“Beyond a doubt he was murdered.”
Proofs were asked for.
“He was warned by the Council of Seven,” said Wygram.
Hartz gazed intently at the man on the ground. “So you know about the Council of Seven?” In spite of himself he could not keep an odd tremor out of his voice.
“Oh, yes,” said Wygram. “Perhaps I know as much about the Society of the Friends of Peace as any man alive.”
An imperious curiosity suddenly devoured Saul Hartz. “A member of it, eh?” A feeling of intense repugnance governed the framing of the question.
Wygram said calmly that he was not a member of the Society.
“But if you were”—Mr. Hartz disdained finesse where his feelings were deeply engaged—“you would have to deny it, I presume?”
“Expedient, no doubt,” said Wygram dryly. “But I assure you the need doesn’t arise.”
The heavy face of the visitor lost a little of its gloom. There was even a light of eagerness in the somber eyes as he said: “May I ask one question? When Garland arrived here from New York a week ago, did he consult you professionally in the matter of his warning?”