Chapter 6
18. Peter lay awake a good part of the night thinking over this new job, that of getting himself a girl. He realized that for some time he had been falling in love with little Jenny, but he wanted to be sane and practical, he wanted to use his mind in choosing a girl.
He was after information, first of all. And who had the most to give him? He thought of Miss Nibbins, who was secretary to Andrews, the lawyer. She would surely know more secrets than anyone else. But then Miss Nibbins was an old maid, who wore spectacles and broad-toed shoes, and
was evidently out of the question for love-making. Then he thought of Miss Standish, a tall blonde beauty who worked in an insurance office and belonged to the Socialist Party. She was a swell dresser, and Peter would have been glad to have something like that to show off to McGivney and the rest of Guffey's men.
But with the best efforts of his self-esteem, Peter could not imagine himself persuading Miss Standish to look at him. There was a Miss Yankovitch, one of the real Reds who trained with the IWW, but she was a Jewess, with sharp black eyes that clearly indicated a temper, and frightened Peter. Also, he had a suspicion that she was interested in McCormack.
So, of course, with these free lovers, you could never tell. But one girl Peter was quite sure about, and that was little Jenny. He didn't know if Jenny knew many secrets, but surely she could find some out for him. Once he got her for his own, he could use her to question others. And so Peter began to picture what love with Jenny would be like.
She wasn't exactly what you would call swell, but there was something about her that made him sure he needn't be ashamed of her. With some new clothes, she would be pretty, and she had grand manners. She had not shown the least fear of the rich ladies who came to the house in their automobiles. She also knew an awful lot for a girl.
Even if most of what she knew wasn't so. Peter lost no time in setting to work at his new job. In the papers next morning appeared the usual details from Flanders. Thousands of men being shot to pieces almost every hour of the day and night. A million men on each side, locked in a ferocious combat that had lasted for weeks, that might
last for months. And sentimental little Jenny sat there with brimming eyes, talking about it while Peter ate his oatmeal and thin milk. And Peter talked about it too. How wicked it was, and how they must stop it, he and Jenny together.
He agreed with her now. He was a socialist, he called her comrade, and told her she had converted him. Her eyes lighted up with joy, as if she had really done something to end the war. They were sitting on the sofa looking at the paper, and they were alone in the house. Peter suddenly looked up from the reading, and said, very much embarrassed,
But comrade Jenny? Yes, she said, and looked at him with her frank, grey eyes. Peter was shy, truly a little frightened, this kind of detective business being new to him. Comrade Jenny?
Jenny said, I don't know just how to say it, but I'm afraid I'm falling a little in love. Jenny drew back her hands, and Peter heard her breath come quickly. Mr. Gudge! she exclaimed. I don't know, stammered Peter. I hope you won't mind.
Oh, don't let's do that, she cried. Why not, comrade Jenny? And he added, I don't know as I can help it. We were having such a happy time, Mr. Gudge. I thought we were going to work for the cause.
Well, but it won't interfere. Oh, but it does, it does. It makes people unhappy. Then, and Peter's voice trembled, Then you don't care the least bit for me, comrade Jenny?
She hesitated a moment. I don't know, she said. I hadn't thought. And Peter's heart gave a leap inside him. It was the first time that any girl had ever had to hesitate in answering that question
for Peter. Something prompted him, just as if he had been doing this kind of sleuthing all his life. He reached over and very gently took her hand. You do care just a little for me, he whispered.
Oh, comrade Gudge, she answered, and Peter said. Call me Peter. Please, please do. Comrade Peter, she said. And there was a little catch in her throat, and Peter, looking at her, saw that her eyes
were cast down. I know I'm not very much to love, he pleaded. I'm poor and obscure. I'm not good-looking. Oh, it isn't that, she cried.
Oh, no, no. Why should I think about such things? You are a comrade. Peter had known, of course, just how she would take this line of talk. Nobody has ever loved me, he said sadly.
Nobody cares anything about you when you are poor and have nothing to offer. I tell you, that isn't it, she insisted. Please don't think that. You are a hero. You have sacrificed for the cause, and you are going on and become a leader.
