Robert Chambers - The Slayer Of souls

"Kai!" she whispered dreamily as though to herself—"what Erlik awoke within my body that was asleep, God knows, but it was as though a twin comrade arose within me and looked out through my eyes upon a world which never before had been visible."

Utter silence reigned in the room: Cleves's breathing seemed almost painful to him so intently was he listening and watching this girl; Benton's hands whitened with his grip on the chair–arms; Selden, tense, absorbed, kept his keen gaze of a business man fastened on her face. Recklow slowly caressed the cold bowl of his pipe with both thumbs.

Tressa Norne's strange and remote eyes subtly altered, and she lifted her head and looked calmly at the men before her.

"I think that there is nothing more for me to add," she said. "The Red Spectre of Anarchy, called Bolshevism at present, threatens our country. Our Government is now awake to this menace and the Secret Service is moving everywhere.

"Great damage already has been done to the minds of many people in this Republic; poison has spread; is spreading. The Eight Towers still stand. The Eight Assassins are in America.

"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."

"Well, hang it, what do you think I ought to do?"

"I think you ought to marry her if you're going to keep her here."

"Suppose she doesn't mind the unconventionality of it?"

"All women mind. No woman, at heart, is unconventional, Cleves."

"She—she seems to agree with me that she ought to stay here…. Besides, she has no money, no relatives, no friends in America―"

"All the more tragic. If you really believe it to be your duty to keep her here where you can look after her bodily safety, then the other obligation is still heavier. And there may come a day when Miss Norne will wish that you had been less conscientious concerning the safety of her pretty throat…. For the knife of the Yezidee is swifter and less cruel than the tongue that slays with a smile…. And this young girl has many years to live, after this business of Bolshevism is dead and forgotten in our Republic."

"Recklow!"

"Yes?"

"You think I might dare try to find a room somewhere else for her and let her take her chances? Do you?"

"It's your affair."

"I know—hang it! I know it's my affair. I've unintentionally made it so. But can't you tell me what I ought to do?"

"I can't."

"What would you do?"

"Don't ask me," returned Recklow, sharply. "If you're not man enough to come to a decision you may turn her over to me."

Cleves flushed brightly. "Do you think you are old enough to take my job and avoid scandal?"

Recklow's cold eyes rested on him: "If you like," he said, "I'll assume your various kinds of personal responsibility toward Miss Norne."

Cleve's visage burned. "I'll shoulder my own burdens," he retorted.

"Sure. I knew you would." And Recklow smiled and held out his hand. Cleves took it without cordiality. Standing so, Recklow, still smiling, said: "What a rotten deal that child has had—is having. Her father and mother were fine people. Did you ever hear of Dr. Norne?"

"She mentioned him once."

"They were up–State people of most excellent antecedents and no money.

"Dr. Norne was our Vice–Consul at Yarkand in the province of Sin Kiang. All he had was his salary, and he lost that and his post when the administration changed. Then he went into the spice trade.

"Some Jew syndicate here sent him up the Yarkand River to see what could be done about jade and gold concessions. He was on that business when the tragedy happened. The Kalmuks and Khirghiz were responsible, under Yezidee instigation. And there you are:—and here is his child, Cleves—back, by some miracle, from that flowering hell called Yian, believing in her heart that she really lost her soul there in the temple. And now, here in her own native land, she is exposed to actual and hourly danger of assassination…. Poor kid!…Did you ever hear of a rottener deal, Cleves?"

Their hands had remained clasped while Recklow was speaking. He spoke again, clearly, amiably:

"To lay down one's life for a friend is fine. I'm not sure that it's finer to offer one's honour in behalf of a girl whose honour is at stake."

After a moment Cleves's grip tightened.

"All right," he said.

Recklow went downstairs.

Cleves went back into the apartment; he noticed that Miss Norne's door was ajar.

To get to his own room he had to pass that way; and he saw her, seated before the mirror, partly undressed, her dark, lustrous hair being combed out and twisted up for the night.

Whether this carelessness was born of innocence or of indifference mattered little; he suddenly realised that these conditions wouldn't do. And his first feeling was of anger.