The Baron de Grost was taken aback. He had scarcely contemplated refusal.
“You must understand,” he explained, “that this is not a personal matter. Even if I myself would spare you, those who are more powerful than I will strike. The society to which I belong does not tolerate failure. I am empowered even to offer you its protection, if you will give me the information for which I ask.”
Hagon rose to his feet, and, before De Grost could foresee his purpose, had rung the bell.
“My decision is unchanging,” he said. “You can pull down the roof upon my head, but I carry next my heart an instant and unfailing means of escape.”
A waiter stood in the doorway.
“You will take this gentleman to the lift,” Hagon directed.
There was once more a touch in his manner of that half divine authority which had thrilled the great multitude of his believers. De Grost was forced to admit defeat.
“Not defeat,” he said to himself, as he followed the man to the lift, “only a check.”
Nevertheless, it was a serious check. He could not, for the moment, see his way further. Arrived at his house, he followed his usual custom and made his way at once to his wife’s rooms. Violet was resting upon a sofa, but laid down her book at his entrance.
“Violet,” he declared, “I have come for your advice.”