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.