And Peter stopped. His eyes had got used to the twilight now, and he could see the old banker’s eyes starting out from the crescents of dark, puffy flesh underneath. “My God!” whispered Nelse Ackerman.
“Now, that was all I heard,” said Peter. “And I didn’t know what it meant. But when I learned about that drawing that Mac had made of your house, I thought to myself, Jesus, I bet that was Mr. Ackerman he was waiting to shoot!”
“Good God! Good God!” whispered the old man; and his trembling fingers pulled at the embroidery on the coverlet. The telephone rang, and he took up the receiver, and told somebody he was too busy now to talk; they would have to call him later. He had another coughing spell, so that Peter thought he was going to choke, and had to help him get some medicine down his throat. Peter was a little bit shocked to see such obvious and abject fear in one of the gods. After all, they were just men, these Olympians, as much subject to pain and death as Peter Gudge himself!
Also Peter was surprised to find how “easy” Mr. Ackerman was. He made no lofty pretence of being indifferent to the Reds. He put himself at Peter’s mercy, to be milked at Peter’s convenience. And Peter would make the most of this opportunity.
“Now, Mr. Ackerman,” he began, “You can see it wouldn’t be any use to tell things like that to the police. They dunno how to handle such a situation; the honest truth is, they don’t take these Reds serious. They’ll spend ten times as much money to catch a plain burglar as they will to watch a whole gang like this.”
“How can they have got into my home?” cried the old man.
“They get in by ways you’d never dream of, Mr. Ackerman. They have people who agree with them. Why, you got no idea, there’s some preachers that are Reds, and some college teachers, and some rich men like yourself.”
“I know, I know,” said Ackerman. “But surely—”
“How can you tell? You may have a traitor right in your own family.”
So Peter went on, spreading the Red Terror in the soul of this old millionaire who did not want to be killed. He said again that he did not want to be killed, and explained his reluctance in some detail. So many people were dependent upon him for their livings, Peter could have no conception of it! There were probably a hundred thousand men with their families right here in American City, whose jobs depended upon plans which Ackerman was carrying, and which nobody but Ackerman could possibly carry. Widows and orphans looked to him for protection of their funds; a vast net-work of responsibilities required his daily, even his hourly decisions. And sure enough, the telephone rang, and Peter heard Nelse Ackerman declare that the Amalgamated Securities Company would have to put off a decision about its dividends until tomorrow, because he was too busy to sign certain papers just then. He hung up the receiver and said: “You see, you see! I tell you, Gudge, we must not let them get me!”