“No man ever won a better right to it than William Garland.”
“You can only know that by hearsay—even granting, as one may—that Garland was a thoroughly ‘bad hat.’”
Rose Carburton smiled faintly and shook a mournful head. “On the contrary, William Garland had a trial long, full and fair, if ever man had. Evidence was collected and most carefully weighed, and it was proven beyond a doubt that Garland’s aim was to set class against class. By making the world no place for honest and peaceful folk to live in, he hoped to become a sort of glorified Trotzky or Lenin.”
“And on these vague grounds a fortuitous body of persons takes upon itself to murder him.”
“That is a matter in which one is only too glad to remain in ignorance,” said Rose Carburton. “But at least one realizes,” she fervently added, “that the world is a sweeter and cleaner place now that Garland is no longer in it.”
“It may be so,” said Saul Hartz sternly. “On that point I offer no opinion. But who and what, pray, is this Society, that it should arrogate to itself the right to take these extreme measures?”
“It is composed,” said Rose Carburton, “of the ablest, the most disinterested, the most humane minds of all countries, and, as I understand, it has one object in view and one object alone—to conserve by every means in its power the peace of the world.”
Saul Hartz laughed contemptuously. “As though by carrying on a private vendetta, it can do anything of the kind.”
“It does not aim at reprisal. Personal animus has no place in the scheme. In sum it is the last resort, the Final Court of Appeal of the Weak against the Strong.”
“Sheer anarchy,” said Saul Hartz. “It is subversive of every law of God and Man.”