"Do you think you can help me?"
Wygram shook his head. "No," he said. "This is a matter in which one person only can help you. That person is yourself."
Such an answer was eminently unpleasant to Saul Hartz. His voice grew harsh and domineering. "I don't intend to let myself be intimidated by any sort of mumbo jumbo—if that is what you mean."
"William Garland used almost those identical words in this room less than a week ago."
The Colossus, in spite of the fact that Wygram's piercing black eyes were fixed upon his face, could not repress a shiver. "Won't you tell me," he said in a lower tone, "exactly what you are able to deduce from this letter and this envelope?"
Wygram pondered. "At this stage," he said slowly, "it would be premature, it would serve no purpose, and perhaps it might be unkind."
"Trying to give me cold feet, eh?" The voice of the Colossus again grew harsh.
"That is what I want to avoid. At the same time, if you value your life, don't make Garland's mistake."
"What was Garland's mistake?"
"He defied the Council of Seven."
Saul Hartz lifted an imperious chin. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"The Society prescribed for Garland a certain course within a certain time. His only chance of life was to follow it, but that was a fact he chose to ignore."
