The Men Who Wrought

Now the rapidly passing moments each brought their developments. He could hear the voices of men plainly in the dead silence of the night. They must be near, dangerously near to the treacherous opening. He could see other lights, moving lights, like lanterns being borne along a deck by hand. Then he heard the clanking of cable chains. Finally a larger light, something in the nature of a small searchlight, detached itself from the others, and came directly towards the opening.

He turned away and lit his cigar. Then he scrambled down to the beach.

Ruxton had remained in obscurity watching the light as it passed through the opening. It came on swiftly against the racing tide. There was no hesitation or indecision. The light steered straight for the spit of rock forming a sort of natural quay, upon which he was standing under cover of a projecting boulder. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. He remembered that other time when he had embarked at the same spot.

The launch slowed down and crept towards the rocky tongue. The landing was brilliantly lit up by the searching headlight. Slower, slower, it finally glided into the landing-place and was held fast by two heavy figures now clearly outlined.

A third figure rose up amidships – a tall, familiar figure, clad in a long enveloping cloak. He spoke once. Then he stepped actively on to the landing. Ruxton emerged from the shadow.

"Welcome, Prince. It is I, Ruxton Farlow."

He had stepped forward with hand outheld.

At the first sound of his voice the men in the boat had become still. The Prince had swung round, and his right hand had been plunged deeply into the pocket of his great cloak. But a moment later it was withdrawn, and a deep-throated laugh expressed his relief.

"Ah, my friend," he cried. "I thought" – then he grasped the outstretched hand in warm cordiality, – "then I heard your name, and knew my alarms were groundless. You have come here to – meet me?"

"Yes. We guessed."

"Ah. Forgive me. I must give some orders."

He was about to turn away to the men in the boats, but Ruxton detained him.

"Before you give orders, I would suggest you send your vessel round to Dorby. Our dock-master is on the lookout for you. He is lying off the mouth of the river to pilot you in to a —safe– mooring. When you hail him, pass him one word: 'Towers.' My father is awaiting you at home. We have thought out a plan which may meet with your approval."

The tall figure moved a step nearer. Again his tenacious hand was thrust out.

"It is always the same – in Britain. I thank you."

He turned and gave orders in compliance with Ruxton's instructions. Then the two men stood side by side while they watched the launch slide back with the tide. Then, as it swung about, head on for the opening, they moved away up towards the cavern entrance in the cliff.

Throughout the passage of the cave, and the long climb up the rough-hewn staircase to the mill above, no unnecessary word was spoken. An occasional warning of trifling pitfalls ahead from Ruxton, on the lead, was the only sound beyond the clatter of feet upon the rough stone tread of the journey.

There was much to be said between them, but each felt that the dank atmosphere of this cavern was scarcely the place in which to pause for confidences. This was a meeting between these two full of profound significance, even of threat, for both knew that a challenge had been thrown out at a power for vengeance, the extent of which neither could as yet accurately estimate.

The silence between them was maintained until the outline of the old mill had fallen away well behind them, and the intricacies of the footpaths amongst the black gorse patches permitted of their walking abreast. Then it was Ruxton who opened the subject between them.

"I bought a newspaper almost by chance. It contained news of some action by the German fleet – in the Baltic. It was vague. But somehow it made me uneasy. Then Vita seemed to read it aright."

"Vita?"

"Ah, forgive me," Ruxton smiled. "The Princess interpreted it. We became convinced that it was something to warrant alarm for – your safety."

The tall, lean figure pressed nearer to its English friend. Ruxton felt the clasp of a hand upon his upper arm.

"And so you came – to the cove?"

There was a deep note of appreciation in the man's voice.

"It was a friendly act," he added.

Ruxton shrugged.

"I promised you a welcome in England. It is nothing."

"No. It is nothing – to some people."

Ruxton dismissed the subject.

"They have discovered. Von Salzinger is in England."

