. You come this way, said the man, and started suddenly toward the door. It might have been more convenient if he had turned Peter around and got him by the back of his coat collar, but he evidently held Peter's physical being as a thing too slight
for consideration. He just kept his grip in the bosom of Peter's jacket and half lifted him and half shoved him back out of the room and down a long passage to the back part of the building. And all the time he was hissing into Peter's face, I'll have it out of you. Don't think you can lie to me.
Make up your mind to it. You're going to come through. The man opened the door. It was some kind of store room and he walked Peter inside and slammed the door behind him. Now out with it, he said.
The man thrust into his pocket the printed circular or whatever it was. Peter never saw it again and never found out what was printed on it. With his free hand, the man grabbed one of Peter's hands, or rather one finger of Peter's hand and bent it suddenly backward with terrible violence. Oh, screamed Peter, stop.
And then with a wild shriek, you'll break it. I mean to break it. Mean to break every bone in your body. I'll tear your fingernails out. I'll tear the eyes out of your head if I have to.
You tell me who helped you make that bomb. Peter broke out in a storm of agonized protest. He had never heard of any bomb. He didn't know what the man was talking about. He writhed and twisted and doubled himself over backward, trying to evade the frightful
pain of that pressure on his finger. You're lying, insisted Guffy. I know you're lying. You're one of that crowd. What crowd?
Ouch. I don't know what you mean. You're one of them reds, ain't you? Reds? What are reds?
You want to tell me you don't know what a red is? Ain't you been giving out them circulars on the street? I never seen the circular, repeated Peter. I never seen a word in it. I don't know what it is.
You try to stuff me with that. Some woman give me that circular on the street. Ouch. Stop. Jesus.
I tell you I never looked at the circular. You dare go on lying, shouted the man with fresh access of rage. And when I seen you with them reds, I know about your plots. I'm going to get it out of you. He grabbed Peter's wrist and began to twist it.
Then Peter half turned over in the effort to save himself and shrieked again in more piercing tones. I don't know. I don't know. What's them fellows done for you that you protect them?
Demanded the other. What good will it do you if we hang you and let them escape? But Peter only screamed and wept louder. They'll have time to get out of town, persisted the other. If you speak quick we can nab them all and then I'll let you go.
You understand we won't do a thing to you if you'll come through and tell us who put you up to this. We know it wasn't you that planned it. It's the big fellows we want. He began to wheedle and coax Peter.
But then when Peter answered again with his provoking I don't know, he would give another twist to Peter's wrist. And Peter would yell almost incoherent with terror and pain but still declaring that he could tell nothing. He knew nothing about any bomb.
So at last Guffey wearied of this futile inquisition. Or perhaps it occurred to him that this was too public a place for the prosecution of a third degree. There might be someone listening outside the door. He stopped twisting Peter's wrist and tilted back Peter's head so that Peter's frightened
eyes were staring into his. Now young fellow, he said, look here. I got no time for you just now but you're going to jail. You're my prisoner and make up your mind to it. Sooner or later I'm going to get it out of you.
It may take a day or it may take a month but you're going to tell me about this bomb plot and who printed this here circular opposed to preparedness and all about these reds you work with. I'm telling you now so you think it over. In meantime you hold your mouth.
Don't say a word to a living soul or if you do I'll tear your tongue out of your throat. Then paying no attention to Peter's wailings he took him by the back of the collar and marched him down the hall again and turned him over to one of the policemen. Take this man to the city jail, he said, and put him in the hole and keep him there until I come and don't let him speak a word to anybody.
If he tries it, mash his mouth for him. So the policeman took poor sobbing Peter by the arm and marched him out of the building. End of sections three and four.
