“And what does he want you to do?” demanded
the rat-faced man.
Peter answered, “He just wanted to make sure
that he was learning everything of importance, and
he wanted me to promise him that he would get every
scrap of information that I collected about the plot
against him; and of course I promised him that we’d
bring it all to him.”
“You going to see him any more?” demanded
McGivney.
“He didn’t say anything about that.”
“Did he get your address?”
“No, I suppose if he wants me he’ll let
you know, the same as before.”
“All right,” said McGivney. “Did
he give you any money?”
“Yes,” said Peter, “he gave me two
hundred dollars, and he said there was plenty more
where that came from, so that we’d work hard
to help him. He said he didn’t want to get
killed; he said that a couple of dozen times, I guess.
He spent more time saying that than anything else.
He’s sick, and he’s scared out of his wits.”
So at last McGivney condescended to thank Peter for
his faithfulness, and went on to give him further
orders.
The Reds were raising an awful howl. Andrews,
the lawyer, had succeeded in getting a court order
to see the arrested men, and of course the prisoners
had all declared that the case was a put-up job.
Now the Reds were preparing to send out a circular
to their fellow Reds all over the country, appealing
for publicity, and for funds to fight the “frame-up.”
They were very secret about it, and McGivney wanted
to know where they were getting their money.
He wanted a copy of the circular they were printing,
and to know where and when the circulars were to be
mailed. Guffey had been to see the post office
authorities, and they were going to confiscate the
circulars and destroy them all without letting the
Reds know it.
Peter rubbed his hands with glee. That was the
real business! That was going after these criminals
in the way Peter had been urging! The rat-faced
man answered that it was nothing to what they were
going to do in a few days. Let Peter keep on his
job, and he would see! Now, when the public was
wrought up over this dynamite conspiracy, was the
time to get things done.
Peter took a street car to the home of Miriam Yankovitch,
and on the way he read the afternoon edition of the
American City “Times.” The editors
of this paper were certainly after the Reds, and no
mistake! They had taken McCormick’s book
on Sabotage, just as Nell had predicted, and printed
whole chapters from it, with the most menacing sentences
in big type, and some boxed up in little frames and
scattered here and there over the page so that no one
could possibly miss them. They had a picture
of McCormick taken in the jail; he hadn’t had
a chance to shave for several days, and probably hadn’t
felt pleasant about having his picture taken—anyhow,
he looked ferocious enough to frighten the most skeptical,
and Peter was confirmed in his opinion that Mac was
the most dangerous Red of them all.
