As none knew better than Helen, it was a foible of the Colossus always
to be “on time.” Punctuality is the soul of business, she had heard him
say was his favorite aphorism.
The minutes ticked on, however, and she listened in vain for a ring at
the front door bell. She went up to the drawing-room window and looked
down into the Square. The street lamp, just opposite the front door,
was already lit. The December evening was fast closing in. She listened
tensely for the sound of an approaching car. Her eyes tried to pierce
the fog, which after hanging about all day had increased considerably
during the last hour.
A quarter past four struck. Helen had now ceased to think of anything
she did, but proceeded to draw the heavy curtains across the window.
And then guided by the bright glow of the fire she went to the door and
switched on the light.
All at once it dawned upon her that now she would have to meet a fact
that as yet had not taken shape in her mind. The Colossus might not
come. It was so unlike him to be late. And he was such a busy man,
with so many calls upon his time, that something might have intervened
at the last moment to prevent his coming. But in that case, she argued,
man of method as he was and respecter in small matters of the rights of
others, he would almost certainly have let her know.
While her mind was busy with these pros and cons the clock moved
steadily on. It chimed the half hour. More and more positive she
grew that Saul Hartz would not come now. Her mind began to reach out
tentatively to meet the new and unforeseen situation. The one hope she
had, a desperate and perhaps a fantastic hope, of saving her husband’s
life seemed already to have passed away.
She rang for the tea. It was necessary to do something, even if it
involved a trivial action, in order to keep a hold of the will. The tea
was wormwood in her mouth, but she was able to drink one cup. And then,
with the walls of the room closing in upon her more surely than ever,
she lay down on the sofa.
The clock chimed five. Her mind grew numb. All power of action was
ebbing away from her. She realized that she could do no more. But half
dazed as she was by the strong and cruel reaction that had already set
in, she yet heard the honk honk of a motor as it entered the Square,
followed at once by a sound of wheels.
Intensely she listened for the ring of the front door bell. But she
listened in vain. In her excitement she got up from the sofa on which
she sat. Hardly had she done so when the door opened, and John came
into the room.
He was still wearing his overcoat and hat. In his ashen face was a look
of burning intensity. They stood a moment looking at each other in a
silence that was rather grotesque.
“Darling ... tell me ... what has happened?”
Endor did not answer the question. Or rather, he answered it by taking
from a pocket of his overcoat “the late extra” edition of the _Evening
Press_. The front page was draped heavily in thick mourning lines. He
folded back the paper, set his finger on the middle column, and then
handed it to Helen.
Her head swam round as she read: