SAUL HARTZ, after a little weighing, that was half contemptuous, of the pros and cons of the matter, decided to accept Mrs. Carburton’s invitation to Doe Hill. He did not know who was to be of the party, nor did he much care. That there would be a house full of entertaining people could be taken for granted.
Rose Carburton was a power in the social world. Her week-ends were famous. For a variety of reasons, not easy to define, the Colossus was seldom honored in this way. It was a little odd perhaps that a man whose flair for “news” took him everywhere on principle should not have found himself oftener in a house where it was generally to be had in liberal quantities. Doe Hill was by no means exclusive. Its doors were open pretty wide to the talents. Saul Hartz was just the kind of man the world would look to find there. He knew Mrs. Carburton in the way he knew so many people; at more than one dinner table he had come under the spell of her attraction, but this was the first time, in recent years at any rate, that she had shown a desire to carry farther a casual acquaintance.
The truth was, no doubt, that they didn’t quite set one another’s genius. Rose Carburton was something of une maitresse femme and the dark shadow of the Colossus had fallen not without menace, as was its way, across her path. Over and beyond the fact that she was one of the most accomplished stalkers of the lion in Europe, she had her private ideas, her philosophy of life, her point of view. She was far more than a mere hunter of notoriety. Not only were her political instincts highly developed, but she had a faculty not always given to her sex, of seeing things “in the round.” Mindful of the commonweal she had learned to look ahead. It may have been that, to a gaze so far-seeing, Saul Hartz was the writing on the wall.
The Colossus had much to occupy his thoughts in the ten days that lay between the arrival of the Society’s ukase and the visit to Doe Hill. When, how or by what means he would be called to its presence, no word was given him. This thing had come as a sharp and distinctly unpleasant shock, yet considering the matter with the poise of mind on which he prided himself, he did not pretend for a moment that it was in any sense a surprise. At the core of being was a nest of dark designs. Their nature had only to be suspected for powerful and implacable foes to take the field against him who dared to harbor them.
He was most careful to keep his own counsel in the Office. No member of the staff, not even the Planet’s editor, was given an inkling of the grisly secret he had locked away. All the same, his interview with Wygram, when at leisure he came to think it over, had a sobering effect. Wygram had brought home to him that his life was in grave danger.
For the time being, therefore, Saul Hartz gave up the project of issuing a challenge to Garland’s murderers. It went against the grain, for the worst enemies of the Colossus allowed him to be no coward. He had a burning desire to divulge all that he knew, but apart from motives of prudence one consideration held him back.
The cat could only have been let out of the bag at a price. That price was the loss of his right-hand man, Bennet Gage. And this, at such a moment, was not to be thought of. Already he was deeply involved in a fight with the odds heavily against him. Life itself for Saul Hartz, was one interminable strife. And now at this supreme crisis, with his back to the wall, he must have all his forces mobilized and ready to his hand.
Moreover, the interview with Wygram had brought home to the Colossus that the police, whom he heartily despised and was ever ready to defy, were far better informed than himself on this dark subject. For once the U. P. secret service, one of his own pet creations, had been outshone. He had Wygram to thank for that. Rumor had not overpainted the powers of a remarkable man. In spite of the charlatan’s mantle, which after all might be only a cloak to deceive the unwary, this man had a curious but undeniable faculty. It must be the aim of the U. P. to turn it later to full account.
Saul Hartz made no difference in his way of life. And under duress he was moved to an act of reparation in the matter of John Endor. True, the amende was tardy, not to say grudging, yet offered so skilfully as to rob it of any such appearance.
The U. P. freely circulated Mr. Endor’s contradiction. It ate in public as much humble pie as was consistent with a sense of dignity. The Planet, that high-toned newspaper associated itself with this belated apology to Mr. Endor, but at the same time covered its tracks in its own inimitable fashion, by drawing a moral and adorning a tale. A trivial episode in the career of a minor politician had already had more attention paid to it than its nature called for in these strenuous days!
In regard to Helen Sholto, new difficulties arose. She had declined on any terms to take charge of the new journal for women. It had not been easy to make up her mind, since none knew better than she what a prize she was giving up. Nor was it easy for Saul Hartz to yield to this decision. A man of imperious will, the habit of gratifying it had become second nature. For once, however, he had gone the wrong way to work. He had counted on being able, in the last resort, to force the hand of an ambitious and brilliant woman. When squarely put to a choice between a ruined John Endor and a triumphant U. P. with the advantages of the one, and the disabilities of the other in the scale, he felt pretty sure that common sense must gain the day.
That it had not done so was annoying. He had the highest opinion of this young woman. Emphatically she was beginning to count with her own sex. An agile pen, a clear perception, a quick tongue, a fine presence were winning an ever-growing authority on the lecture platform and in the press. Maker and unmaker of reputations, as the Colossus secretly flattered himself that he was, it went to his heart that one to whom he was ready to offer a crown should cross over to the camp of a weak and insignificant enemy—an enemy who, in point of fact, was already broken.
Moreover, she had resigned her position in the Office. That she was still there was because Saul Hartz was entitled to claim due notice of the termination of the contract. But there was no open breach in their relations. Even if his misprison was as grave as John Endor declared it to be, and now that Helen’s eyes were open, all things conspired to make the fact more credible, she could not forget the past, nor could she quite overcome the curious power of the man himself.
Much was about to happen to John and Helen, and to this subtle foe who was bent on the destruction of the one, and who, besides, was fully determined that the other should be made to serve his will. Ten days passed, however, without a hint of the cards that destiny was about to play. In the Office things went on as usual. Saul Hartz was inclined to believe—like the Iron Duke he was in a situation much exposed to fools he always said—that the mandate from the Council of Seven was a hoax and that there would be no developments, when the time came to keep his week-end engagement at Doe Hill.