We know it wasn't you that planned it;
it's the big fellows we want."
He began to wheedle and coax Peter; but then, when Peter answered
again with his provoking "I dunno," he would give another twist to
Peter's wrist, and Peter would yell, almost incoherent with terror
and pain--but still declaring that he could tell nothing, he knew
nothing about any bomb.
So at last Guffey wearied of this futile inquisition; or perhaps it
occurred to him that this was too public a place for the prosecution
of a "third degree"--there might be some one listening outside the
door. He stopped twisting Peter's wrist, and tilted back Peter's
head so that Peter's frightened eyes were staring into his.
"Now, young fellow," he said, "look here. I got no time for you just
now, but you're going to jail, you're my prisoner, and make up your
mind to it, sooner or later I'm going to get it out of you. It may
take a day, or it may take a month, but you're going to tell me
about this bomb plot, and who printed this here circular opposed to
Preparedness, and all about these Reds you work with. I'm telling
you now--so you think it over; and meantime, you hold your mouth,
don't say a word to a living soul, or if you do I'll tear your
tongue out of your throat.
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