§ 75
The two men heard Peter's story and changed it a little, and then
heard him over again and pronounced him all right, and Peter went back
to his hotel room and waited in trepidation for his hour in the
limelight. When they took him to court his knees were shaking, but also
he had a thrill of real importance, for they had provided him with a
body-guard of four big huskies; also he saw two "bulls" whom he
recognized in the hallway outside the court-room, and many others
scattered thru the audience. The place was packed with Red
sympathizers, but they had all been searched before they were allowed to
enter, and were being watched every moment during the trial.
When Peter stepped into the witness box he felt as Tom
Duggan and Donald Gordon must have felt that night
when the white glare from thirty or forty automobiles was
beating upon them. Peter felt the concentrated Red hate
of two or three hundred spectators, and now and then their
pent-up fury would break restraint; there would be a
murmur of protest, or perhaps a wave of sneering laughter,
and the bailiff would bang on the table with his wooden
mallet, and the judge would half rise from his seat, and
declare that if that happened again he would order the
court-room cleared.
Not far in front of Peter at a long table sat the seventeen
defendants, looking like trapped rats, and every one of their
thirty-four rat eyes were fixed upon Peter's face, and never moved from
it. Peter only glanced that way once; they bared their rats' teeth at
him, and he quickly looked in another direction. But there also he saw a
face that brought him no comfort; there sat Mrs. Godd, in her immaculate
white chiffons, her wide-open blue eyes fixed upon his face, her
expression full of grief and reproach. "Oh, Mr. Gudge!" she seemed to
be saying. "How can you? Mr. Gudge, is this Peace. . . justice. . .
Truth. . . Law?" And Peter realized with a pang that he had cut himself
off forever from Mount Olympus, and from the porch chair with the soft
silken pillows! He turned away toward the box where sat the twelve
jurymen and women. One old lady gave him a benevolent smile, and a
young farmer gave him a sly wink, so Peter knew that he had friends in
that quarter — and after all, they were the ones who really counted in
this trial. Mrs. Godd was as helpless as any "wobbly," in the presence
of this august court.
Peter told his story, and then came his cross-questioning,
and who should rise and start the job but David Andrews,
suave and humorous and deadly. Peter had always been
afraid of Andrews, and now he winced. Nobody had told him he was to face
an ordeal like this! Nobody had told him that Andrews would be allowed
to question him about every detail of these crimes which he said he had
witnessed, and about all the conversations that had taken place, and who
else was present, and what else had been said, and how he had come to be
there, and what he had done afterwards, and what he had had to eat for
breakfast that morning. Only two things saved Peter, first the constant
rapid-fire of objections which Stannard kept making, to give Peter time
to think; and second, the cyclone-cellar which Stannard had provided for
him in advance. "You can always fail to remember," the deputy had said;
"nobody can punish you for forgetting something." So Peter would repeat
the minute details of a conversation in which Alf Guinness had told of
burning down the barn, but he didn't remember who else had heard the
conversation, and he didn't remember what else had been said, nor what
was the date of the conversation.
Then came the blessed hour of noon, with a chance
for Peter to get fixed up again before the court resumed
at two. He was questioned again by Stannard, who patched
up all the gaps in his testimony, and then again he failed
to remember things, and so avoided the traps which
Andrews set for his feet. He was told that he had "done
fine," and was escorted back to the Hotel de Soto in
triumph, and there for a week he stayed while the defense
made a feeble effort to answer his testimony. Peter read
in the papers the long speeches in which the district attorney
and the deputy acclaimed him as a patriot, protecting
his country from its "enemies within;" also he read
a brief reference to the "tirade" of David Andrews, who
had called him a "rat" and a "slinking Judas." Peter didn't
mind that, of course — it was all part of the game, and
the calling of names is a pretty sure sign of impotence.
Less easy to accept placidly, however, was something
which came to Peter that same day — a letter from Mrs.
