menu_book Chapter 13

100% The Story of a Patriot by Upton Sinclair, Sections 46 to 49. Section 46 They dragged Peter out through a swarming tenement crowd, and clapped him into an automobile, and whirled him away to police headquarters where they entered him in due form and put him in a cell.

He was uneasy right away, because he had failed to arrange with Hammett how long he was to stay locked up. But barely an hour had passed before a jailer came and took him to a private room where he found himself confronted by McGivney and Hammett, also the chief of police of the city, a deputy district attorney, and last, but most important of all, Guffey.

It was the head detective of the Traction Trust who took Peter in charge. Now gudge," said he, "'What's this job you've been putting up on us?' It struck Peter like a blow in the face. His heart went down, his jaw dropped, and he stared like an idiot.

Good God!" But he remembered Nell's last solemn words. "'Stick it out, Peter, stick it out!' So he cried, "'What do you mean, Mr. Guffey?'

"'Sit down in that chair there,' said Guffey. Now tell us what you know about this whole business. Begin at the beginning and tell us everything, every word.' So Peter began. He had been at a meeting at the IWW headquarters the previous evening.

There had been a long talk about the inactivity of the organization and what could be done to oppose the draft. Peter detailed the arguments, the discussion of violence, of dynamite and killing, the mention of Nelson Ackerman and the other capitalists who were to be put out of the way.

He embellished all this and exaggerated it greatly, it being the one place where Nell had said he could do no harm by exaggerating. Then he told how after the meeting had broken up he had noticed several of the men whispering among themselves. By pretending to be getting a book from the bookcase he had got close to Joe Angel and

Jerry Rudd. He had heard various words and fragments of sentences, dynamite, suitcase in the cupboard, Nelson and so on. And when the crowd went out he noticed that Angel's pockets were bulging and assumed that he had the bombs and that they were going to do the job.

He rushed to the drug store and phoned McGivney. It took a long time to get McGivney and when he had given his message and run out again the crowd was out of sight. Peter was in despair. He was ashamed to confront McGivney and wandered about the streets for hours looking for the

crowd. He spent the rest of the night in the park. But then in the morning he discovered the piece of paper in his pocket and understood that somebody had slipped it to him, intending to invite him to the conspiracy. So he had notified McGivney and that was all he knew.

McGivney began to cross question him. He had heard Joe Angel talking to Jerry Rudd. Had he heard him talking to anybody else? Had he heard any of the others talking? Just what had he heard Joe Angel say?

Peter must repeat every word all over. This time, as instructed by Nell, he remembered one sentence more and repeated this sentence. Mack put it in the sabcat. He saw the others exchange glances. That's just what I heard, said Peter, just those words.

I couldn't figure out what they meant. Sabcat, said the chief of police, a burly figure with a brown mustache and a quid of tobacco tucked in the corner of his mouth. That means sabotage, don't it? Yes, said the rat-faced man.

Do you know anything in the office that has to do with sabotage? demanded Guffey to Peter. And Peter thought. No, I don't, he said. They talked among themselves for a minute or two.

The chief said they had got all McCormick's things out of his room and might find some clue to the mystery in these. Guffey went to the telephone and gave a number with which Peter was familiar, that of IWW headquarters. That you, Al?

he said. We're trying to find if there's something in those rooms that has to do with sabotage. Have you found anything? Any apparatus or pictures or writing? Anything?

Evidently, the answer was in the negative, for Guffey said, Go ahead, look farther. If you get anything, call me at the chief's office quick. It may give us a lead. Then Guffey hung up the receiver and turned to Peter.

Now, gudge, he said. That's all your story, is it? That's all you got to tell us? Yes, sir. Well then, you might as well quit your fooling right away.

We understand that you've framed this thing up, and we're not going to be taken in. Peter stared at Guffey speechless, and Guffey, for his part, took a couple of steps toward Peter, his brows gathering into a terrible frown, and his fists clenched. In a wave of sickening horror, Peter remembered the scenes after the prepared nestay explosion. Were they going to put him through that again?