"Yes, Vita has told me. But I knew it without the telling." Then the Prince laughed, and there was ironical inflection in his mirth. "Oh, yes. It was easy to watch – these things. I watched every move through the eyes of my few faithful friends. I saw how they kept me under surveillance, after – after they sent Von Salzinger to England. Then, when I began to feel that their interest in me was becoming threatening, when I received interrogations that were difficult to answer – easily – interrogations about the U-rays, then I said to myself that I must put to the test all those little plans I had prepared. I abandoned my works by sea."

"Then – "

"Oh, it was not all so simple. The story of it I will tell you some day. One thing I had not calculated upon was that my place was watched from the sea by our naval ships. They are shrewd, these people, but they are also blundering. These naval men!" His clasp on Ruxton's arm tightened. A certain scorn crept into the vibrating tones. "You know them? Your people know them. They laugh at them – your people, I mean – as I laughed. The German Navy forgets. They forget that I am the master of the submarine. They think they know it all – all that I have in here." He touched the high forehead under his soft felt hat with a lean forefinger. "But they do not. They see my boat come out. They challenge me – as they challenge me at Borga. It is the same again. I laugh and I keep on my course. I do not heave-to. Then they open their guns at me to sink me, but I only submerge. They follow on my line. I come up. They fire again, and so it goes on. They make a great commotion and waste many shells. Then comes night, and – I lose them." He shrugged. Then after a pause he went on. "Now I come to England and I join my daughter in her home. Later on maybe I shall forget these people that have owned my body and brain, and used them for so long to outrage humanity. I never go back. Never, never!"

"No."

Ruxton shrank from the news he must convey. The doubt in his monosyllable, however, did not pass the other by. The Pole's big eyes turned full upon his companion's face, and enquiry rang in his echo of the monosyllable.

"No?"

"You cannot go to your daughter's place. Von Salzinger has discovered it. It will be watched."

"Ah!"

"It is an added reason for my meeting you."

"It is an added complication. So, so."

"But not beyond – straightening out."

"No?"

"My father is awaiting you. There is Dorby."

They walked on in silence. The old man moved with surprising vigor. He was thinking rapidly. The new situation involved a readjustment of plans. He was seeking solution with a fertility of imagination which might have astonished the Englishman had he known.

Ruxton went on.

"Our works are under protection from our naval authority. They should be safe. My father thinks the shelter of our home should serve for the present."

Von Hertzwohl seemed to pass the offer by, dwelling only upon the safety of the works.

"That is good, the works protected," he said abruptly, his luminous eyes shining. "You are clever. You take no chance. And the work? It goes on? Good! Ah! I must see it all." He rubbed his hands. "There is no hitch? Nothing? The vessels grow – grow while you look. Ah, yes, I know you British. There will be no more submarine danger; no more massacre of women and children at sea. It gives me the greatest joy."

The old man's enthusiasm was beyond all thought of self. It was so simple, so intense. It was the enthusiasm of a child for his new toy, and Ruxton marvelled at the odd mixture which went to make up his strange character.

"The completion of the work is as inevitable as that your Government means to – hunt you down."

Ruxton thought to impress the Pole with the precariousness of his position. But the man brushed it aside.

"Ach!" he cried, with a gesture of recklessness. "Yes, they hunt me down. That is it. That is why I do not burden your father with my safeguard. It is good to think of. This generous man – your father. It is good that his son comes to – help me. I feel it all here." He pressed one hand over his heart. "But no. I know these people. I do not fear them. They hunt me down. They kill me. It is not so much. It is so small a thing I do not think of it. No. But they do not hunt me down," he went on, with a smile of quiet confidence. "I will go with you to Dorby. I will talk with your great father – and then – I go. It will be good to befool them – and I will befool them."

He laughed a fearless, heart-whole laugh which left the younger man marvelling.

CHAPTER XIX

THE TIGER SPRINGS

The drawing-room at Redwithy Farm was bathed in the shadows of early autumn evening. A fire of blazing logs spluttered and crackled in the great open fireplace. Its ruddy light shed an atmosphere of mellow comfort and coziness over the entire aspect of the room. Under ordinary circumstances Vita would have revelled in the delight of these moments of a great new happiness in her beautiful home.

