100%: The Story of a Patriot | Page 5

onto Peter, demanding to know
who he was, and where he had come from, and what he had been doing
in that crowd. And of course Peter had no very satisfactory answers to
give to any of these questions. His occupations had been unusual, and
not entirely credible, and his purposes were hard to explain to a
suspicious questioner. The man was big and burly, at least a foot taller
than Peter, and as he talked he stooped down and stared into Peter's
eyes as if he were looking for dark secrets hidden back in the depths of
Peter's skull. Peter remembered that he was supposed to be sick, and his
eyelids drooped and he reeled slightly, so that the policemen had to
hold him up.
"I want to talk to that fellow," said the questioner. "Take him inside."
One of the officers took Peter under one arm, and the other under the
other arm, and they half walked and half carried him across the street
and into a building.

Section 4

It was a big store which the police had opened up. Inside there were
wounded people lying on the floor, with doctors and others attending
them. Peter was marched down the corridor, and into a room where sat
or stood several other men, more or less in a state of collapse like
himself; people who had failed to satisfy the police, and were being
held under guard.
Peter's two policemen backed him against the wall and proceeded to go
thru his pockets, producing the shameful contents--a soiled rag, and
two cigarette butts picked up on the street, and a broken pipe, and a
watch which had once cost a dollar, but was now out of order, and too
badly damaged to be pawned. That was all they had any right to find,
so far as Peter knew. But there came forth one thing more--the printed
circular which Peter had thrust into his pocket. The policeman who
pulled it out took a glance at it, and then cried, "Good God!" He stared
at Peter, then he stared at the other policeman and handed him the

paper.
At that moment the man not in uniform entered the room. "Mr.
Guffey!" cried the policeman. "See this!" The man took the paper, and
glanced at it, and Peter, watching with bewildered and fascinated eyes,
saw a most terrifying sight. It was as if the man went suddenly out of
his mind. He glared at Peter, and under his black eyebrows the big
staring eyes seemed ready to jump out of his head.
"Aha!" he exclaimed; and then, "So I've got you!" The hand that held
the paper was trembling, and the other hand reached out like a great
claw, and fastened itself in the neck of Peter's coat, and drew it together
until Peter was squeezed tight. "You threw that bomb!" hissed the man.
"Wh-what?" gasped Peter, his voice almost fainting. "B-b-bomb?"
"Out with it!" cried the man, and his face came close to Peter's, his
teeth gleaming as if he were going to bite off Peter's nose. "Out with it!
Quick! Who helped you?"
"My G-God!" said Peter. "I d-dunno what you mean."
"You dare lie to me?" roared the man; and he shook Peter as if he
meant to jar his teeth out. "No nonsense now! Who helped you make
that bomb?"
Peter's voice rose to a scream of terror: "I never saw no bomb! I dunno
what you're talkin' about!"
"You, come this way," said the man, and started suddenly toward the
door. It might have been more convenient if he had turned Peter around,
and got him by the back of his coat-collar; but he evidently held Peter's
physical being as a thing too slight for consideration--he just kept his
grip in the bosom of Peter's jacket, and half lifted him and half shoved
him back out of the room, and down a long passage to the back part of
the building. And all the time he was hissing into Peter's face: "I'll have
it out of you! Don't think you can lie to me! Make up your mind to it,
you're going to come thru!"

The man opened a door. It was some kind of storeroom, and he walked
Peter inside and slammed the door behind him. "Now, out with it!" he
said. The man thrust into his pocket the printed circular, or whatever it
was--Peter never saw it again, and never found out what was printed on
it. With his free hand the man grabbed one of Peter's hands, or rather
one finger of Peter's hand, and bent it suddenly backward with terrible
violence. "Oh!" screamed Peter. "Stop!" And then, with a wild shriek,
"You'll break it."
"I mean to break it! mean to break every