HELEN was at the telephone a long ten minutes. She returned to find her guest in a kind of stupor. His legs were stretched out; his eyes shut.
“Such a tiring day he must have had, poor darling!” was her thought, as her strong, cheerful, assured voice brought him back with a start to the moment’s pressure.
“I managed to get through to the Office,” she said, sitting down again to the table. “Mr. Gage, unfortunately, was not there. And, really”—a clear note of vexation began to strike through the optimism this woman of the world imposed habitually upon herself—“sometimes they can be very trying, even in Cosmos Alley. I explained what the situation was—told them just what had happened—gave them your word that the U. P. version was hopelessly inaccurate, and that on no account must it appear in to-morrow’s Planet.”
“Yes, yes,” he said, faintly.
“Well, Mr. Sub-Editor Wingrove, hidebound little pedant”—the note of vexation was growing more dominant—“said he could not take any responsibility in the matter, but as soon as Mr. Gage arrived he would lay the facts before him.”
“Were you able to find out whether it is their intention to reprint the speech as given in the Evening Press?”
“That, of course, is what I tried to do. I put the question, point blank. But I couldn’t get anything definite. The fact is I don’t think Mr. Wingrove knew, but a sub-editor is like a policeman, he’ll never own a limit to his knowledge. He hummed and hawed and grew very Planeto-pontifico, the little donkey. However, I clinched the matter finally by making him promise to ring me up as soon as Mr. Gage came in.”
“What time is he expected?”
“As a rule, he looks in at the Office between ten and eleven.”
“When does the paper go to press?”
“About midnight—the first edition.”
Endor looked at his watch. “Only five minutes to nine at present.”
“There’s any amount of time.” The note of reassurance was very stimulating. “And if we can’t get something definite out of them in the course of the next two hours, I’ll go down to the office and see Mr. Gage myself. Now, let me get you some coffee and a little of the Club brandy—if you’ll condescend to it—and then I’ll see what can be done with the U. P.”
“Please, please, finish your dinner before you do anything further.”
“There’s not a moment to lose with the U. P.,” she said decisively. “I tried to get through five minutes ago, but the line was engaged. The provincial Mercury goes to press at eleven, and they may raise all sorts of difficulties. After Mr. Sub-Editor Wingrove, one foresees big trouble in Universe Lane. However, the Mercury isn’t the Planet. All the same, the U. P. is the U. P., and every moment counts.”
Again she left the table, in spite of all that Endor could do to detain her, gave orders to a servant, and returned at once to the telephone box. Half stunned as Endor still was by the enemy’s first blow, he had never admired this woman’s virile sense so much. What a prize he had won! As the thought came to him now, it was balm for a deep wound. Quite apart from her attraction and her charm such courage and such competence were beyond price to a public man.
Close upon that reflection came one less happy. This rare woman belonged to the enemy’s camp. It was so like the Colossus to have this fine instrument under his hand. Therein lay one of the secrets of his power. And what could be clearer evidence of his Machiavellian quality? How artful the mask he had contrived for his purposes, when even the feminine intuitions of a Helen Sholto were so much at fault that she could bring herself blindly to serve him! To her Saul Hartz was not merely an honest man, he was a hero, a demigod.
By the time he had drunk some coffee, and sipped a little brandy, he began to feel more himself. Better able to look the situation in the face, if not to grapple with it, he began mentally to recite his secret formula. The gods approve the depth, and not the tumult of the soul. Never had this incantation been known to fail. More than once, even as a boy, it had enabled him to hitch his poor, at times half crazy, wagon to a star.
It did so now. When Helen returned to the room which the other diners had already forsaken, she found him calm. Her ten minutes’ absence had wrought in him a palpable change for the better.
“Some pow-wow with the U. P.” Her laugh was light, but it could not quite conceal a powerful undercurrent of annoyance. “Mr. Fuller himself! Up till now, one has always had a high respect for his intelligence, but really he can be crass!”
“To order—no doubt.”
