through his mind a clear perception of the fact that there was really no alternative. He was under oath to obey the rules of the Society or pay the heaviest penalty of all.
One glance at the faces around the table told him quite plainly that the penalty would be exacted. These men were not to be trifled with. He would die like a rat in a trap. And such an exit would not save Saul Hartz, nor would it help the future of mankind.
On the spur of the moment Endor had to decide. By a withdrawal now from the Council of Seven he would gain nothing and yet he would lose his life. Was he ready to lose it? Was he ready to lose it without a struggle for the vindication of his ideals? Automatically, yet with a subtle sense of coercion from the powerful minds around him, he dipped his hand into the velvet bag and drew out one of the slips of paper.
Unfolding the strip with a feeling of irresponsibility a little bizarre he found that on it was written the name George Hierons.
The rules now required that upon the American should devolve the duty of taking from the velvet bag the name of him who was called to a dreadful task.
A hush fell upon the table. In a silence that was physical torture to more than one around that bright mahogany, the strings at the bag's mouth were pulled tight, and then the bag itself was handed to George Hierons.