She was ensconced in an armchair beside the fire which had doubtless, in years gone by, supported the slumbering form of some bewigged country squire. Its design was perfect for such a purpose. A small tea-table stood at her elbow. The muffins were cold upon it, but she had been glad of the mildly stimulating effects of the tea.

Now she was sitting forward in her chair gazing deep down into the heart of the fire. A teeming thought was speeding through a brain which, of late, seemed always to be working at high pressure. The odd pucker of thought between her brows added charm and character to her beautiful face. Her eyes, too, had lost something of their profound serenity. They were alight and shining with a certain nervous concentration, while her delicate lips were unusually firmly compressed.

She had only returned from London an hour earlier, and now, far from the distractions of the momentous hours she had spent with the man whose love had been powerful enough to sweep aside every other consideration from her mind, she was striving to quell all emotion, and disentangle the skeins in which she felt hopelessly caught up.

Paramount, her great love for Ruxton stood out and tripped her at every effort to concentrate upon those matters which related to the plans upon which they were all at work. Her alarm for her father was real and almost overwhelming. But her joy in her new-found love robbed it of half its significance. In the happiness of the moment it was impossible to believe or accept, even, the suggestion that disaster had overtaken, or could overtake him.

In the first rush of her dread Ruxton's confidence had reassured her. Her father must be safe. Her lover's argument had been so clear and convincing. Then he had promised to meet him on his arrival in England. Yes, her father was bound to make for Dorby. That was their secret landing-place. Ruxton would be there. He would not fail. He would warn him of Von Salzinger's discovery of her house. He would arrange for his safety. To all these things he had given his word, and his word was all-sufficient for her. As for his ability to put his promise into effect there could be no question. The proud thought in her was supreme.

She dwelt upon the glamored picture of her lover which was always in her mind, and it comforted her and reassured her as she had never found comfort or reassurance before. No one who knew him could question, she felt. Her vivid mental vision dwelt upon the sculptured beauties of his magnificent face and head. The calmly assured manner; the great physical strength, which reminded her of the men in the wonderful history of her own country, – these things overbore her woman's timidities, and reacted upon her in a manner which drove all doubts headlong.

He would write her. How? Through the post, or would he send a messenger with the news of her father's safety? It was a useless speculation. All she knew was that the news would come. He had promised it.

Vassilitz entered the room. Vita knew it because the door had opened, and the rattle of the handle had disturbed her. Otherwise the man's movements were decorously silent. He crossed to the windows and drew the curtains. He glided across the room, and prepared to remove the tea-things.

Would madame have the lights? No, madame preferred the firelight. The brighter lights would have disturbed her dreaming. The man bore the tea-table away, his dark eyes and sallow features perfect in their immobility.

As the door closed behind him, memory brought Vita a fleeting unease. She remembered Ruxton's warning about Vassilitz. He had suggested his possible connection with the Secret Service. It seemed impossible. And yet Ruxton had been definite. How long had she known him? She cast back in her mind. Why, as long as she could remember. She remembered him as a village lout, who sometimes worked for her father in his garden. Then he had been taken away to the army, as they were all taken away by the cruel conscript laws. Yes, of course, he had been away in the army, and – they had lost sight of him all that time – the time he was in the army.

Then she dismissed the matter. Ruxton must be right. She was sure he would not say such a thing without some reason. She would send Vassilitz back to his home. There must be no unnecessary risk of her father's safety.

Having settled the matter, the fiery caverns in the grate absorbed her attention once more, and every beat of her heart helped to bridge the distance which separated her from the lover who had so suddenly thrust himself into her life.

How long she sat crouching over the crackling fire, dreaming those dreams of life, which afterwards become the most sacred treasures of a woman's memory, Vita never knew. Later, when she reviewed those moments, conviction remained that never for one moment had her eyes closed in response to the seductive warmth of the fire. Yet she knew that in some strange manner oblivion must have stolen upon her. Without a shadow of warning she found herself sitting bolt upright, every drop of blood seeming to have receded from her veins, leaving her shivering in a frigid panic. The cold, hard tones of a man's voice were addressing her.

