AS far as the grim matter now in hand was concerned, Hierons was the soul of business. Perhaps he may have realized that if his task were not instantly performed he might not be able to accomplish it.
When Helen entered the room, the American at once opened the ball.
“I am desired by the Council of Seven to say this: As soon as the death of Saul Hartz has been accomplished, the Society will consider its immediate aim to have been achieved. It will no longer seek the world’s peace on its present lines. In fact, it proposes at once to annul its constitution; as a corporate body it will cease to be.”
“The Society is about to disband?” said John Endor, quickly.
“Yes,—as soon as Saul Hartz, the world’s arch enemy, is dead. The transactions of the last few days have convinced some of the Society’s deepest thinkers that the cause of humanity as a whole will be best served by the Friends of Peace going to work in other ways.”
“There I am with it,” said Endor. “Yet, may I ask, what does it propose to do with the strange and terrible secrets it possesses?—secrets which, it seems to me, must always imperil the very thing it has been called into being to safeguard.”
“Before the Society passes out of existence,” said Hierons, “it will appoint certain trustees; and to these, under strict legal forms, will be intrusted the great discoveries, so dangerous to mankind, which it has been the first function of our Society to control.”
Endor, keenly following every word, expressed his approval.
“In the first place, as you may know,” Hierons went on, “it was because of the discoveries made by certain chemists and scientists, among whom I have the honor to count myself, that the Society of the Friends of Peace was first called into being. From the outset we realized that having had the good luck or the ill luck—one hesitates to say which—to evoke such powers, it became our duty to control them rigidly. For that purpose, we formed ourselves into a kind of International Conscience, on lines not dissimilar to the ill-starred League of Nations, which failed, as one is bound to believe, mainly because of the short-sighted policy of my own country. That, however, is still a sore subject upon which we won’t enter here. To return to our Society, it was born when some of us realized that the science of destruction had become such a dire menace to mankind that something must be done to keep its latest achievements out of the hands of any one particular government.”
“For the reason, I presume,” said Endor, “that no individual government, in such a world as the present, could be trusted to wield such powers rightly?”
“Quite so.”
“One is interested to know that.”
“We owe it to you, my dear Endor,” the American continued, “that our Society now sees that it has been working on wrong lines. The wisdom of using its own terrible secrets to enforce its aims has, some of us think, very properly been called in question. Before, however, the Council of Seven abolishes the present constitution it insists that its decree in regard to Saul Hartz be carried out.”
Endor dissented strongly.
“Surely,” said Hierons, “that position is not illogical. The death of this man is on all grounds desirable. He stands condemned in strict accordance with laws to which you have yourself most solemnly subscribed.”
“I know, I know,” said Endor.
“Moreover, the task falls upon you. And the means are in your hands. Nothing could be simpler or easier than what you have now to do. Will you not help us all by fulfilling your oath?”
“That’s quite impossible,” said Endor. “No one could welcome the limiting of the Society’s functions more earnestly than myself, but rather than take the life of another, in such circumstances, I am fully prepared to take my own.”
“All of us,” said Hierons, “are particularly anxious that your life shall not be sacrificed. We recognize that in the immediate future it is likely to be of signal use to the world. But, unhappily, there can be no going back on the Society’s laws. The Council of Seven is bound to insist that its decree be carried out within the time appointed.”
“Not by me,” said Endor, flatly. “That cannot be. And, as I say,” he added, “I am quite ready to accept the alternative. It is no more than a just penalty for tampering with forbidden things.”
“Don’t forget that the world can ill spare you.”
“If that is a true estimate of one’s worth, it is for the Council of Seven not to forget it.”
Hierons glanced furtively at Helen, who stood pale and rigid, a figure of tragedy. The silence which ensued was painful to all three. And then Hierons said suddenly, “Tell me, where do you keep the phial that was given you by Lien Weng?”
“There, my friend.” With a cool laugh that had a note of defiance, Endor pointed to a safe at the other end of the room. “That is the only place for such a diabolical contrivance. No wonder,” he added, “that the Society of the Friends of Peace has been able to give the police cold feet.”
Hierons agreed. “But please,” he said, “do it the justice of remembering that in the first instance it was formed to meet the situation to which this and kindred discoveries have given rise. And please remember, also, that we of the white races, although this particular discovery is not really ours, are determined to the utmost of our power to keep it under strict control.”
Endor smiled sadly, and shook his head.
“Awful possibilities have been opened up, I grant you, but, please God, the world at large may trust those whom the Society shall choose not to fail in their task. I hope you agree that such a task is safer in private hands than in those of any government.”
“I wonder!” said John Endor.
A further long pause followed. And then George Hierons said, in a tone which in such circumstances seemed rather careless, “If you are not going to make use of the phial you had better give it to me.”
Endor looked keenly at the American. “In order,” he said, choosing each word with care, “that you may use it in the breaking of the Sixth Commandment?”
Hierons did not deny that such was his intention.
“No, no, my friend,” said Endor, decisively. “I cannot aid and abet you in doing that which I will not do myself.”
“But that is surely extreme,” said Hierons, with a touch of impatience. “Please give me the phial that I may do with it as I choose. Even if there was time to procure a second phial before the term expires, the laws of the Society make it impossible for one to do so. The code which governs the use of this weapon is very rigidly enforced.”
“I am glad to know that such is the case,” said Endor, grimly. “And I fully appreciate your own courage and self-sacrifice. But, as I say, I cannot help you or any one else to do that which my conscience will not sanction my doing myself.”
“Don’t be quixotic,” said Hierons, with growing impatience. “As far as one can see, this is the only possible way out.”
Endor, however, was a rock. “I cannot, I will not, lend myself to cold-blooded murder. It is true that at a time of severe overstrain, I made certain vows. And it is true that I have chosen to break them. But having done so deliberately, I am now ready to pay a full price for the privilege.”
Such a finality of tone moved Helen to tears. Hierons, also, was deeply affected.
“You ought to think of others,” said Helen, piteously. “The world must not lose you. Does your life, your work, mean nothing?”
Endor raised his hands to his face with the gesture of a man driven beyond his strength. But he did not speak.
As Helen and George Hierons stood watching him, a sense of utter despair came upon them. They now shared in common a desolating thought. Even in a world in which Good was submerged, it seemed possible to pay too high a price for the hope of dethroning Evil.