Part 20 (1/2)

”Gudge,” said Peter.

”You are the man--(cough) that knows about the Reds?”

”Yes, sir.”

The occupant of the bed coughed every two or three minutes thru the conversation that followed, and each time Peter noticed that he put his hand up to his mouth as if he were ashamed of the noise.

Gradually Peter got used to the twilight, and could see that Nelse Ackerman was an old man with puffy, droopy cheeks and chin, and dark puffy crescents under his eyes. He was quite bald, and had on his head a skull cap of embroidered black silk, and a short, embroidered jacket over his night s.h.i.+rt. Beside the bed stood a table covered with gla.s.ses and bottles and pill-boxes, and also a telephone. Every few minutes this telephone would ring, and Peter would wait patiently while Mr. Ackerman settled some complex problem of business. ”I've told them my terms,” he would say with irritation, and then he would cough; and Peter, who was sharply watching every detail of the conduct of the rich, noted that he was too polite even to cough into the telephone. ”If they will pay a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars on account, I will wait, but not a cent less,” Nelse Ackerman would say. And Peter, awe-stricken, realized that he had now reached the very top of Mount Olympus, he was at the highest point he could hope to reach until he went to heaven.

The old man fixed his dark eyes on his visitor. ”Who wrote me that letter?” whispered the husky voice.

Peter had been expecting this. ”What letter, sir?”

”A letter telling me to see you.”

”I don't know anything about it, sir.”

”You mean--(cough) you didn't write me an anonynious letter?”

”No, sir, I didn't.”

”Then some friend of yours must have written it.”

”I dunno that. It might have been some enemy of the police.”

”Well, now, what's this about the Reds having an agent in my home?”

”Did the letter say that?”

”It did.”

”Well, sir, that's putting it too strong. I ain't sure, it's just an idea I've had. It'll need a lot of explaining.”

”You're the man who discovered this plot, I understand?”

”Yes, sir.”

”Well, take a chair, there,” said the banker. There was a chair near the bedside, but it seemed to Peter too close to be respectful, so he pulled it a little farther away, and sat down on the front six inches of it, still holding his hat in his hands and twisting it nervously. ”Put down that hat,” said the old man, irritably. So Peter stuck the hat under his chair, and said: ”I beg pardon, sir.”

Section 52

The old plutocrat was feeble and sick, but his mind was all there, and his eyes seemed to be boring Peter through. Peter realized that he would have to be very careful--the least little slip would be fatal here.

”Now, Gudge,” the old man began, ”I want you to tell me all about it. To begin with, how did you come to be among these Reds? Begin at the beginning.”

So Peter told how he had happened to get interested in the radical movement, laying particular stress upon the dangerousness of these Reds, and his own loyalty to the cla.s.s which stood for order and progress and culture in the country. ”It ought to be stopped, Mr.

Ackerman!” he exclaimed, with a fine show of feeling; and the old banker nodded. Yes, yes, it ought to be stopped!

”Well,” said Peter, ”I said to myself, 'I'm going to find out about them fellows.' I went to their meetings, and little by little I pretended to get converted, and I tell you, Mr. Ackerman, our police are asleep; they don't know what these agitators are doing, what they're preaching. They don't know what a hold they've got on the mobs of the discontented!”