As it began to move, there flashed across the mind of the Colossus the warning of the man Wygram in regard to Lien Weng, the Chinese occultist. And it came upon him now with the force of a definite action. Instantly he knew, without a shade of doubt, that he was in the toils of the Society of the Friends of Peace. Even for one of Saul Hartz’s iron nerve, such an intuition was not agreeable. Too much was known of the activities of the Council of Seven, its far-reaching yet dark power had been too recently demonstrated for such a fact to be lightly held. Saul Hartz lit a cigar and then gave careful thought to a decidedly unpleasant situation. What should he do? Uppermost, for a moment, was an instinct to tell the chauffeur to drive him back to the station, so that he might return to London by the next train. Only a madman or a fool would walk open-eyed into a den of declared enemies, particularly when they bore the indelible brand of fanatics and murderers. There was nothing of the weakling, however, about Saul Hartz. He could never have reached his present significance in the scheme of things had there been any taint of will. Less than half a good cigar was needed to convince him that flight would serve no purpose. Besides, what direct evidence was there? And even if the case was as he feared, soon or late the music would have to be faced. Such an organization, in the light of evidence his own private agents had laboriously collected during the past two years, was too powerful for one of its chosen victims to thwart it by running away and hiding his head in sand. At the back of everything, moreover, and in the last resort was the _élan vital_ of the born fighter. Saul Hartz loved danger for its own sake. War, in the inmost fiber of his nature, was the sweetest of all mistresses. He was the last man in the world to yield to a mere threat. Let this _Vehmgericht_ do its worst! XXV The reception of the Colossus by the châtelain of Doe Hill was instinct with charm. Rose Carburton, as accomplished a hostess as the Old World could show, had the art of shining like a rare jewel in an exquisite setting. And hers the imperious magnetism to which all men yield. Highly sexed, a siren, an enchantress, she never forgot in mid-career the painfully difficult lessons learned in early youth. Ridden by no sect, truckling to no class, Rose Carburton cast her net wide. The widow of a man of fabulous wealth, one of her ambitions had been to make Doe Hill the most interesting house in Britain. This she was in a fair way to achieve. At any rate, the representative few of many diverse worlds were glad to visit this famous trysting place to meet their kind.