“Two marble bridges lead to it. There are fourteen hundred mosques there. Then come the Eight, each with his shroud, chanting the prayers for those dead in hell. And there the Yezidees pray blasphemously, all their minds in ferocious unison.... And I have seen a little yort full of Broad Faces with their slanting eyes and sparse beards, sicken and die, and turn black in the sun as though the plague had breathed on them. And I have seen the Long Noses and bushy beards of walled towns wither and perish in the blast and blight from the Namaz-Ga where the Slayer of Souls sat his saddle and prayed to Erlik, and half a million Yezidees prayed in blasphemous unison.” Recklow’s head rested on his left hand. The other, unconsciously, had crept toward his pistol—the weapon which had become so useless in this awful struggle between this girl and the loosened forces of hell. “Is that what you think Sanang is about?” he asked heavily. “Yes. I know it. He has seized the minds of a million men in America. Every anarchist is to-day concentrating in one evil and supreme mental effort, under Sanang’s direction, to will the triumph of evil and the doom of civilisation.... I wish my husband would come home.” “Tressa?” She turned her pallid face in the firelight: “If Sanang has appointed a Place of Prayer,” she said, “he himself will pray on that spot. That will be the Namaz-Ga for the last two Yezidee Sorcerers still alive in the Western World.” “That’s what I wished to ask you,” said Recklow softly. “Will you try once more, Tressa?” “Yes. I will send out my soul again to look for the Namaz-Ga.” She lay back in her armchair and closed her eyes. “Only,” she added, as though to herself, “I wish my dear lord were safe in this room beside me.... May God’s warriors be his escort. And surely they are well armed, and can prevail over demons. Aie-a! I wish my lord would come home out of the darkness.... Mr. Recklow?” “Yes, Tressa.” “I thought I heard him on the stairs.” “Not yet.” “Aie-a!” she sighed and closed her eyes again. She lay like one dead. There was no sound in the room save the soft purr of the fire. Suddenly from the sleeping girl a frightened voice burst: “Yulun! Yulun! Where is that yellow maid of the Baroulass?... What is she doing? That sleek young thing belongs to Togrul Kahn? Yulun! I am afraid of her! Tell Sansa to watch that she does not stir from the Lake of the Ghosts!... Warn that young Baroulass Sorceress that if she stirs I slay her. And know how to do it in spite of Sanang and all the prayers from the Namaz-Ga! Yulun! Sansa! Watch her, follow her, hearts of flame! My soul be ransom for yours! Tokhta!” The girl’s eyes unclosed. Presently she stirred slightly, passed one hand across her forehead, turned her head toward Recklow. “I could not discover the Namaz-Ga,” she said wearily. “I wish my husband would return.” CHAPTER XVI THE PLACE OF PRAYER Her husband called her on the telephone a few minutes later: