“I’ll ring up the office at once.” Helen rose impulsively. “They must
know what a dreadful blunder the U. P. reporter has made. I’ll get
through if I can to Mr. Gage, the editor, and tell him that on no
account must the _Planet_ come out with the speech in that form. I’ll
also get through to Mr. Jevons, the chief editor of the U. P., and ask
him to lose no time in withdrawing their version, and circulating an
absolute contradiction. And as soon as I see the Chief himself, which
should be to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock, I’ll ask him personally
to do what he can to put things right.”
John Endor pressed her hand. It was more than homage to the woman he
loved, it was a tribute, almost involuntary, to her decision, her
fine capacity, her clear good sense. Of the Colossus it had been said
that his fairy godmother had given him a rare faculty of choosing the
heaven-sent instrument. Even in the sight of John Endor this able woman
had never shone quite so much as in this crisis.
Forsaking a favorite iced pudding and hot chocolate sauce, she went
there and then to the telephone box. Endor, alone at the table, sat a
picture of dismay. He had a full share of the egoism inseparable from
a man who believes intensely in himself. It was his sense of election
that lay at the root of his power. He was an elemental besides; his
mind was a thing of wide curves, moving on broad lines of right and
wrong. For one in essence so primitive, it would have been hard to
exaggerate the force of the blow.
The enemy was out in the open at last. Sitting there in a thrall of
sudden darkness, that was his thought. The Colossus to whom in the
spirit of Sir Galahad he had offered battle was known as a deadly and
a subtle foe. To such an extent had he centralized power, so absolute
was his control of the wires, to such perfection had he brought his
“stunts,” his “propaganda,” and all the rest of the paraphernalia,
which so easily fouled public opinion at its source, that it was said
that he could kill a reputation as easily as he could make one.
For some little time past, Endor had suspected that he was on the
“Index.” More than once had he challenged the _bona fides_ of the U.
P.; more than once had he thrown down the gage to the all-powerful
newspaper ring which was now proposing to link up every continent.
Moreover, in the phrase of a recent speech, he had bitterly attacked
“its _Vehmgericht_ of assassins.” That speech, made to Helen’s dismay,
and of which she was far from realizing the true significance, would
not, he knew, be forgiven. Nothing wounds like the truth. To Helen,
however, it was part of his “platform,” an amusingly, over-emphasized
article of political faith. She did not know, she could not be expected
to know, that it was a deliberate offering of battle to the most potent
evil in the life of the time. It was David _vs._ Goliath. The primitive
sling and pebbles had hardly a chance, but David was upheld by the
divine courage of youth and by a pure cause.
Already he was in the arena. He could feel the horrid breath of the
monster on his face. One flick he had had of a grisly paw, just one
little flick below the belt--there were no Queensberry rules for the U.
P.--and he was nearly out. He was nearly out even before the game had
really started.
Gasping in an agony that seemed hardly less than mortal, he realized
now the nature of the odds. The force of that first playful little tap
had almost killed him. However, he must rise from the tan. If he didn’t
look out, those cloven hoofs would be pressing out his life.
There was no time to rest, even for a little while. Let him get up,
keep going somehow. He must fight on.
V
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.