HIS EXCELLENCY
His Excellency President Tintinto, Chief Executive of one of the newer
and cruder republics, visiting New York incognito with his Secretaries
of War and of the Navy, had sent for John Recklow. And now the
reception was in full operation.
Recklow was explaining. “In the beginning,” he said, “the Bolsheviks’
aim was to destroy everything and everybody except themselves, and then
to reorganise for their own benefit what was left of a wrecked world.
That was their programme——”
“Quite a programme,” interrupted the Secretary of War, with something
that almost resembled a giggle. But his prominent eyes continued to
stare at Recklow untouched by the mirth which stretched his large,
silly mouth.
The face of the Secretary of the Navy resembled the countenance of a
benevolent manatee. The visage of the President was a study in tinted
chalks.
Recklow said: “To combat that sort of Bolshevism was a business that we
of the United States Secret Service understood—or supposed we
understood.
“Then, suddenly, out of unknown Mongolia and into the civilised world
stepped eight men.”
“Yezidees,” said the President mechanically. “Your Government has sent
me a very full report.”
“Yezidees of the Sect of the Assassins,” continued Recklow; “—the most
ancient sect in the world surviving from ancient times—the Sorcerers of
Asia. And, as it was in ancient times, so it is now: the Yezidees are
devil worshipers; their god is Satan; _his_ prophet is Erlik, Prince of
Darkness; _his_ regent on earth is the old man of Mount Alamout; and to
this ancient and sinister title a Yezidee sorcerer called Prince
Sanang, or Sanang Noïane, has succeeded.
“His murderous deputies were the Eight Khans of the Eight Towers. Four
of these assassins are dead—Gutchlug, Yarghouz, Djamouk the Fox, and
Yaddin-ed-Din. One is in prison charged with murder,—Albert Feke.
“Four of the sorcerers remain alive: Tiyang Khan, Togrul, Arrak,
Sou-Sou, called The Squirrel, and the Old Man of the Mountain himself,
Saï-Sanang, Prince of the Yezidees.”
Recklow paused; the pop-eyes of the War Secretary were upon him; the
benevolent manatee gazed mildly at him; the countenance of the
President seemed more like a Rocky Mountain goat than ever—chiselled
out of a block of tinted chalk.
Recklow said: “To the menace of Bolshevism, which endangers this
Republic and yours, has been added a more terrible threat—the threat of
powerful and evil minds made formidable by psychic knowledge.
“For these Yezidee Sorcerers are determined to conquer, seize, and
subdue the minds of mankind. They are here for that frightful purpose.
Powerfully, terrifically equipped to surprise and capture the unarmed
minds of our people, enslave their very thoughts and use them to their
own purposes, these Sorcerers of the Yezidees assumed control of the
Bolsheviki, who were merely envious and ferocious bandits, but whose
crippled minds are now utterly enslaved by these Assassins from Asia.
“And this is what the United States Secret Service has to combat. And
its weapons are not warrants, not pistols. For in this awful battle
between decency and evil, it is mind against mind in an occult death
grapple. And our only weapon against these minds made powerful by
psychic knowledge and made terrible by an esoteric ability akin to what
is called black magic,—our only weapon is the mind of a young girl.”
“I understand,” said the President, “that she became an adept in occult
practices while imprisoned in the Yezidee Temple of Erlik at Yian.”
Recklow looked into the President’s face, which had grown very pale.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “God alone knows what this child learned in the
Yezidee Temple. All I know is that with this knowledge she has met the
Yezidees in a battle of minds, has halted them, confounded them, fought
them with their own occult knowledge, and has slain four of them.”
The intense silence was broken by the frivolous titter of the Secretary
of War:
“Of course I don’t believe any of this supernatural stuff,” he said
with the split grin which did not modify his protruding stare. “This
girl is merely a clever detective, that is the gist of the matter. And
I don’t believe anything else.”
“Perhaps, sir, you will believe this, then,” said John Recklow quietly.
“I cut it from the _Times_ this morning.” And he handed the clipping to
the Secretary of War.
