At its threshold, with a hearty laugh, he turned again. “The revised version of this priceless old-world story is that it was Mr. President who really made the remark to the Eldest of the Sons of Time in old John Milton’s--or was it old John Morley’s?--hearing. However, the point is not material at the moment. A little word with the Office.” With the pleasant chuckle of one basking agreeably in the light of his own humor, he went out of the room. IX When the door closed, Helen began to feel that she could breathe again. The room was large, high-ceiled, well-ventilated; but the Colossus had seemed to absorb every molecule of air there was in it. In this mood of expansion he was truly formidable. No matter what his detractors had to say of him, and they said much and said it bitterly, it was never denied that Saul Hartz was a power. As soon as the door had closed, however, Helen for the first time in a two years’ intercourse, brought herself to shape a question. Was it really wise to trust this man so blindly? Where there was so much smoke must there not be also a certain amount of fire? Encompassed by that dynamic force the higher nerve-centers were a little apt to fail. And to submit the all-embracing mind of Saul Hartz to the common scale of right and wrong was hardly feasible. Right and wrong in that paradoxical cosmos of a brain, which yet formed a key to the whole objective modern world, seemed interchangeable terms. She recalled hearing him say more than once, that Right in the midday special was Wrong in the evening edition. Certainly he made a jest of everything. He seemed to believe in nothing, to respect nobody; yet in her dealings with the man himself she had always found him scrupulously kind, wonderfully considerate, nobly generous. To-night, in this chance visit, she had never felt so much out of her depth, she had never been swept so completely off her feet. John Endor was no common man, but this Chief to whom she owed allegiance had somehow a quality which seemed to raise him almost beyond good and evil. In a time which to Helen was unexpectedly brief, Mr. Hartz was back in the room. “So much for that,” he said with the light, casual air that was always charming. Helen rose at once. “Ever so many thanks,” she said, wholeheartedly. “I was quite sure it had only to be mentioned.” A look of gratitude drove the words right home. “And now I must fly. Good-night--and again, thank you.” The passage to the door, however, was barred, playfully, if resolutely, by the genial spread of the Colossus: “Now please don’t run away. Sit down and tell me a little about yourself.” “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.”