"If you intend to stick a knife in me and put me underneath that"—Saul Hartz pointed to the yawning Tudor fireplace which might easily have concealed a chasm—"get through with it at once. I'm not in a mood for cat and mouse."
Lien Weng certainly looked feline enough as he narrowed his eyes and yet distended their pupils. His subtle face was luminous with meaning. "You will be unwise," he said simply, "not to hear all that is said to you. It is not our wish to go to the extreme. Sir, your case has received much consideration. It is our prayer that we may deal with it in the way of wisdom. I will not add in the way of mercy and justice, for 'mercy,' 'justice,' those too are words, and the Council of Seven deals only with things. And yet its every act is governed by the ideals we serve. This Council is pledged to do the will of the Time-Spirit with as little suffering or unhappiness to the object of its attentions as may consist with the high and noble aim it has in view."
Saul Hartz, still standing, folded his arms defiantly. But the cold force of the speaker was not without effect. In spite of a bitter and deep hostility the Colossus was obliged to abate his anger to the point of listening to every word spoken by this remarkable man.
"Sir," continued the President of the Council with the same icy politeness, "you will do well to know just what it is that has constituted you the enemy of the human race. In the fewest possible words I shall hope
