As the Colossus spoke he rose from his chair and with the gesture of an elder brother laid a hand on Gage’s shoulder. The elemental simplicity of the man was hard to resist. Bennet Gage had always been susceptible to it. Never had Saul Hartz been more compelling than at this moment. But the issue at stake transcended the personal equation. A great effort was called for but Gage mustered the tenacity to stand his ground. He idolized the _Planet_ and in spite of headstrong, domineering ways he idolized its owner; but he was face to face now with a very grave decision. “I beg you--I beg you”--his voice shook--“to keep us out of this.” “Bah--you old woman!” Scarcely had the words been uttered, when Saul Hartz was troubled to perceive the look of horror in the eyes of his lieutenant. “Forgive me, Gage!” It was almost the air of a schoolboy. “You’re not thinking of yourself, I know that of course, but you must, you simply must, trust the man at the wheel, as you always have trusted him, eh?” For both, the silence that followed was full of pain. And of a sudden it was ended by half audible words. “I offer my resignation not because I want to, not because I ought to, but because a power not myself....” Unable to complete a sentence that grew more lame as it went on, the editor of the _Planet_ lurched awkwardly out of the room. XV Ruffled in temper, chafed in spirit, the Colossus sought distraction in his morning’s mail. For the most part his letters were not exciting. But the _bonne bouche_ was still held in reserve. The registered envelope heavily sealed with black wax and ominously edged with a mourning border, which had first caught his attention, he was careful to keep back until all the others had been opened. Finally, as its turn came, he felt a queer little thrill of anticipation as he took it in his fingers. The emotion it aroused was not wholly agreeable. Nay; it was so odd as to be a little unpleasant. What could such a portentous thing contain? Before breaking the seal he examined it closely. But externals told nothing beyond what was to be deduced from the outside of the envelope, which bore the postmark Charing Cross. From the inside he took a single sheet of plain note paper. On it were typewritten the following words: “TO THE WORLD’S MISCHIEF MAKER “_You are required to attend a special meeting of the Council of Seven. Time and place will be communicated to you in due course. Meanwhile you are advised to put your affairs in order._” There was no signature to this document. It revealed nothing beyond these trite sentences, so cryptic and so bald, which might mean so little or so much.