The Men Who Wrought

He read it eagerly, not with any desire to discover publicity for himself – rather the reverse. He looked to discover how far the pernicious habit of publicity might be damaging to the cause in which he was working. He sighed in relief as he came to the end of the paragraph. For once the press had exercised laudable restraint. There was nothing in it calculated to inspire curiosity or even comment. It simply stated that a department in the Dorby yards had been taken over by the Board of Admiralty to relieve the congestion in the Naval Construction yards.

He thrust the paper aside, drew a telegram pad towards him, and indited an address upon it.

"Veevee, London."

Then he paused and looked up as the door in the panelling of the room was thrust open and his secretary presented himself.

"It's the telephone, and a woman's voice speaking, Mr. Farlow," he said, with a whimsical smile. "I endeavored to get her name, but she refused it. I warned her that I could not call you without she stated her business, or gave her name. Finally she said I had better tell you that 'Veevee, London,' wished to speak to you urgently. I wrote the name down so there should be no – "

"You can put me through – at once."

The crisp response was not without significance to the younger man, and Harold Heathcote departed with the mental reservation that "even with Cabinet Ministers you never can tell."

A few moments later the telephone receiver on Ruxton Farlow's table purred its soft challenge, and he picked it up in hasty and delighted anticipation. In a moment he recognized Vita Vladimir's voice. His dark eyes smiled at the sunlit window as he replied to her enquiry.

"Yes. It's Ruxton Farlow speaking. How-do-you-do? Most extraordinary coincidence. I was just writing out a telegram to you. I was wond – Yes, it's ages. I've a lot to tell you about – things. Eh? You must see me to-night. Why, that's delightful. I am in great good luck. Not sure about the luck?" He laughed confidently. "I am. Eh?" His laugh had died out abruptly. "Bad news. That's – Well, where shall I see you? Not at – all right. Could you manage dinner with me somewhere? Ah, anywhere you choose. What's that? The Oberon? The West Room? Will that be all right in view of the – bad news? Yes, I agree. It is sufficiently secluded. Shall we say at eight o'clock? You're sure it quite suits you? Splendid. Yes. Then good-bye – till eight o'clock."

Ruxton replaced the receiver, and, for a moment, sat staring out at the sunlit square. His eyes were half smiling still, but there was a puzzled, slight elevation of his level brows. He was thinking, speculating as to the nature of the bad news. But even bad news which again brought him into contact with the Princess Vita was robbed of more than half its significance.

Whatever Ruxton Farlow's impressions, drawn from his earlier encounters with Vita von Hertzwohl, they became totally eclipsed by the delight in her perfect beauty as it appeared to him when he kept his appointment for dinner that night.

Her tall figure, so beautifully rounded, so perfect in its delicate proportions, and so full of a delicious sinuous grace, was gowned to perfection. Her wonderful red-gold hair, tinged with its soft sheen of burnished copper, was a perfect setting for the delicate tracery of jewels which completed its exquisitely unconventional dressing. Her wonderful grey eyes shone eagerly up into his, lighting the essentially foreign complexion which was hers with a warm fire of virile mentality. Such were the feelings she inspired that he wondered absurdly that he could ever have taken her for anything less than the princess he now knew her to be. So great was her effect upon him that it was not until her own low-spoken words, reminding him of the bad news of which she was the bearer, permitted the memory of the affairs he was engaged upon to return to their paramount place in his consideration.

They were seated at a small round table in a remote corner of the great West Room. The table next to them was unoccupied, but, for the rest, the room was fairly full, and amongst the diners were a considerable number of notables who preferred the quiet harmonious charm of tasteful surroundings and excellent cooking to the blatancy of the more advertised caravansaries.

It was not until the pêches-melba had been served, and the order for coffee had been given to the waiter, that the cloud was allowed to descend upon Ruxton's perfect enjoyment. They had talked of all he had seen upon his visit to Borga. They had talked of Vita's father, and the services he yearned to perform for humanity. Ruxton had described in detail their flight from the great arsenal and its Prussian commandant. And all the time Vita had withheld her news, fearing for herself, as much as for her companion, the complete banishment of the delight of this moment of their meeting again.

