"You _came_ in."

"I don't understand."

"You came in the door while Yulun and I were talking."

"When?"

"When you came to see me after I was better, and you and Mr. Selden were going North with Mr. Recklow. Don't you remember; I was lying in the hammock in the moonlight, and Victor told you I was asleep?"

"Yes, of course----"

"I was not asleep. I had _made the effort_ and I was with Yulun.... I did not know you were standing beside my hammock in the moonlight until Yulun told me.... And _that_ is what I am to tell you; Yulun saw you....

And Yulun has written it in Chinese, in Eighur characters and in Arabic,--tracing them with her forefinger in the air--that Yulun, loveliest in Yian, flame-slender and very white, has seen her heart, like a pink pearl afire, burning between your august hands."

"My hands!" exclaimed Benton, very red.

There fell an odd silence. Nobody laughed.

Tressa came nearer to Benton, wistful, uncertain, shy.

"Would you care to see Yulun?" she asked.

"Well--no," he said, startled. "I--I shall not deny that such things worry me a lot, Mrs. Cleves. I'm a--an Episcopalian."

The tension released, Selden was the first to laugh.

"There's no use blinking the truth," he said; "we're up against something absolutely new. Of course, it isn't magic. It can, of course, be explained by natural laws about which we happen to know nothing at present."

Recklow nodded. "What do we know about the human mind? It has been proven that no thought can originate within that mass of convoluted physical matter called the brain. It has been proven that _something outside_ the brain originates thought and uses the brain as a vehicle to incubate it. What do we know about thought?"

Selden, much interested, sat cogitating and looking at Mrs. Cleves. But Benton, still flushed and evidently nervous, sat staring out of the window at the full moon, and twisting an unlighted cigarette to shreds.

"Why didn't you tell Benton when the thing occurred down there at Orchid Lodge, the night we called to say good-bye?" asked Selden, curiously.

Tressa gave him a distressed smile: "I was afraid he wouldn't believe me. And I was afraid that you and Mr. Recklow, even if you believed it, might not like--like me any the better for--for being clairvoyant."

Recklow came over, bent his handsome grey head, and kissed her hand.

"I never liked any woman better, nor respected any woman as deeply," he said. And, lifting his head, he saw tears sparkling in her eyes.

"My dear," he said in a low voice, and his firm hand closed over the slim fingers he had kissed.

Benton got up from his chair, went to the window, turned shortly and came over to Tressa.

"You're braver than I ever could learn to be," he said shortly. "I ask your pardon if I seem sceptical. I'm more worried than incredulous.

There's something born in me--part of me--that shrinks from anything that upsets my orthodox belief in the future life. But--if you wish me to see this--this girl--Yulun--it's quite all right."

She said softly, and with gentle wonder: "I know of nothing that could upset your belief, Mr. Benton. There is only one God. And if Mahomet be His prophet, or if he be Lord Buddha, or if your Lord Christ be vice-regent to the Most High, I do not know. All I know is that God is God, and that He prevailed over Satan who was stoned. And that in Paradise is eternal life, and in hell demons hide where dwells Erlik, Prince of Darkness."

Benton, silent and secretly aghast at her theology, said nothing.

Recklow pleasantly but seriously denied that Satan and his demons were actual and concrete creatures.

Again Cleves's hand fell lightly on his wife's shoulder, in a careless gesture of reassurance. And, to Benton, "No soul is ever lost," he said, calmly. "I don't exactly know how that agrees with your orthodoxy, Benton. But it is surely so."

"I don't know myself," said Benton. "I hope it's so." He looked at Tressa a moment and then blurted out: "Anyway, if ever there was a soul in God's keeping and guarded by His angels, it's your wife's!"

"That also is true," said Cleves quietly.

"By the way," remarked Recklow carelessly, "I've arranged to have you stop at the Ritz while you're in town, Mrs. Cleves. You and your husband are to occupy the apartment adjoining this. Where is your luggage, Victor?"

"In our apartment."

"That won't do," said Recklow decisively. "Telephone for it."

Cleves went to the telephone, but Recklow took the instrument out of his hand and called the number. The voice of one of his own agents answered.

Cleves was standing alone by the open window when Recklow hung up the telephone. Tressa, on the sofa, had been whispering with Benton. Selden, looking over the evening paper by the rose-shaded lamp, glanced up as Recklow went over to Cleves.

"Victor," he said, "your man has been murdered. His throat was cut; his head was severed completely. Your luggage has been ransacked and so has your apartment. Three of my men are in possession, and the local police seem to comprehend the necessity of keeping the matter out of the newspapers. What was in your baggage?"

"Nothing," said Cleves, ghastly pale.

"All right. We'll have your effects packed up again and brought over here. Are you going to tell your wife?"

Cleves, still deathly pale, cast a swift glance toward her. She sat on the sofa in animated conversation with Benton. She laughed once, and Benton smiled at what she was saying.

"Is there any need to tell her, Recklow?"

"Not for a while, anyway."

"All right. I suppose the Yezidees are responsible for this horrible business."

"Certainly. Your poor servant's head lay at the foot of a curtain-pole which had been placed upright between two chairs. On the pole were tied three tufts of hair from the dead man's head. The pole had been rubbed with blood."

"That's Mongol custom," muttered Cleves. "They made a toug and 'greased'

it!--the murderous devils!"

"They did more. They left at the foot of your bed and at the foot of your wife's bed two white sheets. And a knife lay in the centre of each sheet. That, of course, is the symbol of the Sect of Assassins."

Cleves nodded. His body, as he leaned there on the window sill in the moonlight, trembled. But his face had grown dark with rage.

"If I could--could only get my hands on one of them," he whispered hoarsely.

"Be careful. Don't wear a face like that. Your wife is looking at us,"

murmured Recklow.

With an effort Cleves raised his head and smiled across the room at his wife.