NEW PLOT IN EAST
Moslem and Hindu Conspirators
Have Formed Secret
Organisation
Have World Revolution in View
Think to Rouse Asia, America, and Africa
to Outbreaks by Their
Propaganda.
Copyright, 1919, by _The New York Times_ Company.
Special Cable to _The New York Times_.
July 1.—A significant event has recently taken place. Under the name of
the Oriental League has recently been established a central
organisation uniting all the various secret societies of Moslem and
Hindu nationalists. The aim of the new association is to prepare for
joint revolutionary action in Asia, America, and Africa.
The effects of this vast conspiracy may already be traced in recent
events in Egypt, India, and Afghanistan. For the first time, through
the creation of this league, the racial and religious differences which
have divided Eastern conspirators have been overcome. The Ottoman
League, founded by Mahmud Muktar Pasha, Munir Pasha, and Ahmed Rechid
Bey, has adhered to the new organisation. So have the extreme Egyptian
nationalists and the Hindu revolutionary group, “Pro India,” emissaries
of which were recently sentenced for bringing bombs into Switzerland
during the war at the instigation of the German General Staff.
At a “Constituent Assembly” of the league, which took place in Yian,
there were present, besides Young Turks, Egyptians and Hindus,
delegates representing Persia, Afghanistan, Algeria, Morocco, and
Mongolia.
The league is of Mongolian origin. Its leading spirit is a certain
Prince Sanang, of whom little is known.
Associated with this mischievous and rather mysterious Mongolian
personage are three better known criminals, now fugitives from
justice—Talaat, Enver, and Djemal. It is to Enver Pasha’s talent for
intrigue that the union between Moslems and Hindus, the most striking
and dangerous feature of the movement, is chiefly due.
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.
“Mine,” murmured the President, “is a single-track mind. I should be
very much annoyed if anybody tampered with the rails—very much annoyed
indeed, Mr. Recklow.”
“They mustn’t murder that girl,” said the Secretary of the Navy. “Do
you need any Marines, Mr. Recklow? Why not ask your Government for a
few?”
Recklow rose: “Mr. President,” he said, “I shall not deny that my
Government is very deeply disturbed by this situation. In the
beginning, these eight Assassins, and Sanang, came here for the purpose
of attacking, overpowering, and enslaving the minds of the people of
the United States and of the South American Republics.
“But now, after four of their infamous colleagues have been destroyed,
the ferocious survivors, thoroughly alarmed, have turned their every
energy toward accomplishing the death of Mrs. Cleves! Why, sir,
scarcely a day passes but that some attempt upon her life is made by
these Yezidees.
“Scarcely a day passes that this young girl is not suddenly summoned to
defend her mind as well as her body against the occult attacks of these
Mongol Sorcerers. Yes, sir, Sorcerers!” repeated Recklow, his calm
voice deep with controlled passion, “—whatever your honourable
Secretary of War may think about it!”
His cold, grey eyes measured the President as he stood there.
“Mr. President, I am at my wits’ end to protect her from assassination!
Her husband is always with her—Victor Cleves, sir, of our Secret
Service. But wherever he takes her these devils follow and send their
emissaries to watch her, to follow, to attempt her mental destruction
or her physical death.
“There is no end to their stealthy cunning, to their devilish devices,
to their hellish ingenuity!
“And all we can do is to guard her person from the approach of
strangers, and stand ready, physically, to aid her.
“She is our only barrier—_your_ only defence—between civilisation and
horrors worse than Bolshevism.
“I believe, Mr. President, that civilisation in North and South
America—in your own Republic as well as in ours—depends, literally,
upon the safety of Tressa Cleves. For, if the Yezidees kill her, then I
do not see what is to save civilisation from utter disintegration and
total destruction.”
There was a silence. Recklow was not certain that the President had
been listening.
His Excellency sat with finger tips joined, gazing pallidly into space;
and Recklow heard him murmuring under his breath and all to himself, as
though to fix the deathless thought forever in his brain:
“May I not say that mine is a single-track mind? May I not say it? May
I not,—may I not,—not, not, not——”