But it had to come, and she faced it resolutely. There had fallen a pause in their talk, and she drew a deep sigh.

"And now – now for the purpose of this meeting," she said.

Then with a resolute air she rested her elbows upon the table and clasped her beautiful shapely hands.

"Is there any other purpose than – the present?" enquired Ruxton, following her example and leaning forward. His smile was one of whimsical protest. He knew that the moment had come when he must once more return to the harness of his office. "I feel rather like a navvy," he proceeded. "After tremendous exertions I have just been lounging away my dinner hour. The whistle has blown, and I must get to work again. You have blown the whistle."

Vita smiled faintly. But her eyes lost none of their seriousness thereby.

"I'm afraid there are liable to be some heavy penalties if – you do not respond to it promptly. Oh, dear, I have so enjoyed myself. I wish there were no Prussians in the world."

"There are fewer than there were."

"Yes, but so long as one remains there are – too many. I have had a communication from my father. It came to-day."

"A letter?"

Vita shook her head.

"We do not communicate by letter. A messenger. A funny little old man who carries samples of buttons made in Austria. He represents a button firm, and sells millions of them over here. He happens to be my father's brother, although no one is allowed to guess the relationship. He is my father's most loyal – friend."

"And he has brought you word of – "

"Von Salzinger."

Ruxton waited for her to continue. He was watching her with eyes that left him utterly incapable of forgetting her wonderful attraction. She was no longer merely a partner in the work he had marked out for himself. She was more. She was the woman of his early youthful dreams come to life, and every word that fell from her lips had for him a significance which appealed to the big soul within him apart from any verbal meaning it might convey.

"You know father is the oddest mixture of simplicity and shrewdness I have ever known. He is utterly without fear, and his trust, to a point, is childlike. But when he is threatened with serious danger he is possessed of all the subtlety, it seems to me, of the whole world. That is perhaps why I do not gravely fear for his personal safety. His message to me illustrates his simplicity, but gives no inkling of that wonderful shrewdness which I know him to possess. Perhaps it is worded purposely so that I should miss its real significance. You see, father knows I am a coward, and does not like to distress me. Perhaps, on the other hand, he only sees in the development the dire result of his protest to Berlin. You see I have had the story of your visit to Borga from him weeks ago. But I see more in it, and I am right. That's why I warned you of 'bad news.'"

"And the news?" Ruxton's imagination had been stirred by the girl's preliminary.

"In brief it is that Captain-General von Salzinger has been relieved of his command at Borga, as a result of his attitude towards you and my father."

"That is what your father assured me would happen. He assured me that in Berlin his power was almost unlimited – as regards Borga. I see little to trouble us in that."

"No-o."

Vita's whole attitude underwent a change. She became reflective, and her warm grey eyes grew cold with the bitterness of memory. After some silent moments she seemed to arrive at a decision.

"To impress you with my point of view I – must make something like a confession," she went on presently.

She was interrupted by the returning waiter, who removed the sweet plates and cleared the table for the coffee. After he had poured it out and departed, Vita went on. All doubt had gone from her manner, and her eyes smiled back into the eager face of the man who had made for himself the discovery of the woman in Eden.

"It is just a little bit difficult to tell you these things," she smiled. "But I must do so, or you will not see the danger as I see it. It is about an early love affair of mine with – Von Salzinger. Oh, don't make any mistake," she cried hastily, at the abrupt, ingenuous change in the man's expression. "I was never in love with him. But he was with me. Ugh! Von Salzinger. A Prussian from head to foot. A typical, soulless Prussian. No, no. This man is ambitious. That is all he cares for in life – himself and his ambition. My father was a great man in the country, and would have been an excellent lever to further his ends. So he strove to – enlist my sympathies. I was very young, and – well, I think most women, even at an early age, like being made love to. I did not so greatly discourage him at first. Then came the War, and I discovered many things about the German people I had never dreamed of. I also discovered the Prussian in Von Salzinger. He strove his utmost to enlist me in the Secret Service, of which, to my horror, I discovered he was a prominent member. Need I tell you what happened? There was a scene – a dreadful scene, which he has probably never forgiven, and – may never forgive. Now here is the complication of which my father is unaware. It is my father who has brought about his downfall. Do you see? He undoubtedly has suspicions of you. Consequently he has suspicions of my father. He is bred to the Secret Service. Where has he gone, and what will he do? What has he told Berlin, and – what understanding has he come to with them? My simple father believes he has settled the matter definitely in the only way his position entitled him to settle it. I think he has set an unusually swift and poisonous snake upon the tracks of all of us. Now you tell me what you think. You can probably judge the position better than I. You can look upon it from a detached point of view."

