Considerable funds are at the disposal of the league. These are partly supplied from Germany. Besides enjoying the support of the Germans, the league is also in close touch with Lenine, who very soon after his advent to power organised an Oriental Department in Moscow. The alliance between the league and the Russian Bolsheviki was brought about by the notorious German Socialist agent, “Parvus,” who is now in Switzerland. Many weeks ago he conferred with the Soviet rulers in Moscow, whence he went to Afghanistan, hoping to reorganise the new Amir’s army and establish lines of communication for propaganda in India. Evidence exists that the recent insurrection in Egypt, the sudden attack of the Afghans, and the rising in India, remarkable for co-operation between Moslems and Hindus, were connected with the activities of the league. The Secretary looked up after he finished the reading. “I don’t see anything about Black Magic in this?” he remarked flippantly. Recklow’s features became very grave. “I think,” he said, “that everybody—myself included—and, with all respect, even yourself, sir,—and your honourable colleague,—and perhaps even his Excellency your President,—should be on perpetual guard over their minds, and the thoughts that range there, lest, surreptitiously, stealthily, some taint of Yezidee infection lodge there and take root—and spread—perhaps—throughout your new Republic.” The Secretary of War grinned. “They say I’m something of a socialist already,” he chuckled. “Do you think your magic Yezidees are responsible?” The President, troubled and pallid, gazed steadily at Recklow. “Mine is a single-track mind,” he remarked as though to himself. Recklow said nothing. It is one kind of mind, after all. However, single-track roads are now obsolete. “A single-track mind,” repeated the President. “And—I should not like anything to happen to the switch. It would mean ditching—or a rusty siding at best.... Please do all that is possible to get those four Yezidees, Mr. Recklow.” Recklow said calmly: “Our only hope is in this young girl, Tressa Norne, who is now Mrs. Cleves.” “My conscience!” piped the Secretary of the Navy. “What would happen to us if these Yezidees should murder her?” “God knows,” replied John Recklow, unsmiling. “Why not put her aboard our new dreadnought?” suggested the Secretary, “and keep her cruising until you United States Secret Service fellows get the rest of these infernal Yezidees and clap ’em into jail?” “We can do nothing without her,” said Recklow sombrely. There was a painful silence. The President joined his finger tips and stared palely into space. “May I not say,” he suggested, “that I think it a vital necessity that these Yezidees be caught and destroyed before they do any damage to the minds of myself and my cabinet?” “God grant it, sir,” said Recklow grimly.