Godd! It wasn't written to him, but he saw Hammett and
another of the "bulls" chuckling together, and he asked
what was the joke, and they told him that Mrs. Godd had
somehow found out about Guffey, and had written him a
letter full of insults, and Guffey was furious. Peter asked
what was in it, and they told him, and later on when he
insisted, they brought it and showed it to him, and Peter
was furious too. On very expensive stationery with a
stately crest at the top, the mother of Mount Olympus had
written in a large, bland, girlish hand her opinion of "under
cover" men and those who hired them:
"You sit like a big spider and weave a net to catch men and
destroy them. You destroy alike your victims and your tools. The poor
boy, Peter Gudge, whom you sent to my home — my heart bleeds when I think
of him, and what you have put him up to! A wretched, feeble-minded
victim of greed, who ought to be sent to a hospital for deformed souls,
you have taken him and taught him a piece of villainy to recite, so that
he may send a group of sincere idealists to prison."
That was enough! Peter put down the letter — he would
not dignify such stuff by reading it. He realized that he
would have to put his mind on the problem of Mrs. Godd
once more. One woman like that, in her position of power,
was more dangerous than all the seventeen "wobblies" who
had been haled before the court. Peter inquired, and learned that Guffey
had already been to see Nelse Ackerman about it, and Mr. Ackerman had
been to see Mr. Godd, and Mr. Godd had been to see Mrs. Godd. Also the
"Times" had an editorial referring to the "nest of Bolshevism" upon
Mount Olympus, and all Mrs. Godd's friends were staying away from her
luncheon-parties — so she was being made to suffer for her insolence to
Peter Gudge!
"A hospital for deformed souls," indeed! Peter was so upset that
his joy in life was not restored even by the news that the jury had
found the defendants guilty on the first ballot. He told McGivney that
the strain of this trial had been too much for his nerves, and they must
take care of him; so an automobile was provided, and Peter was taken to
a secret hiding place in the country to recuperate.
Hammett went with him, and Hammett was a first-class gunman, and
Peter stayed close by him; in the evening he stayed up in the second
story of the farm-house, lest perchance one of the "wobblies" should
take too literally the testimony Peter had given concerning their habit
of shooting at their enemies out of the darkness. Peter knew how they
all must hate him; he read in the paper how the judge summoned the
guilty men before him and sentenced them, incidentally forcing them to
listen to a scathing address, which was published in full in the
"Times." The law provided a penalty of from one to fourteen years, and
the judge sentenced sixteen of them to fourteen years, and one to ten
years, thus tempering justice with mercy.
Then one day McGivney sent an automobile, and Peter
was brought to Guffey's office, and a new plan was unfolded
to him. They had arrested another bunch of "wobblies"
in the neighboring city of Eldorado, and Peter was wanted there to
repeat his testimony. It happened that he knew one of the accused men,
and that would be sufficient to get his testimony in — his prize stuff
about the burning barns and the phosphorus bombs. He would be taken care
of just as thoroughly by the district attorney's office of Eldorado
County; or better yet, Guffey would write to his friend Steve Ellman,
who did the detective work for the Home and Fireside Association, the
big business organization of that city.
Peter hemmed and hawed. This was a pretty hard and dangerous kind
of work, it really played the devil with a man's nerves, sitting up
there in the hotel room all day, with nothing to do but smoke cigarettes
and imagine the "wobblies" throwing bombs at you. Also, it wouldn't last
very long; it ought to be better paid. Guffey answered that Peter
needn't worry about the job's lasting; if he cared to give this
testimony, he might have a joy ride from one end of the country to the
other, and everywhere he would live on the fat of the land, and be a
hero in the newspapers.
But still Peter hemmed and hawed. He had learned from the
American City "Times" how valuable a witness he was, and he ventured to
demand his price, even from the terrible Guffey; he stuck it out, in
spite of Guffey's frowns, and the upshot was that Guffey said, All
right, if Peter would take the trip he might have seventy-five dollars a
week and expenses, and Guffey would guarantee to keep him busy for not
less than six months.
