Part 3

“There’s the last train from Piccadilly Circus to think of.”

“’Tisn’t twelve yet. The South Kensington tube is open till one o’clock.”

It was flattering to think that so great a man should carry in his mind her address, but it was like him not to forget the simplest of facts. “Besides, I take all responsibility for getting you home.”

“And accept it, I hope”--yielding with a laugh--“if I am late to-morrow at the Office.”

“Let me get you a cup of tea or something.” He pressed a bell. “I’m going to have a whisky and soda myself.”

Helen declined refreshment.

To the servant who entered Mr. Hartz said: “Please tell Jennings the brougham will be wanted in half an hour.”

Duly armed with a “nightcap” which contained a great deal more soda than whisky the Colossus sat cosily down by the fire immediately opposite Helen. A man of fifty-two, his manner towards this singularly attractive woman of six-and-twenty was so whimsically, yet frankly, paternal, that something beyond disparity of years seemed necessary to sustain it.

An odd sensation, unlike anything she had ever felt before, came subtly upon Helen. This man’s personality was geared very high, but unlike that of John Endor it seemed to be a fixed quantity, not liable to fluctuate. In his case the nerves didn’t show. To talk to, when he chose, he was delightful. Just now, perhaps half deliberately, he chose.

If the question was not impertinent, why was she concerned so particularly for John Endor’s reputation?

Her shrewdness had allowed her to foresee that such a question might arise. She was half prepared to answer it. As the necessity came, however, she yielded to a slight embarrassment which did not make her attraction less.

“We are going to be married.”

Saul Hartz gave a sharp upthrow of the head.

“Lucky fellow!” The words of the Colossus were almost as quick as thought itself. “Devilish lucky fellow! I _do_ congratulate him--upon my word!” The purr of the gentle voice had a warmth of overtone that in the ear of Helen was delicious. She felt the blood pass over her cheeks in a wave. Such a voice as that must have opened the heart of any woman. He had the power, when he chose, of simulating an intense humanity.

“Won’t you congratulate me?” she ventured.

“Why, of course--of course.” The purr had not changed and yet, in a way that almost impinged on the mysteries of counterpoint, she was made to guess rather than to feel that a vital something was no longer there.

_Madness in the mother’s family._ Those five words descended upon her from the upper air. Almost in the same instant the open book on her knee slid to the carpet.

She had not time to recover the book before Mr. Hartz was on his feet politely restoring it to her.

“Clever, you know.” He seemed to think aloud. “A mind at work there.” The book was placed loverly in her hand. “Only one hopes----”

Sighing delicately he returned to his chair. His air had now become that of one who has to reconcile a very good heart with the sterner impulses of duty.

“You hope?” She caught up the broken phrase with an eagerness that was a little pitiful.

“Nothing, nothing.”

She shivered slightly. _Madness in the mother’s family._

“Wonderful faculty he has”--the Colossus seemed again to be thinking aloud--“of swaying audiences. Rather picked audiences, too. And as men are reckoned nowadays, hardly more than a boy.”

“He’s thirty-eight.”

“Almost an infant prodigy!” The deep laugh was very good to hear. “I never heard Gladstone. Before my day. But one or two of the fathers who go back to prehistoric times say that your young man is such another, but that the People’s John--proud title the People’s John--and only thirty-eight--has one shot in his game that the G. O. M. never had. It’s the master-shot, too, believe me. Humor. Cool-drawn humor. With that in your bag, you’ve always a chance of holing out under bogey. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I hope he has it,” said the cautious Helen. “But whether on the platform it quite ‘gets over,’ as they say in the theater, one is never quite sure. Whenever one hears him one is always dominated by his tremendous moral enthusiasm.”

“There’s your Gladstone. Always _the_ card, of course. That’s why good judges think he may go a very long way.”

Helen’s heart took fire. These were big words in the mouth of the Colossus. “You think that?” She looked eagerly across at him. “Really and truly you think that?”

The immediate answer of the great man was slowly to produce a cigar case. “No use offering you a cigarette. I know you don’t smoke. Wise--very wise woman.” As he spoke he chose a cigar, cut off the end, lit it.

