“I must not! It would destroy us both, soul and body!” “I tell you,” he said, impatiently, “that there is no destruction of the soul—and it’s a clean comradeship anyway—a fighting friendship I ask of you—_all_ I ask; all I offer! Wherein, then, lies this peril in being alone together?” “Because I am finding it in my heart to believe in you, trust you, hold fast to your strength and protection. And if I give way—yield—and if I make you a promise—and _if there is anybody in that room to see us and hear us—then_ we shall be destroyed, both of us, soul and body——” He took her hands, held them until their trembling ceased. “I’ll answer for our bodies. Let God look after the rest. Will you trust Him?” She nodded. “And me?” “Yes.” But her face blanched as he turned the latch-key, switched on the electric light, and preceded her into the room beyond. The place was one of those accentless, typical bachelor apartments made comfortable for anything masculine, but quite unlivable otherwise. Live coals still glowed in the hob grate; he placed a lump of cannel coal on the embers, used a bellows vigorously and the flame caught with a greasy crackle. The girl stood motionless until he pulled up an easy chair for her, then he found another for himself. She let slip her furs, folded her hands around the bunch of violets and waited. “Now,” he said, “I’ll come to the point. In 1916 I was at Plattsburg, expecting a commission. The Department of Justice sent for me. I went to Washington where I was made to understand that I had been selected to serve my country in what is vaguely known as the Secret Service—and which includes government agents attached to several departments. “The great war is over; but I am still retained in the service. Because something more sinister than a hun victory over civilisation threatens this Republic. And threatens the civilised world.” “Anarchy,” she said. “Bolshevism.” She did not stir in her chair. She had become very white. She said nothing. He looked at her with his quiet, reassuring smile. “That’s what I want of you,” he repeated. “I want your help,” he went on, “I want your valuable knowledge of the Orient. I want whatever secret information you possess. I want your rather amazing gifts, your unprecedented experience among almost unknown people, your familiarity with occult things, your astounding powers—whatever they are—hypnotic, psychic, material. “Because, to-day, civilisation is engaged in a secret battle for existence against gathering powers of violence, the force and limit of which are still unguessed. “It is a battle between righteousness and evil, between sanity and insanity, light and darkness, God and Satan! And if civilisation does not win, then the world perishes.” She raised her still eyes to his, but made no other movement. “Miss Norne,” he said, “we in the International Service know enough about you to desire to know more.