HAPPILY for the credit of two distinguished men, the train began at once to slow up and Dowling Junction came in view. This chanced to be the station for Doe Hill. Saul Hartz opened the carriage door promptly and got out. Endor got out too.
Outside, in the station yard, three private motors awaited the train’s arrival. Others of the week-end party were clearly expected. One man, in point of fact, was already in conversation with the chauffeur of the first vehicle by the time Hartz and Endor arrived on the scene. This man, tall and arresting, with the open, alert look of the best type of American, would have been a striking figure anywhere. George Hierons by name, his reputation had spread already through two hemispheres as that of an audaciously progressive thinker; one of a chosen band of pioneers in the world of mind whom many conceived likely to revolutionize modern conditions, social, economic and industrial.
As soon as Endor saw the dominant figure of George Hierons he went straight up to him and with an impulsiveness delightfully frank, grasped his hand.
“My dear fellow,” he said, “how good—how very good to see you! When did you reach this country?”
“Ten days ago,” said Hierons, shaking hands cordially.
Saul Hartz, who had met Hierons more than once in New York, came up also with a salutation. The proffered hand, however, was declined by the American, who significantly turned aside to greet a remarkable personage who at that moment, with slow dignity, was approaching the little group round the first motor. A grave and reverend Celestial, gorgeous in a jacket of yellow brocade, and the regalia of a high and exclusive order of his race, exchanged a low bow with George Hierons. The American at once presented John Endor to this dignitary, but the controller of the U. P., although he pressed forward for the obvious purpose of being included in this ceremony, was left out in the cold. There could be no mistaking the icy antagonism with which both men regarded him; there could be no mistaking that such an emotion was fully shared by John Endor. The manner in which all three moved towards the door of the second motor, leaving Saul Hartz stranded high and dry in sole possession of the first, seemed to drive the fact home.
The Colossus, aware that a public affront had been given him, turned upon his heel not without a hint of disdain. His bearing as he entered the first car, alone, was calm indifference. He cared for none, he feared none; moreover, he prided himself upon his power of wiping off old scores and paying grudges with interest. The car waited a minute or two to give other arrivals an opportunity of joining him. None did so; and the first of the three cars started for Doe Hill with Saul Hartz its sole occupant.
As it began to move, there flashed across the mind of the Colossus the warning of the man Wygram in regard to Lien Weng, the Chinese occultist. And it came upon him now with the force of a definite action. Instantly he knew, without a shade of doubt, that he was in the toils of the Society of the Friends of Peace. Even for one of Saul Hartz’s iron nerve, such an intuition was not agreeable. Too much was known of the activities of the Council of Seven, its far-reaching yet dark power had been too recently demonstrated for such a fact to be lightly held.
Saul Hartz lit a cigar and then gave careful thought to a decidedly unpleasant situation. What should he do?
Uppermost, for a moment, was an instinct to tell the chauffeur to drive him back to the station, so that he might return to London by the next train. Only a madman or a fool would walk open-eyed into a den of declared enemies, particularly when they bore the indelible brand of fanatics and murderers.
There was nothing of the weakling, however, about Saul Hartz. He could never have reached his present significance in the scheme of things had there been any taint of will. Less than half a good cigar was needed to convince him that flight would serve no purpose. Besides, what direct evidence was there? And even if the case was as he feared, soon or late the music would have to be faced. Such an organization, in the light of evidence his own private agents had laboriously collected during the past two years, was too powerful for one of its chosen victims to thwart it by running away and hiding his head in sand.
At the back of everything, moreover, and in the last resort was the élan vital of the born fighter. Saul Hartz loved danger for its own sake. War, in the inmost fiber of his nature, was the sweetest of all mistresses. He was the last man in the world to yield to a mere threat.
Let this Vehmgericht do its worst!