“Do you really think he’ll go far?” she persisted.

“The pundits seem pretty unanimous.”

“But you--yourself--personally?”

The Colossus drew tentatively at his cigar. “Pray, who am I--a mere newspaper man--to hold an opinion--on such a matter? I can only tell you that Mr. Ransom thinks so and he, as you know, held office before the Deluge.”

“But you--yourself?” She was determined to nail him down. “Do you think John Endor may one day be Prime Minister?”

“Well, since you ask me”--each word was like a drip of ice-cold water--“in my humble opinion, I don’t.”

Something in the deliberate voice clutched her by the throat. As his eye caught hers and held it, she drew her breath quickly in.

“Since you ask me.” The tone was sweet apology, “Only my poor opinion. Really, I don’t pretend to know. Why should one?”

“You think,” said Helen, “that ... he ... might...?”

“My dear, I think nothing.” It was the father speaking again. “One can’t help feeling he’s a rather high explosive, that’s all. And of course, the mother----”

“The mother!” Her breath came and went in a little gasp.

Watching her closely he saw her turn very white. “I beg your pardon!” He was very quick, very adroit. “But you pin me down. And you mean so much to one, you know. In the Office we have come quite to depend on you. I can’t help thinking of you almost as a girl of my own.”

The simple words sank deep. They were music. This man had always had her loyal admiration. And now, as she sat facing him, she began to feel awed by a sense of all that he had done for her.

Suddenly a picture was flashed before her mind. Far away in America, in a backwater of a southern state, she saw her old parents hard pressed by modern conditions, but whose lot for nearly two years now she had been able to lighten with a liberal slice from her salary. It was going to be a terrible wrench to give up her life at the Office. And then John himself, would he, could he...?

The man who sat opposite seemed to read every thought she had.

“Hardly a matter upon which one is entitled to speak.”

The father again. “But, as I say, you mean so much to us in the Office--so please--please look before and after.”

A sense of being overcome by a great spirit afflicted her now. Here was an infinite power. She felt her defenses giving. The walls of the large room were beginning to press upon her. She was alone with the man in his own house, it was after midnight, she was at his mercy. Such fear was unworthy, but she was seized by a fierce desire to escape. There was the unknown to reckon with. At its beck, and under its fires, even her most sacred instincts were in danger of being subverted.

X

Next morning, as the clock struck eleven, the Chief entered his private room at the Office.

Punctuality, said his many biographers, was a cardinal fact in an amazing life. But Saul Hartz knew better.

As the Colossus sat down at his table, the mere look of him would have been enough to repute any theory so prosaic. The key of personality lay deeper. It was to be found in the eyes, curiously hooded like those of a bird of prey. In those undisclosed depths lurked the faculty of seeing into the future.

It was this rather terrible power that had made Saul Hartz the thing he was. He could afford to smile at the array of mental and moral virtues his Lives insisted upon. Well he knew how completely they were transcended by the fact that his birth had been attended by a Fairy.

A tray set on his blotting pad contained a mail of thirty unopened but judiciously sorted letters. He turned over each one in turn. In several cases the back of the envelope told all he needed to know about them. Others aroused a languid interest, a mild curiosity; life had few thrills to offer Saul Hartz. Two letters, however, among the pile were able to fix his attention. One had ultra thick paper embossed with the monogram of Royalty; the other was a black-sealed, black-edged envelope, registered and marked “private.”

Somehow, the mere look of the second letter intrigued the Colossus. His manner of laying it down proved that. But as a minor exercise in the art of self-mastery--it amused him to play these little pranks upon himself--he placed it carefully at the bottom of the pile. Then he opened the royal envelope.

A considerable personage, in his own hand, fair and clerkly, warmly thanked “My dear Hartz” for his efforts on behalf of the London hospitals. Previous campaigns in the newspapers had raised great sums, but the guiding spirit of the Universal Press was urgently asked to open a special fund to meet the needs of the coming winter.

This letter in hand, Mr. Hartz pondered rather less than a minute, and then he pressed a bell-button fixed in the side of his desk sharply three times.