We'll have a showdown, gudge, right here, the head detective continued. You tell us all this stuff about Angel, his talk with Jerry Rudd, and his pockets stuffed with bombs and all the rest of it, and he denies every word of it. But my God, Mr. Guffey, gasped Peter, of course he'll deny it. Peter could hardly believe his ears, that they were taking seriously the denial of a

dynamiter and quoting it to him. Yes, gudge, responded Guffey, but you might as well know the truth now as later. Angel is one of our men. We've had him planted on these wobblies for the last year. The bottom fell out of Peter's world.

Peter went tumbling heels overhead, down, down into the infinite abysses of horror and despair. Joe Angel was a secret agent like himself. The blue-eyed Angel, who talked dynamite and assassination at a hundred radical gatherings, who shocked the boldest revolutionists by his reckless language, Angel a spy, and Peter

had proceeded to plant a frame-up on him. It was all up with Peter. He would go back into the hole. He would be tortured for the balance of his days. In his ears rang the shrieks of ten thousand lost souls and the clang of ten thousand

trumpets of doom, and yet, in the midst of all the noise and confusion, Peter managed somehow to hear the voice of Nell whispering over and over again, Stick it out, Peter, stick it out! He flung out his hands and started toward his accuser. Mr. Guffey, as God is my witness, I don't know a thing about it but what I've told you.

That's what happened, and if Joe Angel tells you anything different, he's lying. But why should he lie? I don't know why. I don't know anything about it. Here was where Peter reaped the advantage of his lifelong training as an intriguer.

In the midst of all his fright and his despair, Peter's subconscious mind was working, thinking of schemes. Maybe Angel was framing something up on you. Maybe he was fixing some plan of his own and I come along and spoiled it. I sprung it too soon.

But I'll tell you, it's straight goods I've given you. And Peter's very anguish gave him the vehemence to check McGuffey's certainty. As he rushed on, Peter could read in the eyes of the detective that he wasn't really as sure as he talked. Did you see that suitcase?

he demanded. No, I didn't see no suitcase, answered Peter. I don't even know if there was a suitcase. I only know I heard Joe Angel say, Suitcase.

And I heard him say dynamite. Did you see anybody writing anything in the place? No, I didn't, said Peter. But I seen Henderson sitting at the table working at some papers he had in his pocket and I seen him tear something up and throw it into the trash basket.

Peter saw the others look at one another and he knew that he was beginning to make headway. A moment later came a diversion that helped to save him. The telephone rang and the chief of police answered and nodded to Guffey, who came and took the receiver. A book? he cried with excitement in his tone.

What sort of a plan? Well, tell one of your men to take the car and bring that book and the plan here to the chief's office as quick as he can move. Don't lose a moment, everything may depend on it. And then Guffey turned to the others.

He says they found a book on sabotage in the bookcase. And in it there's some kind of a drawing of a house. The book has McCormick's name in it. There were many exclamations over this and Peter had time to think before the company turned upon him again.

The chief of police now questioned him and then the deputy of the district attorney questioned him. Still, he stuck with his story. My God! he cried. Would you think I'd be mad enough to frame up a job like this?

Where'd I get all that stuff? Where'd I get that dynamite? Peter almost bit off his tongue as he realized the dreadful slip he had made. No one had ever told him that the suitcase actually contained dynamite. How had he known there was dynamite in it?

He was desperately trying to think of some way he could have heard, but as it happened no one of the five men caught him up. They all knew that there was dynamite in the suitcase. They knew it with overwhelming and tremendous certainty and they overlooked entirely the fact that Peter wasn't supposed to know it.

So close to the edge of ruin can a man come and yet escape. Peter made haste to get away from that dangerous spot. Does Joe Angel deny that he was whispering to Jerry Rudd? He doesn't remember that, said Guffy. He may have talked with him apart, but nothing special.

There wasn't any conspiracy. Does he deny that he talked about dynamite? They may have talked about it in the general discussion, but he didn't whisper anything. But I heard him, cried Peter, whose quick wits had thought up a way of escape. I know what I heard.

It was just before they were leaving and somebody had turned out some of the lights. He was standing with his back to me and I went over to the bookcase right behind him. Here the deputy district attorney put in. He was a young man, a trifle easier to fool than the others. Are you sure it was Joe Angel?