"Detached?" Ruxton smiled dubiously. But his interrogation seemed to pass Vita by. She sipped her coffee and waited. Her grey eyes were completely veiled beneath her long, dense lashes. Ruxton pushed his empty cup aside. "The danger I see is for your father. Not for you, or for anything over here. That, of course, may come later. The immediate danger is for your father."

Vita sighed.

"You have lightened my fears." She raised her shining eyes. "That sounds terrible, doesn't it? But – I would rather have danger threaten him, personally, than threaten his project – our project. His position is unique, and I doubt even if you can appreciate it. And then he has a means of protecting himself which even Berlin has no understanding of. Father can escape at any moment he considers it necessary. That was all thought out, with many other things, before we approached you. Our visit to Dorby is still all unsuspected. Remember that."

"Yes."

"But, in spite of your view-point, we shall hear from Von Salzinger, if I am not very much mistaken. You see, he knows I am in London. Unless we hear soon that he has been given another appointment in Germany, then I feel certain we shall have him swiftly on our tracks. What can he do – to hurt us?"

There was unmistakable apprehension in the girl's eyes. There was a gravity in her assertion that would not be denied, and even Ruxton realized the soundness of her argument. But he sought to console her, to lessen her fears. He desired more than all things to see her warm smile replace the apprehension she was now displaying.

"He can do nothing here, should he favor us with a visit," he said lightly. "I have taken no chances. Only to-day I have completed negotiations by which our new constructions are definitely placed under the control and protection of our Admiralty. If your father is safe, then I think we can snap our fingers at Captain-General von Salzinger."

"I'm – glad," cried Vita. Then impulsively: "So glad. Perhaps you don't quite understand our feelings. You see," she went on warmly, "our project has been placed before everything else in life. Life and death or imprisonment are secondary – quite secondary – with us. It is this effort to save humanity from the disaster which is being engineered in the Teutonic mind that is all that we care for. If necessary we shall not shrink from yielding up our lives to that cause. I wonder. Can you understand? Yes." She nodded decidedly. "You do understand. That is why we came to you. Now you have reassured me. Germany cannot stop the work going forward. It has become a British national effort." She sighed again, however. "But for all that my news is bad. I am sure of it. Perhaps it is only relatively so. I cannot say. If the work goes on no news can be really bad. Yes, I am relieved, and I am glad I 'phoned you. I wish my father had been here to hear you say that the work would go on. It would have been the greatest moment of his life."

There was a great striving for reassurance in her manner. Ruxton watched it, as he watched every other play of light and shade in her voice and expression. Nor was it until he witnessed the return of her brilliant smile that he felt content. With its advent he returned again to the serene enjoyment of the moment.

At length, no further excuse for remaining would serve, and at half-past nine they rose to go. For Ruxton it was the passing of an important milestone on his journey through life. There remained no longer any doubt of his feelings. He knew he had met at last the only woman in the world who could reveal to him the true depths of happiness in life. His full realization had come with her frank avowal of the place Von Salzinger had striven to hold in her life. It had been a threatening cloud, a summer billow of cloud tossed up by some adverse air-current, and, for the moment, it had obscured his sun. Its passing had left him in the full blaze of a radiance which he now appreciated at its true worth. He knew that he loved this wonderful Princess Vita.

Once again the hand of Destiny had been revealed. He was moving blindly at its bidding. Nor had he will or inclination to diverge from the course marked out. He was content – more than content, and his only alloy was the rapidly approaching termination of the all too short evening.