The summons was answered at once by a youngish, bald, dome-headed man who wore the serious, rather pinched look that accompanies an intense preoccupation with money.

“Good-morning, Mumby.” The Chief greeted cheerfully the financial member of his Cabinet. Then he tossed him the letter. Before Mr. Mumby, in order to do justice to this document, could fix gold-rimmed eyeglasses to a nose with a narrow ridge, the Colossus gave a soft chuckle.

“A slight--a very slight irritation of the lobe of the left ear”--while he plucked at that organ his eye was fixed on Mr. Mumby’s face--“tells me that an irruption of Popocatapetl is about to occur. I hope you appreciate its significance.”

Even Mr. Mumby, schooled as he was in the more recondite ways of the Chief, was at a loss. The Colossus, however, was kind enough at once to enlighten him. “Tell me,” he said, “what is the price of National Mexican Thirds?”

“They closed last night,” said Mr. Mumby, who carried all little matters of that kind in his head, “at forty-six and an eighth, rather sellers.”

The Chief tapped an excellent set of teeth with a black lead pencil, a favorite trick when engaged in thinking constructively. “Suppose you go a bear--a modest bear?” Again he plucked at his left ear, but this time a smile famous upon five continents accompanied the action.

“When shall I cover, sir?” said Mr. Mumby, impassively.

“Twelve o’clock on Thursday,” said the Colossus. “And you can start the fund of His Nibs with the proceeds.”

“A thousand pounds, sir?” Mr. Mumby was more impassive than ever.

“Yes. A thousand pounds from the proprietor of the _Planet_ newspaper. That, I think, should meet the case--to begin with, at any rate.”

For the third time the Colossus plucked a little whimsically at his left ear. Mr. Mumby bowed discreetly and retired.

XI

The Chief turned again to his letters. That which he opened next was not the one that was really going to interest him. The place for it was still the bottom of the pile. He felt this _bonne bouche_ was going to interest him so much that he would keep it until the very end.

All the same a mild surprise was contained in the second letter. It was an invitation for a week-end in the country, “to meet some rather interesting people.” Mr. Hartz permitted himself a faint smile. The socially gifted Mrs. Carburton was a power in the land, but emphatically she belonged to “the other camp.” Strictly speaking, the Colossus was far too big to belong to a camp. Mrs. Carburton did not belong to one either; but of late years they had not set each other’s genius. The famous châtelaine of Doe Hill made no secret of her belief that the U. P. had deliberately wrought the ruin of one of her rather numerous protégées. She was known to have a deep dislike for Saul Hartz. But she was important enough as the world went for an invitation to Doe Hill to be not without piquancy even for him.

Should he accept it? Why not? His attitude of slightly contemptuous indifference towards women in general was his attitude towards this woman, but she was a mine of information, and she made a hobby of gracing her table with the most interesting people in Europe. And for those alive to the lure of sex, her power of attraction was undoubted. Few men would have denied that Rose Carburton was, in her way, a siren.

Mr. Hartz was still in the valley of decision, this letter in hand, when Helen Sholto came into the room. Some two years before, on one of his brief but frequent trips across the Atlantic, he had found this remarkably able girl doing odd jobs in the New York office. Taken at once by her personality, he had brought her to London as one of several confidential secretaries, to whom, however, he never opened his mind; and in a post that was no sinecure she had discovered a feminine quick-thinking competence that had proved of high value. Moreover, Helen herself, with her charm, her high spirits, her good looks, seemed to relieve even the gloom and the grime of Cosmos Alley.

The great man had this morning, as usual, a cordial greeting, a benign smile, to offer her. But it hardly called for his abnormal powers of observation to see at once that something was wrong. His greeting was returned with a slight bow. Her face was grave and set. And in prompt response to the question in his eyes, she said without a word of preface in a low voice, “I wish to give formal notice to terminate my engagement here.”

Saul Hartz’s answer was to drum gently with a pencil on his blotting pad.

“I think it’s cruel!” Her eyes filled suddenly with tears. “The speech is in all the papers this morning. And the _Planet_ has a leading article ... after your promise!”