"The Princess will forgive the unceremonious nature of this visit," it said. "It is imperative, for – it is made under the direct authority of those who claim all subjects of the Fatherland."

The words were in German. They were without a shadow of inflection, and thereby gained in the consummate tyranny of their meaning.

Vita was on her feet. Nor had the wild panic which swept through her every nerve centre power to rob her of the regal poise natural to her. She battled fiercely for calmness, but only achieved it superficially.

In the dark of the room she could see nothing of the intruder distinctly. A shadowy outline in the direction of the closed door was all she could make out. Then, with a swift movement, one arm was thrust out towards the wall beside the fireplace. Her fingers encountered a group of electric switches. In a moment the room was flooded with a shaded, mellow light.

"Frederick von Berger! You!"

It was the only exclamation that escaped her parched lips. But it expressed all the terror which would no longer be denied.

She had recognized the intruder. And behind him she saw the square figure of Von Salzinger. But the latter meant nothing compared with the overwhelming personality of the man whom she, with thousands of others, had always regarded as the Kaiser's evil genius. Probably only once or twice in all her years she had seen this man in the flesh. But his pictures, they were known to everybody in the Fatherland, just as was the sinister reputation which dogged his name.

Oh, yes, she knew him – and he was here, here in England, and had stolen in upon the privacy and obscurity of her home. What was his purpose? What? Something of it, at least, was plain to her from the moment of her recognition. It was the cruel hand of the Teutonic machinery reaching out towards her and – hers. Hers! The thought seared itself upon her brain. For herself she had no thought, but for her father she had become the veriest coward.

The intruder displayed no interest or feeling at the manner of Vita's greeting. The lines of his face remained as stonily graven as chiselled marble. So cold was his regard that it even seemed incapable of interpreting her matchless beauty.

"I am honored that the Princess recognizes me," he said, with a coldness that made his words an offence. "It will save explanation."

Then he came towards her and stood before the fire confronting her. His height matched hers, which left him only of medium height for a man.

"Your father has sold the secrets of Borga to – England. Now he has made good his escape to – England." Then without a sign, or gesture, or shadow of significance, he added: "So you see it was necessary to visit you here."

It was well-nigh an impossibility ever to fathom the thought which lay behind this man's spoken word. There was a directness and simplicity about him which was utterly confounding. Then there was that dreadful frigidity of eye and attitude.

Vita realized the impossibility at once. She made no attempt to guess at that which was in his mind. She contented herself with his admission of her father's escape. Without it terror alone would have remained. Instead, now, a wonderful calmness settled upon her. Maybe there was a touch of desperation in her calm. But there was still the assurance of her father's security, at least temporarily. She must watch. She must strive. If there were the smallest possibility she must baffle the purpose which had brought Frederick von Berger to her home. She waited.

"It is not presumed, of course, that you are aware of these matters – yet. But it is well known to our agents that you are in touch with the Prince. Therefore it is probable on his arrival in England he will communicate with you. It is not our intention to permit you to thus incriminate yourself. All possibility of the Prince's communicating with you must be avoided, or you, a woman, will fall under the penalty of his crimes. You will prepare yourself at once to make a journey by road. You will leave this house at once, and remain away from it until the whole unpleasant affair has been settled to the satisfaction of Berlin. These are instructions direct to you from the authority of the land which still claims you subject."

Resentment was the dominant emotion the man's pronouncement stirred in Vita. His authority was unquestioned in her mind, but the manner of him was infuriating to her hot Polish blood. The sparkle of her beautiful eyes could not be concealed. She bit her lips to keep back the hot words which leapt in retort, and, all the while he was speaking, she reminded herself of the necessity for calm. The moment his last word died out her reply came.