I hope so, said Peter modestly. But then— What is it, Comrade Jenny? Why don't you care for me? She looked up at him, and their eyes met, and with a little sob in her voice she answered,
I'm not well, Comrade Peter. I'm of no use. It would be wicked for me to marry. Somewhere back in the depths of Peter, where his inner self was crouching, it was as if a sudden douche of cold water were let down on him.
Marry? Who had said anything about marrying? Peter's reaction fitted the stock phrase of the comic papers. This is so sudden. But Peter was too clever to reveal such dismay.
He humoured little Jenny, saying, We don't have to marry right away. I could wait if only I knew that you cared for me, and some day, when you get well. She shook her head sadly. I'm afraid I'll never get really well, and besides, neither of us have any money, Comrade Peter.
Ah, there it was. Money, always money. This free love was nothing but a dream. I could get a job, said Peter, just like any other tame and conventional were. But you couldn't earn enough for two of us, protested the girl, and suddenly she sprang
up. Oh, Comrade Peter, let's not fall in love with each other. Let's not make ourselves unhappy. Let's work for the cause. Promise me that you will.
Peter promised, but of course he had no remotest intention of keeping the promise. He was not only a detective, he was a man, and in both capacities he wanted Comrade Jenny. He had all the rest of the day, and over the addressing of envelopes which he undertook with her, he would now and then steal love glances, and Jenny knew now what these looks flush would creep over her cheeks and down into her neck and throat.
She was really very pretty when she was falling in love, and Peter found his new job the most delightful one of his lifetime. He watched carefully and noted the signs, and was sure he was making no mistake. Before Sadie came back at suppertime, he had his arms about Comrade Jenny and was pressing kisses upon the lovely white throat.
Comrade Jenny was sobbing softly, and her pleading with him to stop had grown faint and unconvincing. Section 19 There was the question of Sadie to be settled. There was a certain severe look that sometimes came about Sadie's lips, and that caused Peter
to feel absolutely certain that Comrade Sadie had no sympathy with free love, and very little sympathy with any love save her own for Jenny. She had nursed her little sister and tended her like a mother for many years. She took the food out of her mouth to give to Jenny, and Jenny in turn gave it to any wandering agitator who came along and hung around until mealtime.
Peter didn't want Sadie to know what had been going on in her absence, and yet he was afraid to suggest to Jenny that she should deceive her sister. He managed it very tactfully. Jenny began pleading again. We ought not to do this, Comrade Peter.
And so Peter agreed. Perhaps they oughtn't, and they wouldn't any more. So Jenny put her hair in order and straightened her blouse, and her lover could see that she wasn't going to tell Sadie. And the next day they were kissing again and agreeing again that they mustn't do it, and
so once more Jenny didn't tell Sadie. More long Peter had managed to whisper the suggestion that their love was their own affair, and they ought not to tell anybody for the present. They would keep the delicious secret, and it would do no one any harm. Jenny had read somewhere about a woman poet by the name of Mrs. Browning, who had been
an invalid all her life and whose health had been completely restored by a great and wonderful love. Such a love had now come to her. Actually Sadie might not understand. Sadie might think they did not know each other well enough and that they ought to wait.
They knew, of course, that they really did know each other perfectly, so there was no reason for uncertainty or fear. Peter managed deftly to put these suggestions into Jenny's mind as if they were her own. And all the time he was making ardent love to her. All day long, while he was helping her address envelopes and mail-out circulars for the Goober
Defense Committee. He really did work hard. He didn't mind working when he had Jenny at the table beside him and could reach over and hold her hand every now and then, or catch her in his arms and murmur passionate words. Delicious thrills and raptures possessed him.
His hopes would rise like a flood tide. But then, alas, only to ebb again. He would get so far, and every time it would be as if he had run into a stone wall. No farther. Peter realized that McGibney's free love talk had been a cruel mistake.
Little Jenny was like all the other women. Her love wasn't going to be free. Little Jenny wanted a husband, and every time you kissed her she began right away to talk about marriage, and you dared not hint at anything else, because you knew it would spoil everything.
