No other man would have dared that touch of audacity, of jejune cynicism. Helen knew that well enough, yet it didn’t make her fear of him less.
Returning no answer for there was none she could give, she asked a question of routine and then, feeling like one over whom a whirlwind had swept, she went to the door.
“Do you mind asking Mr. Gage to come?”
The Chief’s reassumption of a formal tone helped her to a becoming exit.
XIII
BENNET GAGE was a conspicuously able member of his race. Every pore of his body, every cell in his brain seemed to lust after “impressions.” He lived with his ear to the ground, listening to the pulse of the time. The price in the market of everything was filed for reference in a prehensile mind; the rate per ton for pig iron f. o. b. Sunderland, the exchange on Christiania, or the value of an early Degas, Mr. Gage could tell you offhand. And the information would be the soundest obtainable. Moreover, a man of judgment, Saul Hartz, who was almost incapable of a mistake in such matters, had a great belief in him. From the beginning he had been one of the directing minds at the back of the portentous organization whose secret aim was to dominate the world.
“Well, Gage,” was the cheerful greeting of the Colossus, “all the morning journals have sung together.”
“I hope, sir, you admired the Planet leader.” The deference of Mr. Gage was touched ever so lightly with humor.
With odd unexpectedness the Colossus loosed a sudden roar that almost shook Cosmos Alley to its foundations. “My compliments to dear old Dalling. He’s quite on his top notch this morning. A full four-ounce packet of desiccated Pecksniff. Enough to turn the stomach of a horse!”
“Is to-day’s meeting at Hellington to be reported?”