Chapter 22
Section 43. The job was now complete, except for getting McCormick to the rendezvous next morning. Nell had prepared and would mail in the post office a special delivery letter addressed to McCormick's home. This would be delivered about seven o'clock in the morning, and inside was a typewritten
note as follows. Mac, come to room 17 of the studios at eight in the morning. Very important. Our plan is all ready. My part is done.
Joe. Nell figured that McCormick would take this to be a message from Angel. He wouldn't know what it was about, but he'd be all the more certain to come and find out. The essential thing was that the raid by the detectives must occur the very minute the conspirators got together, for as soon as they compared notes they would become suspicious
and might scatter at once. McGivney must have his men ready. He must be notified and have plenty of time to get them ready. But there was a serious objection to this. If McGivney had time, he would demand a talk with Peter, and Nell was sure that Peter couldn't
stand across questioning at McGivney's hands. Peter, needless to say, agreed with her. His heart threatened to collapse at the thought of such an ordeal. What Peter really wanted to do was to quit the whole thing right there and then, but he dared not say so.
He dared not face the withering scorn of his confederate. Peter clenched his hands and set his teeth, and when he passed a street light he turned his face away, so that Nell might not read the humiliating terror written there. But Nell read it all the same. Nell believed that she was dealing with a quivering, pasty-faced coward, and proceeded
on that basis. She worked out the plans, she gave Peter his orders, and she stuck by him to see that he carried them out. Peter had McGivney's home telephone number, which he was only supposed to use in the most desperate emergency.
He was to use it now, and tell McGivney that he had just caught some members of the IWW, with Pat McCormick as their leader, preparing to blow up some people with dynamite bombs. They had some bombs in a suitcase in their headquarters, and were just starting out with other bombs in their pockets. Peter must follow them, otherwise he would lose them, and some crime might be committed
before he could interfere. McGivney must have his agents ready with automobiles to swoop down upon any place that Peter indicated. Peter would follow up the conspirators, and phone McGivney again at the first opportunity he could find.
Nell was especially insistent that when Peter spoke to McGivney he must have only a moment to spare, no time for questions, and he must not stop to answer any. He must be in a state of trembling excitement, and Peter was sure that that would be very easy. He rehearsed over to Nell every word he must say, and just how he was to cut short the
conversation and hang up the receiver. Then he went into an all-night drug store just around the corner from the headquarters, and from a telephone booth called McGivney's Home. It was an apartment house, and after some delay Peter heard the voice of his employer surly with sleep, but Peter waked him up quickly.
Mr. McGivney, there's a dynamite plot. What? I.W.W. They've got bombs in a suitcase. They're starting off to blow somebody up tonight.
By God, what do you mean? Who? I don't know yet. I only heard part of it, and I've got to go. They're starting.
I've got to follow them. I may lose them and it'll be too late. You hear me? I've got to follow them. I hear you.
What do you want me to do? I'll phone you again the first chance I get. You have your men ready, a dozen of them. Have automobiles so you can come quick. You get me?
Yes, but I can't talk any more. I may lose them. I haven't a second. You be at your phone and have your men ready, everything ready. You get me?
Yes, but listen, man, you sure you're not mistaken? Yes, yes, I'm sure, cried Peter, his voice mounting in excitement. They've got the dynamite, I tell you, everything. It's a man called Nels. Nels what?
The man they're going to kill. I've got to go now. You get ready. Good-bye. And Peter hung up the receiver.
He had got so excited over the part he was playing that he sprang up and ran out of the drug store as if he really had to catch up with some IWW conspirators carrying a dynamite bomb. But there was Nel and they strolled down the street again. They came to a small park and sat on one of the benches because
Peter's legs would no longer hold him up. Nel walked about to make sure there was no one on any of the other benches. Then she came back and rehearsed the next scene with Peter. They must go over it most carefully because before long the time was
coming when Peter wouldn't have Nel to coach him and must be prepared to stand on his own legs. Peter knew that and his legs failed him. He wanted to back down and declare that he couldn't go ahead with it. He wanted to go to McGivney and confess everything.
Nel divined what was going on in his soul and wished to save him the humiliation of having it known. She sat close to him on the bench and put her hand on his as she talked to him and presently Peter felt a magic thrill stealing over him.
He ventured to put his arm about Nel to get still more of this delicious sensation and Nel permitted the embraces for the first time she even encouraged them. Peter was a hero now. He was undertaking a bold and desperate venture to save the
world. He was going to put it through like a man and win Nel's real admiration. Our country's at war, she exclaimed, and these devils are stopping it. So pretty soon Peter was ready to face the whole world.
Peter was ready to go himself and blow up the king of American City with a dynamite bomb. In that mood he stayed through the small hours of the morning, sitting on the bench clasping his girl in his arms and wishing she would give a little more time to heating his lungs.
