§ 39
Peter had a midnight appointment with McGivney, and now had to go and
admit this humiliating failure. He had done his best, he declared; he
had inquired at the desk, and waited and waited, but the hotel people
had failed
to notify him of Lackman's arrival. All this was strictly
true; but it did not pacify McGivney, who was in a black
fury. "It might have been worth thousands of dollars to
you!" he declared. "He's the biggest fish we'll ever get
on our hook."
"Won't he come again?" asked grief-stricken Peter.
"No," declared the other. "They'll get him at his home
city."
"But won't that do?" asked Peter, naively.
"You damned fool!" was McGivney's response. "We
wanted to get him here, where we could pluck him ourselves."
The rat-faced man hadn't intended to tell Peter so much, but in
his rage he let it out. He and a couple of his friends had planned to
"get something" on this young millionaire, and scare the wits out of
him, with the idea that he would put up a good many thousand dollars to
be let off. Peter might have had his share of this — only he had been
fool enough to let the bird get out of his net!
Peter offered to follow the young man to his home city, and find
some way to lure him back into McGivney's power. After McGivney had
stormed for a while, he decided that this might be possible. He would
talk it over with the others, and let Peter know. But alas, when Peter
picked up an afternoon newspaper next day, he read on the front page how
young Lackman, stepping off the train in his home city that morning, had
been placed under arrest; his school had been raided, and half a dozen
of the teachers were in jail, and a ton of Red literature had been
confiscated, and a swarm of dire conspiracies against the safety of the
country had been laid bare!
Peter read this news, and knew that he was in for another stormy
hour with his boss. But he hardly gave a thought to it, because of
something which had happened a few minutes before, something of so much
greater importance. A messenger had brought him a special delivery
letter, and with thumping heart he had torn it open and read:
"All right. Meet me in the waiting-room of Guggenheim's
Department Store at two o'clock this afternoon. But for God's sake
forget Nell Doolin. Yours, Edythe Eustace."
So here was Peter dressed in his best clothes, as for his
temporary honeymoon with the grass widow, and on the way to the
rendezvous an hour ahead of time. And here came Nell, also dressed,
every garment so contrived that a single glance would tell the beholder
that their owner was moving in the highest circles, and regardless of
expense. Nell glanced over her shoulder now and then as she talked, and
explained that Ted Crothers, the man with the bulldog face, was a
terror, and it was hard to get away from him, because he had nothing to
do all day.
The waiting-room of a big department-store was not the place
Peter would have selected for the pouring out of his heart; but he had
to make the best of it, so he told Nell that he loved her, that he would
never be able to love anybody else, and that he had made piles of money
now, he was high up on the ladder of prosperity. Nell did not laugh at
him, as she had laughed in the Temple of Jimjambo, for it was easily to
be seen that Peter Gudge was no longer a scullion, but a man of the
world with a fascinating air of mystery. Nell wanted to know forthwith
what was he
doing; he answered that he could not tell, it was a secret of the most
desperate import; he was under oath. These were the days of German spies
and bomb-plots, when kings and kaisers and emperors and tsars were
pouring treasures into America for all kinds of melodramatic purposes;
also the days of government contracts and secret deals, when in the
lobbies and private meeting-places of hotels like the de Soto there were
fortunes made and unmade every hour. So it was easy for Nell to believe
in a real secret, and being a woman, she put all her faculties upon the
job of guessing it.
She did not again ask Peter to tell her; but she let him talk,
and tactfully guided the conversation, and before long she knew that
Peter was intimate with a great many of the most desperate Reds, and
likewise that he knew all about the insides of the Goober case, and
about the great men of American City who had put up a million dollars
for the purpose of hanging Goober, and about the various ways in which
this money had been spent and wires had been pulled to secure a
conviction. Nell put two and two together, and before long she figured
out that the total was four; she suddenly confronted Peter with this
total, and Peter was dumb with consternation, and broke down and
confessed everything, and told Nell all about his schemes and his
achievements and his adventures — omitting only little Jennie and the
grass widow.
He told about the sums he had been making and was
expecting to make; he told about Lackman, and showed
Nell the newspaper with pictures of the young millionaire
and his school. "What a handsome fellow!" said Nell.
"It's a shame!"
"How do you mean?" asked Peter, a little puzzled.
Could it be that Nell had any sympathy for these Reds?
"I mean," she answered, "that he'd have been worth
more to you than all the rest put together."
Nell was a woman, and her mind ran to the, practical
aspect of things. "Look here, Peter," she said, "you've
been letting those `dicks' work you. They're getting the
swag, and just giving you tips. What you need is somebody
to take care of you."
Peter's heart leaped. "Will you do it?" he cried.
"I've got Ted on my hands," said the girl. "He'd cut
my throat, and yours too, if he knew I was here. But I'll
try to get myself free, and then maybe — I won't promise,
but I'll think over your problem, Peter, and I'll certainly
try to help, so that McGivney and Guffey and those fellows
can't play you for a sucker any longer."
She must have time to think it over, she said, and to
make inquiries about the people involved — some of whom
apparently she knew. She would meet Peter again the
next day, and in a more private place than here. She
named a spot in the city park which would be easy to
find, and yet sufficiently remote for a quiet conference.