His car rolled up to the door. He had handed Vita into it, and stood leaning in through the doorway.

"Where shall he drive to?" he enquired, with a smile of amusement. "Kensington?"

"Please, Kensington."

There was almost a challenge in the smile with which Vita replied to him.

A moment later he was sitting beside her in the cabriolet as they drove on towards the crossing of Piccadilly Circus.

"It is too late to let you take me all the way to my home," Vita said quietly. "Besides, I would rather remain in town for the night." Then she broke off in an undecided fashion.

Ruxton caught at the pause.

"Do not think about it. I have no desire to know anything but that which you choose to tell me."

Vita laughed. And Ruxton felt that her laugh was slightly embarrassed.

"It seems strange not to tell you where my real home is," she said. "There is no adequate reason for not doing so – and yet – I will tell you the reason that I occupy my Kensington flat in my two Christian names, and keep my real home away in the country. Father and I thought it out when we embarked upon our plans. We decided that in emergency it would be necessary to have a secure retreat. We endeavored to forestall all possibilities. We – "

She broke off, gazing across the car at the open window of the door beside Ruxton. Her eyes were full of alarm. The car had stopped in a stream of traffic, held up by the imperious arm of the point policeman. A taxicab had come to a stop beside them, and slightly in advance. A hatless head had been thrust out of the window to observe the cause of the delay. It was a square head upon still squarer shoulders. The neck that linked them was fleshy and powerful. The hair was short and stubbly.

Vita's hand reached swiftly and caught Ruxton's arm.

"Quick," she whispered. "Quick – but cautiously. Don't let him see you. There, leaning out of that cab. It is Von Salzinger."

Ruxton, his pulses quickened at the touch of Vita's hand upon his arm and the eager alarm of her whisper, leant forward and cautiously peered out of the window. Instantly the inevitable happened. The car moved forward and closed up on the cab. They had drawn abreast. The movement distracted the occupant of the cab. His head turned and Ruxton found himself gazing squarely into the fleshy features of the Commandant of Borga. He promptly drew back, but it was too late. Von Salzinger had no scruples. He had obviously recognized the Englishman, for now he leant farther out of the window and deliberately peered into the well-lit interior of the car for a second look at its occupants.

It was a desperate, trying movement. Ruxton was helpless. There was nothing to be done. The man's scrutiny of both himself and his companion remained until the traffic moved on. Then, and then only, did he withdraw his head.

"He has lost no time, and has had all the – luck," said Vita in a hard, bitter tone.

But Ruxton smiled and spoke down into the tube to the chauffeur.

"There is a taxi beside us. Avoid it." Then he put up the tube and turned to the girl at his side. "Your fears were well grounded. With Von Salzinger in London there can be only one possible interpretation of the fact. But I don't think he has had all the luck. You forget that I have completed my arrangements with the Admiralty."

CHAPTER XIV

"KAMERADS"

Two men walked briskly up Baker Street in the direction of the Underground Station. At least, one of them walked briskly. The gait of the other were better described as hurried. He was obviously making an effort to keep up with his powerful, square-cut, vigorous companion. Many eyes were turned upon them as they passed by. It was the provocative air of the larger man, whose gait was more than arrogant.

The lesser of the two was not oblivious to the attention.

"It is almost in the nature of a shock to find myself walking beside you in London, Ludwig. It is the old days again. But in the old days you were thankful to disguise the fact that you possessed military training. Now it is as if you were on parade. These people hate and distrust anything which suggests the – military."

Ludwig von Salzinger laughed gutturally. His fierce eyes glanced swiftly about him, ready to challenge any resentful glance in his direction.

"I care nothing for the pigs," he observed pleasantly.

"No. But you are here for – distraction. I have work which demands that I attract as little attention as possible."

"Distraction?" Von Salzinger laughed without any mirth. Then he became suddenly serious. "Distraction – yes, that is it."

The smaller man was quick of eye – almost furtive. His slight figure was well clad in an ordinary blue serge suit. His boots had once been of patent leather. His hat was of the Homburg pattern so beloved of the Londoner. He wore his brown hair fairly long to disguise the flat back of his head. His face was perfectly clean shaven, which left it typical of the ordinary man on the street. The other was so obviously of the Teuton military caste in spite of his elegant civilian dress, that his companion was seriously troubled. He protested again.

