And they moved cautiously on the white-shell road, not too near the shadow line. For in the cypress swamp the bloated grey death was awake and watching under the moon; and in the scrub palmetto the diamond-dotted death moved lithely. And somewhere within the dark evil of the jungle a man in white might be watching. So Recklow’s pistol swung lightly in his right hand and Cleves’ weapon lay in his side-pocket, and they strolled leisurely around the drive and up and down the white-shell walks, passing Tressa at regular intervals, where she sat in her hammock with the moon-lute across her knees. Once Cleves paused to place two pink hibiscus blossoms in her hair above her ears; and the girl smiled gravely at him in the light. Again, pausing beside her hammock on one of their tours of the garden, Recklow said in a low voice: “If the beast would only show himself, Mrs. Cleves, we’d not miss him. Have you caught a glimpse of anything white in the woods?” “Only the night mist rising from the branch and a white ibis stealing through it.” Cleves came nearer: “Do you think the Yezidee is in the woods watching us, Tressa?” “Yes, he is there,” she said calmly. “You _know_ it?” “Yes.” Recklow stared at the woods. “We can’t go in to hunt for him,” he said. “That fellow would get us with his Lewisite gas before we could discover and destroy him.” “Suppose he waits for a west wind and squirts his gas in this direction?” whispered Cleves. “There is no wind,” said Tressa tranquilly. “He has been waiting for it, I think. The Yezidee is very patient. And he is a Shaman sorcerer.” “My God!” breathed Recklow. “What sort of hellish things has the Old World been dumping into America for the last fifty years? An ordinary anarchist is bad enough, but this new breed of devil—these Yezidees—this sect of Assassins——” “Hush!” whispered Tressa. All three listened to the great cat-owl howling from the jungle. But Tressa had heard another sound—the vague stir of leaves in the live-oaks. Was it a passing breeze? Was a night wind rising? She listened. But heard no brittle clatter from the palm-fronds. “Victor,” she said. “Yes, Tressa.” “If a wind comes, we must hunt him. That will be necessary.” “Either we hunt him and get him, or he kills us here with his gas,” said Recklow quietly. “If the night wind comes,” said Tressa, “we must hunt the darkness for the Yezidee.” She spoke coolly. “If he’d only show himself,” muttered Recklow, staring into the darkness. The girl picked up her lute, caught Cleves’ worried eyes fixed on her, suddenly comprehended that his anxiety was on her account, and blushed brightly in the moonlight. And he saw her teeth catch at her underlip; saw her look up again at him, confused. “If I dared leave you,” he said, “I’d go into the hammock and start that reptile. This won’t do—this standing pat while he comes to some deadly decision in the woods there.” “What else is there to do?” growled Recklow.