§ 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!