However, in England, Sir Conan Doyle immediately took up the matter, and in America Professor Hyslop was called into consultation. And then, when the Government was beginning to realise what this awful menace meant, and that there were actually in the United States possibly half a dozen people who already had begun to carry on a diabolical warfare by means of psychic power, for the purpose of enslaving and controlling the very minds of men,—then, in the terrible moment of discovery, a young girl landed in America after fourteen years’ absence in Asia. And this was the amazing girl that Victor Cleves had just married, at Recklow’s suggestion, and in the line of professional duty,—and moral duty, perhaps. It had been a brief, matter-of-fact ceremony. John Recklow, of the Secret Service, was there; also Benton and Selden of the same service. The bride’s lips were unresponsive; cold as the touch of the groom’s unsteady hand. She looked down at her new ring in a blank sort of way, gave her hand listlessly to Recklow and to the others in turn, whispered a timidly comprehensive “Thank you,” and walked away beside Cleves as though dazed. There was a taxicab waiting. Tressa entered. Recklow came out and spoke to Cleves in a low voice. “Don’t worry,” replied Cleves dryly. “That’s why I married her.” “Where are you going now?” inquired Recklow. “Back to my apartment.” “Why don’t you take her away for a month?” Cleves flushed with annoyance: “This is no occasion for a wedding trip. You understand that, Recklow.” “I understand. But we ought to give her a breathing space. She’s had nothing but trouble. She’s worn out.” Cleves hesitated: “I can guard her better in the apartment. Isn’t it safer to go back there, where your people are always watching the street and house day and night?” “In a way it might be safer, perhaps. But that girl is nearly exhausted. And her value to us is unlimited. She may be the vital factor in this fight with anarchy. Her weapon is her mind. And it’s got to have a chance to rest.” Cleves, with one hand on the cab door, looked around impatiently. “Do _you_, also, conclude that the psychic factor is actually part of this damned problem of Bolshevism?” Recklow’s cool eyes measured him: “Do _you_?” “My God, Recklow, I don’t know—after what my own eyes have seen.” “I don’t know either,” said the other calmly, “but I am taking no chances. I don’t attempt to explain certain things that have occurred. But if it be true that a misuse of psychic ability by foreigners—Asiatics—among the anarchists is responsible for some of the devilish things being done in the United States, then your wife’s unparalleled knowledge of the occult East is absolutely vital to us. And so I say, better take her away somewhere and give her mind a chance to recover from the incessant strain of these tragic years.” The two men stood silent for a moment, then Recklow went to the window of the taxicab.