"If you cannot disguise yourself let us take a cab. Can you not drop your shoulders like the London 'knut'? Can you not slouch? Can you not refrain from lifting your feet as though you would crush a worm, or – an Englishman? Your moustache is bad enough."

"Ach! you are afraid, like some sick woman. What is it?" cried Salzinger half angrily, half contemptuously. "Has the work broken your spirit? It was not so in the old days. Johann Stryj, you need a holiday – distraction, like I am seeking." He laughed at his own clumsy humor.

Stryj took no umbrage. He never took umbrage till he had discovered all the possibilities of a man. Von Salzinger had arrived just as he had finished his English breakfast in his essentially English flat in Baker Street. Johann Stryj had spared no pains to mould his whole life and person upon London lines. Von Salzinger had explained nothing as yet of the meaning of his sudden descent upon London. He had merely demanded that his erstwhile comrade now accompany him to his hotel.

"And what – distraction do you seek?"

The man's quick eyes were sharply questioning in spite of the smile accompanying his words.

"That is what I conduct you to my hotel to tell you of."

Johann Stryj appeared to acquiesce, and they progressed in silence for a few paces. Then the quick eyes were again raised in the direction of Von Salzinger's square face.

"You have left us all very far behind in the service of the Fatherland. We hear it all – here. And four years ago you were with us, waiting upon every message that came, wondering where the next few hours would find us."

Stryj's words were calculated to set the other talking. They succeeded. Von Salzinger was obviously pleased.

"You, my Johann, were built for the – service. I was not. I have not that faculty for making my feelings subservient to the needs of the moment. I was glad when the call of the war took me out of it, and – gave me my chance."

Stryj nodded in an expressionless fashion.

"Yes. I am at home in the work. I love it." Then he laughed silently. "I am the servant of every pompous official who visits London. I am the slave of my orders. I am a cypher on the official lists, I am nothing amongst the people of the nation which I serve. Yet I am the head of the underground system which works here in England, and, incidentally, my income is four times that of a Captain-General. Your honor is very great, Ludwig, but I wonder if you have advanced since – those days."

Von Salzinger made no reply. He was thinking of the recent scene in which he had participated in the castle of Kuhlhafen. His face expressed something of his feelings of chagrin, and his companion was not slow to detect them.

"This is a thought of yours too, perhaps," he went on at once. "The moment a man enters the higher ranks of our army his troubles begin. He must fight for favor, and win it or decay in some obscure ditch in the military office. Nor can he rely for five minutes upon that favor. Degradation awaits at the first blunder which it is not humanly possible to avoid. Is it not so?"

All the buoyancy of Von Salzinger seemed to have vanished from his hard eyes. His old friend was telling him all that he had only too much reason to be aware of. He had fought his way up that perilous ladder of Prussian militarism, and like so many others he had tripped and fallen, and now was faced with the task of making good the temporary set-back. He had struggled hard at the first trip, and he told himself that fortune had favored him, and he had kept his hold, but well he knew that unless he recovered his foothold himself he must fall to the bottom and die in obscurity.

He turned on the Secret Service man.

"It is all as you say. But the very uncertainty of it makes it all the more worth winning. That is why I am in London now. When I have finished in London I shall have achieved the lasting honor, so rare in our Fatherland."

Stryj shook his head.

"There is none – no lasting honor in our Fatherland," he said.

Then with a quick turn he pointed at the window of a fashionable photographic studio. There was a life-size portrait standing in the very centre of it. It was a full-length portrait of a man of over six feet. He was in the uniform of a British field-marshal.

"There is lasting honor in this country," he said, as they paused and stood gazing at the wonderful face in the portrait, with its level, stern brows, its convincing, powerful eyes, and the heavy moustache that in no way detracted from the purposeful set of the jaws. "They are loyal to those they honor here. The man who has fought a great war for them, as that man has done, need do no more. His name and fame will go down to history with the vast material honor they have showered upon him. That is a name that will never die – in England."