But this all men knew about him: that he combined within himself the courage of a Hannibal, the military genius of a Napoleon, the ideals of a Sun Yat Sen; and that he had sworn to himself he would never rest until the earth was peopled by a single nation, with Moyen himself in the seat of the mighty ruler. Madagascar was the seat of his government, from which he looked across into United Africa, the first to join his confederacy. The Orient was a dependency, even to that forbidden land of the Goloks, where outlanders sometimes went, but whence they never returned--and to the wild Goloks he was a god whose will was absolute, to render obedience to whom was a privilege accorded only to the Chosen. * * * * * In a short year his confederacy had brought under his might the millions of Asia, which he had welded into a mighty machine for further conquest. And because the Americas saw the handwriting on the wall, they sent out to see the man Moyen, with orders to penetrate to his very side, as a spy, their most trusted Secret Agent--Prester Kleig. Only the ignorant believed that Moyen was mad. The military and diplomatic geniuses of the world recognized his genius, and resented it. But Prester Kleig, of the Secret Service of the Americas, one of the _few_ men whose headquarters were in the Secret Room in Washington, had reached Moyen. Now he was coming home. He came home to tell his people what Moyen was planning, and to admit that his investigations had been hampered at every turn by the uncanny genius of Moyen. Military plans had been guarded with unbelievable secrecy. War machines he knew to exist, yet had seen only those common to all the armies of the world. And now, twenty-four hours out of New York City, aboard the _S. S. Stellar_, Prester Kleig was literally willing the steamer to greater speed--and in far Madagascar the strange man called Moyen had given the ultimatum: "The Western World shall be next!" CHAPTER I _The Hand of Moyen._ "Who is that man?" asked a young lady passenger of the steward, with the imperious inflection which tells of riches able to force obedience from menials who labor for hire. She pointed a bejeweled finger at the slender, soldierly figure which stood in the prow of the liner, like a figurehead, peering into the storm under the vessel's forefoot. "That gentleman, milady?" repeated the steward obsequiously. "That is Prester Kleig, head of the Secret Agents, Master of the Secret Room, just now returning from Madagascar, via Europe, after a visit to the realm of Moyen." A gasp of terror burst from the lips of the woman. Her cheeks blanched. "Moyen!" She almost whispered it. "Moyen! The half-god of Asia, whom men call mad!" "Not mad, milady. No, Moyen is not mad, save with a lust for power. He is the conqueror of the ages, already ruling more of the earth's population than any man has ever done before him--even Alexander!"