FOR a little, while the two men smoked, there was silence. They did not quite set each other’s genius, it was clear. Between them was a subtle antagonism, which yet on both sides did not deny a claim to respect. Saul Hartz, at any rate, had now modified considerably his first estimate of “the pseudo-oriental.”
“There’s a second question I hope you’ll not mind my asking,” he said at last. “Do you know exactly what agent was used to compass Garland’s death?”
“Oh, yes.” Wygram’s tone removed every shred of doubt from the mind of his questioner.
“Your information would be of considerable value to—shall we say—the police?”
“The police are in possession of it,” said Wygram unconcernedly.
“May I ask how you know that?”
“I have been acting for them.”
Hartz was at once alive to the significance of the statement. “Are you at liberty to disclose the full extent of your knowledge?”
“At liberty, yes,” was the cool reply. “I never, in any circumstances, touch a case without retaining complete liberty of action. But in this affair, I am not inclined to communicate what I know to a private person.”
“Why not?”
“It would be against the public interest.”
“So say the police. By the way, when were you called in?”
“This morning—at two o’clock.”
“It hasn’t taken long to get at the facts.”
“A mass of data was available from those other cases.”
“Yamotoga and Kornichef?”
Wygram’s calm avowal of full knowledge of those dark affairs which so deeply stirred a section of the world had a palpable effect upon Hartz. But he went on with his catechism.
“Were you allowed to examine the body?”
“I was.”
“Were you able to tell the police the exact cause of death?”
“Oh, yes.”
It went against the grain for Saul Hartz to believe that Wygram spoke the truth, but tone and manner overrode all doubt. He was piqued by the discovery. For once, that proud creation of his own, the U. P. secret service, was at fault. It was far from pleasing to the Colossus that persons there were in the realm so much better informed than himself.
One fact clearly emerged. Report, for once, had not overpainted the attainments of this man Wygram. How to make use of them was the problem for his visitor. The man was determined to lock away his knowledge. It was plain that he set more store by the police than by the U. P. But the Colossus had made up his mind already that so valuable an ally must be lured on to his own side.
With that end in view, Mr. Hartz produced at this point the Society’s letter with its sinister black seal and mourning border.
He handed it to the man on the ground.
Wygram read the letter. Then he held it up to the light, also its envelope. His next act was to pass his fingers delicately over the surface of both.
“May I tear a little off?”
Permission was readily given for him to do so.
“Chinese,” was Wygram’s comment as he rubbed a small piece between his thumb and first finger. “It doesn’t mean very much.” Wygram negligently tossed two or three tiny fragments on to the carpet. “However, it serves to confirm a theory which is not going to mean very much either, but is certainly a sidelight on a most unpleasant affair.”
“I hope you’ll be as explicit as you can.” Saul Hartz was now betraying a little anxiety. “It may be that I have something at stake.”
“You have a good deal at stake.” Wygram was not one to temper the wind to the shorn lamb.
“Do you think you can help me?”
Wygram shook his head. “No,” he said. “This is a matter in which one person only can help you. That person is yourself.”
Such an answer was eminently unpleasant to Saul Hartz. His voice grew harsh and domineering. “I don’t intend to let myself be intimidated by any sort of mumbo jumbo—if that is what you mean.”
“William Garland used almost those identical words in this room less than a week ago.”
The Colossus, in spite of the fact that Wygram’s piercing black eyes were fixed upon his face, could not repress a shiver. “Won’t you tell me,” he said in a lower tone, “exactly what you are able to deduce from this letter and this envelope?”
Wygram pondered. “At this stage,” he said slowly, “it would be premature, it would serve no purpose, and perhaps it might be unkind.”
“Trying to give me cold feet, eh?” The voice of the Colossus again grew harsh.
“That is what I want to avoid. At the same time, if you value your life, don’t make Garland’s mistake.”
“What was Garland’s mistake?”
“He defied the Council of Seven.”
Saul Hartz lifted an imperious chin. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“The Society prescribed for Garland a certain course within a certain time. His only chance of life was to follow it, but that was a fact he chose to ignore.”
“No course has yet been prescribed for me, at any rate.”
“It will be.”
The Colossus folded his arms with a gesture of defiance. “That remains to be seen,” he said.