The Colossus gazed at her impassively, and then he said, in that peculiar soft tone that now made her shiver. “Sit down, my dear child, and compose yourself. There’s something I have to say to you.”

Against her own reluctant will, Helen took a chair at the side of his desk, towards which he pointed.

“To begin with,” he said, “let me apologize for a mistake--a regrettable mistake. The instructions I gave hurriedly last night over the telephone were misunderstood. But I want you to believe”--the soft voice was now fused with feeling--“that that mistake, deplorable as it is, after all, is only of minor importance.”

Helen could only gasp. Of only minor importance! How dare he say that!

“You see, on inquiry, we learn that the speech was made as reported.”

“But Mr. Endor declares that he never used the words attributed to him,” was Helen’s answer, quick and stern.

“So I understand. But is Mr. Endor’s memory to be trusted? that is the point. He spoke without notes; he has no evidence of what he said impromptu, almost, as it were, on the spur of the moment, at a champagne luncheon. Many a man has wished to take back words, uttered under such circumstances. You see, the difficulty that arises in this case is”--the hooded eyes were opening and fastening upon her--“that three members of our staff who, by the way, were the only reporters there, are in unanimous agreement as to the words Mr. Endor used. They may not be the words Mr. Endor intended to use, but that is hardly a matter for the U. P.”

With those eyes fixed on her, Helen felt a chill spread through her veins.

“You see, my dear child,”--the father once more--“the evidence so far as we are concerned is conclusive. Three trusted members of the U. P. staff against one ... shall I say ... ra ... ther ... no, no, I beg your pardon ... I’d forgotten he’s your fiancé!”

“Last night,” Helen managed to say, in spite of the tentacles that pinned her now, “you promised to contradict the U. P. version, and withdraw it from circulation.”

“So I did,” was the gentle answer. “But I may not have realized ... quite adequately realized that our version was the only one at that moment in existence. Moreover, it places us in an awkward ... an immensely awkward position to have to go back on our own people ... whom we trust implicitly. However,”--the intense pain in her eyes did not escape him--“a promise is a promise, even if unwisely given. The U. P. is going to publish Mr. Endor’s disclaimer, and if I may say so ... if I may claim so much for it ... it is going to have the signal generosity not to divulge the facts upon which, in my humble judgment, it is fully entitled to rely. Indeed, having regard to the special ... the very special circumstances,”--a note of magnanimity was now in the voice of the Colossus--“I give you my word that the U. P. will not put in this very strong evidence on its own behalf unless Mr. Endor should happen to think that an action can lie against it. In that event, of course, I’m afraid it will have to be a case of _cet animal est très mechant_!”

“What good,” said Helen, “can this contradiction do Mr. Endor now? The lie has gone round the world and the truth can never overtake it.”

“Lie is a hard word,” said the Colossus, softly.

“I must believe the man who made the speech,” Helen’s voice trembled. “I do believe him.”

“We are in a very difficult position, but you can depend on our doing what we can to set the matter right.”

“It may be too late,” said Helen. “Personally, I feel that it is. Millions who read the original report in England and America will never see the contradiction. A speech of that kind may take a man years to live down.”

“Well, well,”--never had the voice of Saul Hartz sounded more suasive--“the U. P. must see what it can do in a truly difficult case. And, in the meantime, let me beg you, as much for your own sake as for ours, not to desert the old ship.”

A second time Helen’s eyes filmed with tears. “I feel,” she said, “that I can never work with you again.”

The silence which now constrained them was broken at last by the hushed, far-away voice which always seemed to hypnotize her. “Have you realized what it means? Do you quite see all that such a step involves?”

Mournfully she owned that never again did she expect to earn a thousand dollars a month.

“And John Endor, I believe, is by no means a rich man.”

Helen believed so too. But she permitted herself a modest hope that she might still be able to earn a good salary.

“In journalism?”

“Yes.”

“That, my dear child,”--once more the father,--“is a point on which it really becomes my duty to disillusion you. If you break with us, your career in journalism is at an end.”

