"Oh, yes, Liebknecht. I've heard----"
"Only the military might of Germany holds the nation intact, but even in its might it trembles. Nemi is strong in Germany. In many regiments the socialists have revolted and in the navy--mutiny. Those men realize that there is a force let loose into the world, before which the selfish aims of the rulers of the countries of the earth are as chaff in the wind. Not one nation shall rule, or several, but all--Monsieur. All! Internationalism--! Do you know what that means?"
And as Rowland remained silent, as though in deep thought, Khodkine threw his long arms out in a wide gesture.
"You shall see. The time comes soon----"
"And you will help me, Monsieur?" Rowland asked urbanely.
"With all my heart and intelligence."
Khodkine smiled and the two men clasped hands. Monsieur Khodkine's hands were very white and as smooth as a woman's, but there was strength in the sinew beneath. Internationalism! A fine word! which might mean anything.... If this man were Rowland's enemy, at least he should not start with any advantage. The new Leader of Nemi was learning, still moving in the dark, for the names of those who had come into power in Russia, Lvoff, Rodzianko--and the others had seemed to stand for all that was best in the interests of free government. And so he had led Monsieur Khodkine out, that he might inspect, in profile, as it were, the motives which underlay his politics. As yet nothing definite--only a suspicion. As to the sincerity of his beliefs in the ritual of Nemi, Rowland was soon enlightened.
"You are a practical man, Monsieur Rowland," Khodkine went on easily. "You are no doubt mystified by the curious sequence of events which have brought you here to Nemi, as titular head of this great and secret order. But I too am a practical man, and I will be frank with you. I care nothing for symbols. Whatever the society of Nemi is in the minds of its legion of followers, to me it is merely a means to a great end--the safety and peace of all Europe. The fulfillment of the promises of the legend is extraordinary--almost incredible, but neither you nor I as men of the world can believe that it comes from any supernatural agency. Kirylo Ivanitch was immolated upon the altar of his own fears, a sacrifice to his own superstition. He killed the Priest who preceded him. For years his Nemesis, a true Nemesis, my friend, has pursued him. But you, Monsieur, must permit no such doubts to poison your usefulness."
"Why should I," laughed Rowland. "A man attacks me, stabs me with a knife. If he is killed, is it my fault? My conscience is clear."
"Good. Then we understand each other." He broke off with a shrug.