Part 5

The detective did not mince words. “It’s plain that you’re a boob,” he said. “But such as you are, we’ve got to do the best we can with you. Now, put your mind on it and get it straight: we know who these Reds are, and we know what they’re teaching; we can’t send ‘em to jail for that. What we want you to find out is the name of their spy, and who are their witnesses in the Goober case, and what they’re going to say.”

“But how can I find out things like that?” cried Peter.

“You’ve got to use your wits,” said McGivney. “But I’ll give you one tip; get yourself a girl.”

“A girl?” cried Peter, in wonder.

“Sure thing,” said the other. “That’s the way we always work. Guffey says there’s just three times when people tell their secrets: The first is when they’re drunk, and the second is when they’re in love--”

Then McGivney stopped. Peter, who wanted to complete his education, inquired, “And the third?”

“The third is when they’re both drunk and in love,” was the reply. And Peter was silent, smitten with admiration. This business of sleuthing was revealing itself as more complicated and more fascinating all the time.

“Ain’t you seen any girl you fancy in that crowd?” demanded the other.

“Well--it might be--” said Peter, shyly.

“It ought to be easy,” continued the detective. “Them Reds are all free lovers, you know.”

“Free lovers!” exclaimed Peter. “How do you mean?”

“Didn’t you know about that?” laughed the other.

Peter sat staring at him. All the women that Peter had ever known or heard of took money for their love. They either took it directly, or they took it in the form of automobile rides and flowers and candy and tickets to the whang-doodle things. Could it be that there were women who did not take money in either form, but whose love was entirely free?

The detective assured him that such was the case. “They boast about it,” said he. “They think it’s right.” And to Peter that seemed the most shocking thing he had yet heard about the Reds.

To be sure, when he thought it over, he could see that it had some redeeming points; it was decidedly convenient from the point of view of the man; it was so much money in his pocket. If women chose to be that silly--and Peter found himself suddenly thinking about little Jennie Todd. Yes, she would be that silly, it was plain to see. She gave away everything she had; so of course she would be a “free lover!”

Peter went away from his rendezvous with McGivney, thrilling with a new and wonderful idea. You couldn’t have got him to give up his job now. This sleuthing business was the real thing!

It was late when Peter got home, but the two girls were sitting up for him, and their relief at his safe return was evident. He noticed that Jennie’s face expressed deeper concern than her sister’s, and this gave him a sudden new emotion. Jennie’s breath came and went more swiftly because he had entered the room; and this affected his own breath in the same way. He had a swift impulse towards her, an entirely unselfish desire to reassure her and relieve her anxiety; but with an instinctive understanding of the sex game which he had not before known he possessed, he checked this impulse and turned instead to the older sister, assuring her that nobody had followed him. He told an elaborate story, prepared on the way; he had worked for ten days for a fellow at sawing wood--hard work, you bet, and then the fellow had tried to get out of paying him! Peter had caught him at his home that evening, and had succeeded in getting five dollars out of him, and a promise of a few dollars more every week. That was to cover future visits to McGivney.

Section 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 Jennie; 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 Nebbins, who was secretary to Andrews, the lawyer; she would surely know more secrets than anyone else; but then, Miss Nebbins 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, blond 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 Yankovich, one of the real Reds, who trained with the I. W. W.; 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 McCormick--tho of course with these “free lovers” you could never tell.

But one girl Peter was quite sure about, and that was little Jennie; he didn’t know if Jennie 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 Jennie 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; also she 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 Jennie 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 Jennie 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 Jennie--”

“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 Jennie,” he said, “I--I--don’t know just how to say it, but I’m afraid I’m falling a little in love.”

Jennie drew back her hands, and Peter heard her breath come quickly. “Oh, Mr. Gudge!” she exclaimed.

“I--I don’t know--” stammered Peter. “I hope you won’t mind.”

“Oh, don’t let’s do that!” she cried.

“Why not, Comrade Jennie?” And he added, “I don’t know as I can help it.”

“Oh, 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 Jennie?”

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 Jennie? 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 ice-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 humored little Jennie, 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 wooer.

“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 Jennie. 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 Jennie knew now what these looks meant, and the faint 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 supper-time he had his arms about Comrade Jennie, and was pressing kisses upon the lovely white throat; and Comrade Jennie 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 Jennie. 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 Jennie--and Jennie 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 Jennie that she should deceive her sister.

He managed it very tactfully. Jennie 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 Jennie 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 Jennie didn’t tell Sadie. Before 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. Jennie 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; only 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 Jennie’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 Jennie 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 McGivney’s “free love” talk had been a cruel mistake. Little Jennie was like all the other women--her love wasn’t going to be “free.” Little Jennie 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 Jennie, 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 other “isms” that were jumbled up in her head.

And so in a couple of weeks Peter had succeeded in his purpose of carrying little Jennie 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 Goober case!

And sure enough, he began at once to get them. Jennie was in love; Jennie was, as you might say, “drunk with love,” and so she fulfilled both the conditions which Guffey had laid down. So Jennie 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 Jennie mentioned the name of a young man, Ibbetts.

“Ibbetts?” said Peter. It was a peculiar name, and sounded familiar.

“A cousin of ours,” said Jennie.

“Have I met him?” asked Peter, groping in his mind.

“No, he hasn’t been here.”

“Ibbetts?” he repeated, still groping; and suddenly he remembered. “Isn’t his name Jack?”

Jennie 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!”

“Uh, 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 Jennie, “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 Ibbetts--me being in jail so long.”

So Jennie 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 Guffey 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 Ibbetts, one of the keepers in 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 over night. He made excuses to the girls, and dodged thru the chicken-yard as before, and made his way to the American House. As he walked, Peter’s mind was working busily. He had really got his grip on the ladder of prosperity now; 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. Guffey 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 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 straightway 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 got to 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 cheap skates do you take us for?”

“Well, that’s all right,” said Peter. “But you know, Mr. Guffey 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. “D’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 anywheres 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’?”

“Oh, my God!” said McGivney, in disgust.

“Well, but I want to know,” said Peter. “D’you mean when I give the name, or d’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 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.” And 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 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