And less to making him recite his lessons. Section 44. So the day began to break and the birds to sing. The sun rose on Peter's face gray with exhaustion and the Irish apples in Nel's cheeks badly faded.
But the time for action had come and Peter went off to watch McCormick's home until seven o'clock when the special delivery letter was due to arrive. It came on time and Peter saw MacCormick's face on the table. It came on time and Peter saw McCormick come out of the house
and set forth in the direction of the studios. It was too early for the meeting so Peter figured that he would stop to get his breakfast. And sure enough Mac turned in at a little dairy lunch and Peter hastened to the nearest telephone and called his boss.
Mr. McGivney, he said, I lost those fellows last night but now I got them again. They decided not to do anything till today. They're having a meeting this morning and we have a chance to nab them all.
Where? demanded McGivney. Room 17 in the studios but don't let any of your men go near there till I make sure the right fellows are in. Listen here, Peter Gudge, cried McGivney.
Is this straight goods? My God! cried Peter. What do you take me for? I tell you they've got loads of dynamite.
What have they done with it? They've got some in their headquarters. About the rest I don't know. I carried it off and I lost them last night but then I found a note in my pocket.
They were inviting me to come in. By God! exclaimed the rat-faced man. We've got the whole thing I tell you. Have you got your men ready?
Yes. Well then have them come to the corner of 7th and Washington streets and you come to 8th and Washington. Meet me there just as quick as you can. I get you, was the answer and Peter hung up and rushed off to the
appointed rendezvous. He was so nervous that he had to sit on the steps of a building. As time passed and McGivney didn't appear, wild imaginings began to torment him. Maybe McGivney hadn't understood him correctly.
Or maybe his automobile might break down. Or his telephone might have got out of order at precisely the critical moment. He and his men would arrive too late. They would find the trap sprung and the prey escaped.
Ten minutes passed, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes. At last an automobile rushed up the street and McGivney stepped out and the automobile sped on. Peter got McGivney's eye and then stepped back into the shelter of a doorway.
McGivney followed. Have you got them? he cried. I don't know, chattered Peter. They said they were coming at eight.
Let me see that note, commanded McGivney. So Peter pulled out one of Nell's notes which he had saved for himself. I really believe in a bold stroke for the workers' rights. Meet me in the studios, room 17, tomorrow morning at eight
o'clock. No names and no talk. Action! You found that in your pocket? demanded the other.
Yes, sir. And you've no idea who put it there? No, but I think Joe Angel. McGivney looked at his watch. You've got twenty minutes yet, he said.
You got the dicks? asked Peter. A dozen of them. I've got an idea now. Peter stammered out his suggestions.
There was a little grocery store just across the street from the entrance to the studio building. Peter would go in there and pretend to get something to eat and would watch through the window, and the moment he saw the right men come in he would hurry out and signal to McGivney, who would
be in a drug store at the next corner. McGivney must keep out of sight himself because the Reds knew him as one of Guffey's agents. It wasn't necessary to repeat anything twice. McGivney was keyed up and ready for business, and Peter hurried
down the street and stepped into the little grocery store without being observed by anyone. He ordered some crackers and cheese and seated himself on a box by the window and pretended to eat. But his hands were trembling so that he could hardly get the food
into his mouth, and this was just as well because his mouth was dry with fright, and crackers and cheese are articles of diet not adapted to such a condition. He kept his eyes glued on the dingy doorway of the old studio building, and presently, hurrah! he saw McCormick coming down the
street. The Irish boy turned into the building, and a couple of minutes later came Gus the sailor, and before another five minutes had passed here came Joe Angel and Henderson. They were walking quickly, absorbed in conversation, and Peter could imagine he heard them talking about those mysterious notes, and who could be the
writer, and what the devil could they mean? Peter was now wild with nervousness. He was afraid somebody in the grocery store would notice him, and he made desperate efforts to eat the crackers and cheese and scattered the crumbs all over himself and over the floor. Should he wait for Jerry Rudd, or should he take
those he had already? He had got up and started for the door when he saw the last of his victims coming down the street. Jerry was walking slowly, and Peter couldn't wait until he got inside. A car was passing, and Peter took the chance to get out of the door.
He was walking slowly, and Peter took the chance to slip out and bolt for the drug store. Before he had got halfway there, McGivney had seen him, and was on the run to the next corner. Peter waited only long enough to see a couple of automobiles come whirling down the street, packed solid with husky detectives. Then
he turned off and hurried down a side street. He managed to get a couple of blocks away, and then his nerves gave way entirely, and he sat down on the curbstone and began to cry, just the way little Jenny had cried when he told her he couldn't marry her. People stopped to stare at him, and one benevolent old gentleman
came up and tapped him on the shoulder and asked what was the trouble. Peter, between his tear-stained fingers, gasped, "'My mother died!' And so they let him alone, and after a while he got up and hurried off again." End of sections 43 and 44
End of section 44