So Peter was thrown back upon devices older than the teachings of any Reds. He went after Little Jenny not in the way of free lovers, but in the way of a man alone in the house with a girl of seventeen and wishing to seduce her. He vowed that he loved her with an overwhelming and eternal love. He vowed that he would get a job and take care of her.
And then he let her discover that he was suffering torments. He could not live without her. He played upon her sympathy. He played upon her childish innocence. He played upon that pitiful, weak sentimentality which caused her to believe in pacifism and
altruism and socialism and all the otherisms that were jumbled up in her head. And so in a couple of weeks Peter has succeeded in his purpose of carrying Little Jenny by storm. And then how enraptured he was. Peter with his first girl decided that being a detective was the job for him.
Peter knew that he was a real detective now, using the real inside methods, and on the trail of the real secrets of the Gupper case. And sure enough he began at once to get them. Jenny was in love. Jenny was, as you might say, drunk with love.
And so she fulfilled both the conditions which Guffy had laid down. So Jenny told the truth, sitting on Peter's knee, with her arms clasped about him and talking about her girlhood. The happy days before her mother and father had been killed in the factory where they worked, Little Jenny mentioned the name of a young man, Ibbots.
Ibbots, said Peter. It was a peculiar name and sounded familiar. A cousin of ours, said Jenny. Have I met him? asked Peter, groping in his mind.
No, he hasn't been here. Ibbots, he repeated, still groping, and suddenly he remembered. Isn't his name Jack? Jenny did not answer for a moment. He looked at her, and their eyes met, and he saw that she was frightened.
Oh, Peter, she whispered. I wasn't to tell. I wasn't to tell a soul. Inside Peter something was shouting with delight. To hide his emotion he had to bury his face in the soft white throat.
Sweetheart, he whispered, darling. Oh, Peter, she cried. You know, don't you? Of course, he laughed. But I won't tell.
You needn't mind trusting me. Oh, but Mr. Andrews was so insistent, said Jenny. He made Sadie and me swear that we wouldn't breathe it to a soul. Well, you didn't tell, said Peter. I found it out by accident.
Don't mention it, and nobody will be any the wiser. If they should find out that I know, they wouldn't blame you. They'd understand that I know Jack Ibbots. Me being in jail so long. So Jenny forgot all about the matter, and Peter went on with the kisses, making her
happy as a means of concealing his own exultation. He had done the job for which Guffy had sent him. He had solved the first great mystery of the Goober case. The spy in the jail of American City who was carrying out news to the defense committee was Jack Ibbots, one of the keepers of the jail and a cousin of the Todd sisters.
Section 20 It was fortunate that this was the day of Peter's meeting with McGivney. He could really not have kept this wonderful secret to himself overnight. McGivney made excuses to the girls and dodged through the chicken yard as before and made his way to the American house.
As he walked, Peter's mind was working busily. He had got his grip on the ladder of prosperity now, and he must not fail to tighten it. McGivney saw right away from Peter's face that something had happened. Well, he inquired, I've got it!
exclaimed Peter. Got what? The name of the spy in the jail. Christ! You don't mean it!
cried the other. No doubt about it, answered Peter. Who is he? Peter clenched his hands and summoned his resolution. First he said,
You and me got to have an understanding. Mr. Guffy said I was to be paid. But he didn't say how much or when. Oh, hell! said McGivney. If you've got the name of that spy, you don't need to worry about your reward.
Well, that's all right, said Peter, but I'd like to know what I'm to get and how I'm to get it. How much do you want? demanded the man with the face of a rat. Rat-like, he was retreating into a corner, his sharp black eyes watching his enemy.
How much? he repeated. Peter had tried his best to rise to this occasion. Was he not working for the greatest and richest concern in American City, the Traction Trust? Tens and hundreds of millions of dollars they were worth. He had no idea how much, but he knew that they could afford to pay for his secret.
I think it ought to be worth two hundred dollars, he said. Sure, said McGivney, that's all right. We'll pay you that. And straight away Peter's heart sank. What a fool he had been!
Why hadn't he had more courage and asked for five hundred dollars? He might even have asked a thousand and made himself independent for life. Well, said McGivney, who's the spy? Peter made an agonizing effort and summoned yet more nerve. First I gotta know, when do I get that money?