He demanded. My God, of course it was, said Peter. I couldn't have been mistaken. But he let his voice die away and a note of bewilderment be heard in it. You say he was whispering?

Yes, he was whispering. But mightn't it have been somebody else? Why, I don't know what to say, said Peter. I thought for sure it was Joe Angel. But I had my back turned.

I'd been talking to Grady, the secretary, and then I turned around and moved over to the bookcase. How many men were there in the room? About twenty, I guess. Were the lights turned off before you turned around?

Or after? I don't remember that. It might have been after. And suddenly poor bewildered Peter cried, It makes me feel like a fool.

Of course I ought to have talked to the fellow and made sure it was Joe Angel before I turned away again. But I thought sure it was him. The idea it could be anybody else never crossed my mind. But you're sure it was Jerry Rudd that was talking to him?

Yes, it was Jerry Rudd, because his face was toward me. Was it Rudd or was it the other fellow that made the reply about the sabcat? And then Peter was bewildered and tied himself up and led them into a long process of cross-questioning and in the middle of it came the detective bringing the book on sabotage with McCormick's name written in the flyleaf and with the ground plan of a house between

the pages. They all crowded around to look at the plan and the idea occurred to several of them at once. Could it be Nelson Ackerman's house? The chief of police turned to his phone and called up the great banker's secretary.

Could he please describe Mr. Ackerman's house? And the chief listened to the description. There's a cross mark on this plan, the north side of the house, a little to the west of the center. What could that be?

Then my God! And then will you come down here to my office right away and bring the architect's plan of the house so we can compare them? The chief turned to the others and said, That cross mark in the house is the sleeping porch on the second floor where Mr. Ackerman

sleeps. So then they forgot for a while their doubts about Peter. It was fascinating, this work of tracing out the details of the conspiracy and fitting them together like a picture puzzle. It seemed quite certain to all of them that this insignificant and scared little man whom

they had been examining could never have prepared so ingenious and intricate a design. No, it must really be that some mastermind, some devilish intriguer was at work to spread the Red Ruin in American City. Section 48 They dismissed Peter for the present, sending him back to his cell.

He stayed there for two days with no one to advise him and no hint as to his fate. They did not allow newspapers in the jail, but they had left Peter his money and so on the second day he succeeded in bribing one of his keepers and obtaining a copy of the American City Times with all the details of the amazing sensation spread out on the front page.

For thirty years the Times had been standing for law and order against all the forces of Red Riot and Revolution. For thirty years the Times had been declaring that labour leaders and walking delegates and socialists and anarchists were all one and the same thing and all placed their reliance fundamentally upon one instrument, the dynamite bomb.

Here at last the Times was vindicated. This was the Times' great day. They had made the most of it not merely on the front page but on two other pages with pictures of all the conspicuous conspirators including Peter and pictures of the IWW headquarters and the suitcase and the sticks of dynamite and the fuses and the clock, also of the studio

in which the Reds had been trapped and of Nikitin, the Russian anarchist who owned this den. Also there were columns of speculation about the case, signed statements and interviews with leading clergymen and bankers, the president of the Chamber of Commerce and the secretary of the real estate exchange.

Also there was a two-column double-leaded editorial pointing out how the Times had been saying this for thirty years and not failing to connect up the case with the Guba case and the Lackman case and the case of three pacifist clergymen who had been arrested several days before for attempting to read the Sermon on the Mount at a public meeting. And Peter knew that he, Peter Gudge, had done all this.

The forces of law and order owed it all to one obscure little secret service agent. Peter would get no credit of course. The chief of police and the district attorney were issuing solemn statements, taking the honours to themselves, and with never one hint that they owed anything to the Secret Service Department of the Traction Trust.

That was necessary of course. For the sake of appearances, it had to be pretended that the public authorities were doing the work, exercising their legal functions in due and regular form. It would never do to have the mob suspect that these activities were being financed by the big business interests of the city.