"Here, in England, I am commanded by German authority to abandon my home and go whithersoever it pleases you to conduct me. German authority in a country where German authority does not obtain. You trespass on my premises, admitted I do not know how. You dictate this absurd order to me, and expect me to obey it. This is not Prussia."

"Precisely, Princess. If this were Prussia there would be no discussion." It was the first shadow of threat the man had displayed. It was not in his tone. It lay in the keen, steely cold gleam of his eyes. "As for the authority," the man shrugged, "there is no corner in the world where a German subject exists that German authority does not obtain – for the German subject. If you have not yet realized this, then I beg you to do so at once. The method of enforcing that authority alone differs."

"I understand that. In England it is enforced by the methods such as any common criminal might adopt. For instance, the burglar who steals into private houses."

The biting sarcasm left Frederick von Berger quite undisturbed.

"The chief point is, it is, and will be, enforced," he observed coolly. "Will you be kind enough to prepare for that journey?"

"If I refuse?"

Von Berger shrugged.

"You will still make it. The preparations will be made for you."

"By whom?"

"By your servants."

There was just the faintest flicker of the eyelids as the man assured her. There was no smile, and yet there was a change from the frigidity which had been so poignantly marked up to that moment.

"My servants! Are they, too, bound to obey the mandates of Berlin in violation of the laws of free England?" Anger was getting the better of her resolve.

"They, too, are children of the Fatherland."

"Spies!"

The exclamation broke from the angry woman with fierce heat.

"Certain of them have their orders."

They stood eye to eye. The anger of the Princess flamed into the cold gaze of the man. There was no yielding in either at the moment.

"I refuse."

The words came full of desperate determination. But even as Vita pronounced them she felt their futility. Swiftly she cast about in her mind for a loophole of escape, but every avenue seemed to be closed. The house was isolated. It was attended by seven or eight servants, and bitterly she remembered that they all came from a country which yielded allegiance to Teutonic tyranny. Ruxton had been right. Oh, how right! Which of these servants were under the orders of this man? She could not be sure, excepting in the case of Vassilitz. Again panic grew and reached a pitch of hysteria as she listened to the man's easy level tones.

"You are angry, and your common-sense is blinded by it," he said without emotion. "Were it not so you would see the absurdity of your refusal. I am not without means of enforcing authority. Listen. At the front door stands a powerful car. A closed car, which is fictitiously numbered. While we are talking your maid is packing for you. She has orders to prepare for you every luxury and comfort you are accustomed to require. This luggage will be placed in the car, and she will travel with you. If you persist in your refusal you will be dealt with. If you seek to call for aid you will be silenced. The servants in your house will not dare to raise a finger in your assistance. You will be conducted to a place already prepared to receive you. You will be treated with every courtesy your rank and sex entitles you to. And when these affairs are settled to suit Berlin you will be released. Do you still refuse?"

The recital of the conditions prevailing possessed a conviction that suggested the inevitability of Doom, Vita realized. Coming from another than Frederick von Berger she might have hoped. But this man – she shivered. A conscienceless mechanism as soulless as cold steel.

Her answer was delayed. Her eyes, searching vainly, swept over the room. Finally they encountered the square face of Von Salzinger. She had forgotten him. Her gaze was caught and held, and, in a moment, she realized that he was endeavoring to convey some meaning to her. Its nature was obscure, but the expression of his usually hard face suggested sympathy, and almost kindliness. Could it be that in the grinding machinery of Prussian tyranny she possessed one friend? She remembered Von Salzinger's protestations. She remembered that he had spoken of love to her. Love – what a mockery! But might she not hope for support from him? No, he was bound hand and foot. She dared hope for no open support. But —

Von Berger displayed the first sign of impatience. He withdrew his watch.

"I cannot delay," he said. "It is not my desire to use the force at my command. Being in England, and you being a woman, discussion has been permitted. You will now choose definitely, within one minute, whether you will submit to the orders of Berlin, or resist them. I am considering your convenience. It is immaterial to me which course you adopt."