He did not
have to pretend to be anything different from what he was. He would
call himself a victim of circumstances, and would be honestly
indignant against those who had sought to use him in a frame-up
against Jim Goober. The rest would follow naturally. He would get
the confidence of the labor people, and Guffey would tell him what
to do next.
"We'll put you in one of the cells of this jail," said the chief
detective, "and we'll pretend to give you a `third degree.' You'll
holler and make a fuss, and say you won't tell, and finally we'll
give up and kick you out. And then all you have to do is just hang
around. They'll come after you, or I miss my guess."
So the little comedy was arranged and played thru. Guffey took Peter
by the collar and led him out into the main part of the jail, and
locked him in one of a row of open cells. He grabbed Peter by the
wrist and pretended to twist it, and Peter pretended to protest. He
did not have to draw on his imagination; he knew how it felt, and
how he was supposed to act, and he acted. He sobbed and screamed,
and again and again he vowed that he had told the truth, that he
knew nothing else than what he had told, and that nothing could make
him tell any more.
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