Oh, good God, said McGivney, you give us the information and you'll get your money all right. What kind of cheapskates do you take us for? Well that's all right, said Peter, but you know, Mr. Guffy didn't give me any reason to think he loved me.
I still can hardly use this wrist like I used to. Well he was trying to get some information out of you, said McGivney. He thought you were one of them dynamiters. How could you blame him? You give me the name of that spy and I'll see you get your money.
But still Peter wouldn't yield. He was afraid of the rat-faced McGivney and his heart was thumping fast, but he stood his ground. I think I ought to see that money, he said doggedly. Say what the hell do you take me for?
demanded the detective. Do you suppose I'm going to give you two hundred dollars and then have you give me some fake name and skip? Oh, I wouldn't do that, cried Peter. How do I know you wouldn't?
Well I want to go on working for you. Sure, and we want you to go on working for us. This ain't the last secret we'll get from you and you'll find we play straight with our people. How'd we ever get anywhere's otherwise?
There's a million dollars been put up to hang that goober crowd and if you deliver the goods you'll get your share and get it right on time. He spoke with conviction and Peter was partly persuaded, but most of Peter's lifetime had been spent in watching people bargaining with one another, watching scoundrels trying to outwit one another, and when it was a question of some money to be got, Peter was like a
bulldog that has got his teeth fixed tight in another dog's nose. He doesn't consider the other dog's feelings, nor does he consider whether the other dog admires him or not. On time? said Peter. What do you mean by on time?
My God, said McGivney in disgust. Well, but I want to know, said Peter. Do you mean when I give you the name, or do you mean after you've gone and found out whether he really is the spy or not? So they worried back and forth, these snarling bulldogs, growing more and more angry, but
Peter was the one who had got his teeth in and Peter hung on. Once McGivney hinted quite plainly that the Great Traction Trust had power enough to shut Peter in the hole on two occasions and keep him there, and it might have power enough to do it a third time. Peter's heart failed with terror, but all the same he hung on to McGivney's nose.
All right, said the rat-faced man at last. He said it in a tone of wearied scorn, but that didn't worry Peter a particle. All right, I'll take a chance with you. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. Twenty dollar bills they were, and he counted out ten of them.
Peter saw that there was still a lot left to the roll, and he knew that he hadn't asked as much money as McGivney had been prepared to have him ask. So his heart was sick within him. At the same time his heart was leaping with exultation. Such a strange thing is the human heart.
Section 21 McGivney laid the money on the bed. There it is, he said, and if you give me the name of the spy you can take it. But you'd better take my advice and not spend it, because if it turns out that you haven't got the spy, by God I believe Ed Guffey'd twist the arms out of you.
Peter was easy about that. I know he's the spy all right. Well, who is he? He's Jack Ibbots. The devil, you say, cried McGivney incredulously.
Jack Ibbots, one of the nightkeepers in the jail. I know him, said the other. But what put that notion into your head? He's a cousin of the Todd sisters. Who are the Todd sisters?
Jenny Todd is my girl. Girl? echoed the other. He stared at Peter, and a grin spread over his face. You got a girl in two weeks?
I didn't know you had it in you. It was a doubtful compliment, but Peter's smile was no less expansive and showed all his crooked teeth. I got her all right, he said, and she blabbed it out the first thing, that Ibbots was her cousin.
And then she was scared because Andrews, the lawyer, had made her and her sisters swear they wouldn't mention his name to a soul. So you see, they're using him for a spy. There ain't a particle of doubt about it. Good God, said McGivney, and there was genuine dismay in his tone.
Who'd think it possible? Why, Ibbots is as decent a fellow as you ever talk to. And him a red? And a traitor at that. You know, that's what makes it the devil trying to handle these reds.
You never can tell who they'll get. You never know who to trust. How do you suppose they manage it? I don't know, said Peter. There's a sucker born every minute, you know.
Well, anyhow, I see you ain't one of them, said the rat-faced man, as he watched Peter take the roll of bills from the bed and tuck them away in an inside pocket.
