“But these eight Assassins know me to be their enemy.... They will surely attempt to kill me.... I don’t believe I can avoid—death—very long.... But I want to serve my country and—and mankind.” “They’ll have to get me first,” said Cleves, bluntly. “I shall not permit you out of my sight.” Recklow said in a musing voice: “And these eight gentlemen, who are very likely to hurt us, also, are the first people we ought to hunt.” “To get them,” added Selden, “we ought to choke the stream at its source.” “To find out who they are is what is going to worry us,” added Benton. Cleves had stood holding a chair for Tressa Norne. Finally she noticed it and seated herself as though tired. “Is Sanang one of these eight?” he asked her. The girl turned and looked up at him, and he saw the flush mounting in her face. “Sometimes,” she said steadily, “I have almost believed he was Erlik’s own vice-regent on earth—the Slayer of Souls himself.” Benton and Selden had gone. Recklow left a little later. Cleves accompanied him out to the landing. “Are you going to keep Miss Norne here with you for the present?” inquired the older man. “Yes. I dare not let her out of my sight, Recklow. What else can I do?” “I don’t know. Is she prepared for the consequences?” “Gossip? Slander?” “Of course.” “I can get a housekeeper.” “That only makes it look worse.” Cleves reddened. “Well, do you want to find her in some hotel or apartment with her throat cut?” “No,” replied Recklow, gently, “I do not.” “Then what else is there to do but keep her here in my own apartment and never let her out of my sight until we can find and lock up the eight gentlemen who are undoubtedly bent on murdering her?” “Isn’t there some woman in the Service who could help out? I could mention several.” “I tell you I can’t trust Tressa Norne to anybody except myself,” insisted Cleves. “I got her into this; I am responsible if she is murdered; I dare not entrust her safety to anybody else. And, Recklow, it’s a ghastly responsibility for a man to induce a young girl to face death, even in the service of her country.” “If she remains here alone with you she’ll face social destruction,” remarked Recklow. Cleves was silent for a moment, then he burst out: “Well, what am I to do? What is there left for me to do except to watch over her and see her through this devilish business? What other way have I to protect her, Recklow?” “You could offer her the protection of your name,” suggested the other, carelessly. “What? You mean—marry her?” “Well, nobody else would be inclined to, Cleves, if it ever becomes known she has lived here quite alone with you.” Cleves stared at the elder man. “This is nonsense,” he said in a harsh voice. “That young girl doesn’t want to marry anybody. Neither do I. She doesn’t wish to have her throat cut, that’s all. And I’m determined she shan’t.” “There are stealthier assassins, Cleves,—the slayers of reputations. It goes badly with their victim. It does indeed.”