labor, paper, ink, power of distribution—it has cornered them all. The time is at hand when the humblest sheet of provincial gossip will be subject to your veto here, and the veto of Breit in America."
"Impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible to the big serpent who swallows all the little serpents. His capacity grows and grows. The late war has definitely put back the clock of mankind. Such phenomena as yourself, say the wise, are proof enough that the human race is now past its zenith."
The Colossus smiled. He was careful, all the same, to veil any contempt he might feel for such reasoning. It was his intention to use this man Wygram, inimical as he was, so far as lay in his power.
"Just now," said Saul Hartz, "in examining that absurd letter in your hand, you let fall the word 'Chinese.' May I ask if you attach any particular significance to the presence in London of Lien Weng, the philosopher and mystic?"
For a moment Wygram considered the question. Moreover, he weighed carefully the range of information of the man who asked it. Finally he decided to answer. "Yes, quite a good deal," he said frankly.
"Do the police share that view?"
"I believe so."
"Then why don't they move in the matter?"
"For one of two reasons," said the candid Wygram. "Either they can't, or they daren't."