“No,” she said quickly, “believe me, there is not the slightest reason to think that.” He was forced to admire a loyalty that would admit no breath of innuendo. “I am convinced it is no more than the red tape of the high official. The truth is, of course, they are all terribly afraid of the Chief.”
“That’s easily understandable.”
“Most unluckily in this case, they simply decline to act without his explicit orders.”
“What! They take it upon themselves to publish a speech that has never been made. And they know, of course, that I have to speak to-morrow at Hellington.”
“Yes, I told them all that. But the rule of the office forbids their canceling a special wire—unless they have Mr. Hartz’s own authority to do so.”
“Quite!” The voice of Endor grew grim. “And they don’t need to be told that it may be absolutely impossible to get that authority by eleven o’clock.”
“Of course. I made a strong point of that. Finally, I got Mr. Fuller’s promise to keep your speech off the machines until a quarter to twelve. That is the very latest moment he can allow. But at least it gives us a little more time in which to do something.”
“Pray, what can one do?”
“We must get through at once to the Chief himself.”
“To Hartz?”
“Yes, to the mountain! Miss Mahomet is now going to ring up Carlton House Terrace.”
Before Endor could interpose any real effort to hold her back, she was off again to the telephone.
The Club brandy continued to soothe his fretted nerves, but the calmer he grew, the higher his conviction mounted that the plot was deep laid, and that one woman, of no matter what will or what capacity, would not be allowed to undo it. All the same, it would be instructive to see how the game was played. The predestined victim could take at least a morbid zest in observing the workings of “the machine.” It had hardly started to move as yet, but all too soon his head would be in the basket.
Helen was back this time in three minutes. She looked decidedly crestfallen.
“Such bad luck! Of course, one guessed he’d be dining out. But they don’t know where. At one of his clubs, they think, and he may have gone on to the opera. Still, they can’t say. They only know that he may return at any time from now on until after midnight.”
Endor smiled rather sadly. “Never mind. Let us accept the omen. There can be no contending with Destiny.”
“On the contrary,” she said bravely, fighting his fatalism, “I have fully made up my mind to hunt down the Chief in the next two hours—wherever he is to be found. Only he can stop the Planet and the U. P.”
“He may decline to do so—even if you run him to earth.”
“But why in the world should you think that?” Her voice was full of challenge. “An honest man is bound—is simply bound—to stop them.”
“I agree,” said Endor, abstractedly. “I humbly beg the pardon of the Colossus.”
“Please beg mine—for thinking—thinking—thinking!”
He kissed her hand. “I’m hardly myself to-night,” he said.
“You’ve had a really tiresome day,” she said, gently; “what with a journey to Blackhampton and back again—not to mention the luncheon, the presentation, and now this horrid affair! You look quite worn out.”
Recognizing that he must pull himself together, he proceeded rather heroically to do so. He was upheld, moreover, by Helen’s strength of purpose, the working of her active will, of her high and keen intelligence. And yet, at the back of everything, he felt that all they did would be futile. This was only a beginning, the first turn of the wheel. Now that a cog had caught him, the devil’s work would go on until his life had been crushed out. But she could not be expected to know that. And in this early phase he ought not to make any such admission, even to himself. It was weak. No matter what happened he must go down fighting.
“What’s on to-night at the opera?” said Helen. Under her chair lay the discarded Evening Press. She picked it up. “The Russian ballet. He is quite likely to be there. If he is, he may not be home before midnight.”
For a moment she considered the question in its various aspects. And then she said, “I’d better go there and see if I can find him.”
Endor shook his head. “Looking,” he said, “for a pin in a truss of hay to search for people at the opera.”
“He has a box. More than once he’s lent it to me. If he’s there, I’ll find him.”
A growing sense of the futility of all they could do was now overpowering Endor. But he was forced to admire the noble zeal which was determined not to leave one thing undone.
Knowing argument to be vain, he was content merely to insist upon the finishing of the meal before she did anything else. But it was only under protest that she could be brought to do even that. If Mr. Hartz was not at the opera, the sooner they learned that fact the better.