On the stroke of eleven Hierons arrived. He was shown at once into the small room in which John Endor did his work. At the moment his visitor came in Endor was writing a letter. Rising at once with a formal greeting, he knew by the grip of the American’s hand and his warmth of tone that he might count on his friendship and sympathy.
“I come from the Council,” said Hierons briefly and without preface.
“So I understand,” said Endor in a voice that betrayed no emotion. “Lien Weng wrote last night telling me to expect you.”
“Did he mention the proposition I bring to you?”
“No.”
Hierons was silent a short time. And then he said abruptly: “By the way, did your wife tell you of the talk we had yesterday afternoon at my hotel?”
Endor said that she had not spoken of it.
Hierons, diplomatist that he was, now began to proceed with caution. “After you had put the general position before your wife——”
“—Say rather that she dragged it out of me,” said Endor with a wan smile.
“—she came to me. And having due regard to these difficult and peculiar circumstances I took her to some extent into the Society’s confidence. Knowing so much, it seemed best, I think, that she knew more. Therefore, I would like her to hear what I have to say to you now. The whole position is so irregular that one feels her presence in this room will not do any harm. Moreover, at the point we are now approaching it is just possible that she may be able to help us.”