XII

The words of the Colossus, spoken delicately though they were, came to Helen like a blow over the heart. But she had the dour courage of the born fighter.

“Surely that remains to be seen.” For the first time in the course of a two years’ friendship with Saul Hartz, a chord of antagonism rang in Helen’s voice.

The Colossus paused a moment to look at her. “True, my dear.” Of a sudden the tone had grown almost deprecatory. “But I do want you to look before and after. You contemplate a very serious step.”

Helen agreed that for herself such a step must prove serious indeed.

“For both of us, my dear. You will be very much missed here.”

She was touched by this magnanimity and also flattered by it, for she knew it to be the frank expression of his mind. The Chief did not want to part with her, that was clear. She had reason to think she had been of use to him and that he had always liked her personally. Certainly from the day of their first meeting in New York she had received exceptional kindness and consideration at his hands.

As far as Saul Hartz himself was concerned, he had known from the outset that she had first-rate abilities. None understood better than he the value of the feminine mind with its faculty of taking short cuts to deep conclusions. By its intuitive “scrapping” of a thousand-and-one considerations that are apt to fetter the slow-moving male it was able to save time and expenditure of spirit and yet “to get there” just the same.

Helen Sholto, over and beyond an exceptionally quick perception, had now become a highly trained woman of the modern world, a brilliant writer and speaker who understood her own sex. Already she counted with that important but elusive entity, the woman voter. She had, too, powers of organization, a real capacity for handling large affairs. Saul Hartz with his flair in such matters saw that her combination of rare qualities was likely to carry her far.

To the Colossus no one was indispensable, but in certain ways he had come to lean rather heavily on Helen Sholto; and he had made up his mind that she must not be allowed to serve in the enemy’s camp.

“I’ve been making plans for you.” Those strange eyes measured hers. “Let me tell you what they are.” The husky whisper was now a caress. “Stay with us here and you shall have something big--a plum worth having. As you know, we are planning a new paper for women that we hope to make the finest property of its kind in existence. Now suppose you take control at double your present salary and with a share in the profits?”

Helen was thrilled. Only a woman of ambition could have gone so far already upon the road. This was an opportunity she had foreseen and had been steadily working for. To be in charge of such an undertaking would not only gratify a keen desire; it would be fulfillment almost beyond what she had dared to hope.

She knew that the eyes of Saul Hartz were reading her soul. As far as he was concerned there was hardly such a thing as a secret. And with what uncanny skill he could use his knowledge! The bribe was great. For one of her mental outlook, the refusal of such a bait would be a going-back upon her whole philosophy of life.

“Don’t decide at once.” The whisper, faint though it was, had a curious power. “But keep the door open ... keep the door open, that’s all we ask.”

Helen remained silent. In the presence of this man, immediately under his gaze, within sound of his compelling speech, she was always less than herself. Everybody in the Office felt like that. The most potent members of the staff, and they included heads as hard and brains as “picked” as the world could produce, were seldom able to put up a fight against him. The Colossus dominated all alike.

“You see,” Saul Hartz went on, “it was due to me that you came over to us here. I’ve always felt a personal responsibility in regard to you. From the first I believed in you--we believed in each other. You have not disappointed me; I hope I have not disappointed you. But it will hurt me more than I can say, if for a whim, a mere whim, a day-dream, you throw away a really fine career.”

To doubt his sincerity was impossible. Every word rang true. And Helen Sholto with his spell upon her was bound to react to the emotion this man had the power to excite. At once her mind went back to the many benefits at his hands, the many delicate kindnesses. She could not forget his faith in her; she could not forget how much she owed him.

While he looked at her all that was clear. He wove a very close web. But he was too adroit to draw the mesh too tight. He was careful not to embarrass her by an appeal to her sense of gratitude.

“Of course, this is just a business proposition--a business arrangement.” The sudden release of tension was most welcome to Helen. “A quid pro quo, one might even say. We have been mutually useful to each other.”

“You have been very good to me.” A sense of justice forced her to that simple admission.

“If you really think so,”--he had a wonderful gift for taking instant advantage of every opportunity--“you’ll be in no hurry to turn us down.”