But all the same, it made Peter soar. He and McGivney and the rest of Guffey's men had a contempt for the public officials whom they regarded as pikers. The officials had very little money to spend and very little power. If you really wanted to get anything done in America, you didn't go to any public official,

you went to the big men of affairs, the ones who had the stuff and were used to doing things quickly and efficiently. It was the same in this business of spying as in everything else. Now and then Peter would realize how close he had come to ghastly ruin. He would have qualms of terror, picturing himself shut up in the hole and Guffey proceeding

to torture the truth out of him. But he was able to calm these fears. He was sure this dynamite conspiracy would prove too big a temptation for the authorities. It would sweep them away in spite of themselves. They would have to go through with it and they would have to stand by Peter.

And sure enough, on the evening of the second day a jailer came and said, You're to be let out. And Peter was ushered through the barred doors and turned loose without another word. Section 49 Peter went to room 427 of the American house and there was McGivney waiting for him.

McGivney said nothing about any suspicion of Peter, nor did Peter say anything. He understood that bygones were to be bygones. The authorities were going to take this gift which the fates had handed them on a silver platter. For years they had been wanting to get these reds and now magically and incredibly they

had got them. Now gudge, said McGivney, here's your story. You've been arrested on suspicion, you've been cross questioned and put through the third degree, but you've succeeded in satisfying the police that you didn't know anything about it and they've released you.

We've released a couple of others at the same time so as to cover you all right. And now you're to go back and find out all you can about the reds and what they're doing and what they're planning. They're shouting of course that this is a frame up. You must find out what they know.

You must be careful of course, watch every step you take, because they'll be suspicious for a while. We've been to your room and turned things upside down a bit, so that will help to make it look all right. Peter sallied forth, but he did not go to see the reds immediately.

He spent an hour dodging about the city to make sure no one was shadowing him. Then he called up Nell at a telephone number she had given him and an hour later they met in the park and she flew to his arms and kissed him with rapturous delight. He had to tell her everything of course. And when she learned that Joe Angel was a secret agent, she first stared at him in horror

and then she laughed until she almost cried. When Peter told how he had met that situation and got away with it, for the first time he was sure that he had won her love. Now Peter, she said, when they were calm again, we've got to get action at once. The papers are full of it and all Nelson Ackerman must be scared out of his life.

Here's a letter I'm going to mail tonight. You notice I've used a different typewriter from the one I used last time. I went into a typewriter store and paid them to let me use one for a few minutes, so they can never trace this letter to me. The letter was addressed to Nelson Ackerman at his home and marked Personal.

Peter read, This is a message from a friend. The Reds had an agent in your home. They drew a plan of your house. The police are hiding things from you because they can't get the truth and don't want you to know they are incompetent.

There is a man who discovered all this plot and you should see him. They won't let you see him if they can help it. You should demand to see him. But do not mention this letter. If you do not get the right man, I will write you again.

If you keep this a secret, you may trust me to help you to the end. If you tell anybody, I will be unable to help you. Now, said Nell, when he gets that letter he'll get busy and you've got to know what to do because of course everything depends on that. So Nell proceeded to drill Peter for his meeting with the King of American City.

Peter now stood in such awe of her judgment that he learned his lessons quite patiently and promised solemnly that he would do exactly what she said and nothing else. He reaped his reward of kisses and went home to sleep the sleep of the just. Next morning Peter set out to do some of his work for McGivney so that McGivney would have no ground for complaint.

He went to see Miriam Jankovic and this time Miriam caught him by his two hands and wrung them and Peter knew that he had atoned for his crime against little Jenny. Peter was a martyr once more. He told how he had been put through the third degree and she told how the water from the wash tub had leaked through the ceiling and the plaster had fallen and ruined the dinner

of a poor working man's family. Also she told him all about the frame up as the Reds sought. Andrews, the lawyer, was demanding the right to see the prisoners but this was refused and they were all being held without bail. On the previous evening Miriam had attended a gathering at Andrews' home at which the

case was talked out. All the IWWs declared that the thing was the rankest kind of frame up. The notes were obviously fake and the dynamite had undoubtedly been planted by the police. They had used it as a pretext to shut up the IWW headquarters and to arrest a score of radicals.

Worst of all of course was the propaganda, the hideous stories with which they were filling the papers. Had Peter seen this morning's times? A perfectly unmistakable incitement to mobs to gather and lynch the Reds. End of sections 46 to 49.