“You are bound to hear more of this matter.” Wygram toyed with the paper that was still in his hand. “The Society of the Friends of Peace has made up its mind to break you.”
“If it can.”
Wygram’s eyes were fixed once again upon a face which was betraying signs of an ever-deepening conflict. “That hardly admits of doubt,” he said in a low, solemn voice.
“Nonsense ... nonsense!” The manner of the Colossus was that of one struggling to throw off an evil dream. “I refuse to be intimidated by this sort of deviltry. I and my papers, I and my world-wide organization, will fight this Vehmgericht. We will scotch and kill it with the resources we command.”
“I hope you may.” Wygram weighed his words coolly. “Of two evils it is well to choose the less. And that is saying much. For the U. P. is a foul blot enough on our civilization, heaven knows. And you yourself, sir, as I see you, are a sort of third-rate antichrist....”
“Thank you!”
“A Napoleon in pétto, but a dire menace, all the same, to the peace of the world. Still, your wings are about to be clipped and that is reason enough for honest men to rejoice.”
Saul Hartz resented these words deeply, but his arrogance was too great to allow the fact to appear in his manner. His laugh had even a ring of good humor. Wygram, fully bent on taking the measure of the man, did not let that laugh escape him. He rather liked the fellow for being able to indulge it at such a moment. After all, this brummagem Colossus might be of larger mold than on the surface he seemed.
One thing was clear. They were well met, these two. Each sought to assay the other, and if possible, transmute any residuum of exact knowledge into power.
“You are out of sympathy with my aims and ambitions.” The mildness of Saul Hartz had quite an apologetic sound. “But don’t for that reason blind yourself willfully to the fact that the remedy we are up against is far worse than the disease.”
“I wonder!”
“You needn’t!” said the Colossus, sternly. “This Vehmgericht is trying to put back the clock five hundred years.”
“The U. P.,” said Wygram, “aims at even more than that. It would reduce the whole world to slavery.”
“A mere figure of speech, my friend!”
“We shall not agree. The U. P. is now an international ring of newspaper bosses which has corralled everything that relates to the printed word. Cables, labor, paper, ink, power of distribution—it has cornered them all. The time is at hand when the humblest sheet of provincial gossip will be subject to your veto here, and the veto of Breit in America.”
“Impossible!”
“Nothing is impossible to the big serpent who swallows all the little serpents. His capacity grows and grows. The late war has definitely put back the clock of mankind. Such phenomena as yourself, say the wise, are proof enough that the human race is now past its zenith.”
The Colossus smiled. He was careful, all the same, to veil any contempt he might feel for such reasoning. It was his intention to use this man Wygram, inimical as he was, so far as lay in his power.
“Just now,” said Saul Hartz, “in examining that absurd letter in your hand, you let fall the word ‘Chinese.’ May I ask if you attach any particular significance to the presence in London of Lien Weng, the philosopher and mystic?”
For a moment Wygram considered the question. Moreover, he weighed carefully the range of information of the man who asked it. Finally he decided to answer. “Yes, quite a good deal,” he said frankly.
“Do the police share that view?”
“I believe so.”
“Then why don’t they move in the matter?”
“For one of two reasons,” said the candid Wygram. “Either they can’t, or they daren’t.”
“Very deep minds are in this affair. The human race, as you probably know, is faced with some ugly developments.”
“Of which I am said to be the only true begetter!”
“There are others, less commonplace, in the higher regions of thought.”
“What are they?”
“I am not at liberty to disclose them. But I may say this: your case, Mr. Hartz, has interested me much, and its inevitable developments are going to interest me even more. Therefore, at a later stage, if you care to come and see me again, pray do so.”
The Colossus rose from his cushioned divan with rather a disgruntled look.
“I’m afraid I’ve not been particularly illuminating,” said Wygram with a faint smile. “But I may be able to reconcile it with a sense of duty to shed a little light on your darkness presently.”
“What has a sense of duty to do with the matter?” The Colossus was hardly able to repress a snarl of impatience.
“Of two evils I choose the less. Still, as I say, it may be possible later to modify my views a little. I hope you’ll come and see me again.”
With a courtesy more than oriental yet not wholly free of a natural irony due to the circumstances, Wygram rose slowly from the ground and took leave of his perplexed visitor.