The Men Who Wrought

The grey of evening filled the car, and somehow Vita was glad of it. She felt she could hide her worthless self beneath it. The moorland scene faded, and the great dark gorse banks merged into one blackening world. Then, directly ahead, the aged landmark of the skeleton mill rose sharply out of the dusk.

Her pulses quickened. The journey was at its end. Her father would be there awaiting her, and she must face those wide, understanding eyes as she told him the story of her cowardly yielding. She shrank further into the corner. She knew the fearless spirit of the man, and she dreaded his contempt. The secret of her contract with the man driving the car was still her own, but, in a few minutes, it must be revealed to one whose contempt would deal the final crushing blow.

She nerved herself as the car drew up. Then, with ashen lips and frightened eyes, she became aware of a tall, lean figure standing out against the sky-line.

She waited for no assistance. She flung the door wide, and, in a moment, she was enfolded in her father's embrace.

But she dared not yield to the joy of reunion. She freed herself, and began to talk. Not a moment must be lost in telling him her story, the story of all the dread and horror she had lived through. She knew she dared not risk delay, or her last vestige of courage would vanish into thin air.

She poured out the story of the machinations, in the toils of which they had been caught. She told him the story of the jeopardy in which he stood; of the power which had been transferred from Berlin to bring about his final destruction. She told him of the death sentence which had been passed upon her by the terrible Von Berger, and how, in the last moment of her despair, succor had been proffered in the last quarter from which it could have reasonably been expected. And then came the story of her pledge.

To the long story the old man listened with the closest attention. He gave no sign, he offered no interruption. At its conclusion Vita paused, breathlessly awaiting the verdict in the man's luminous eyes. She watched them. She searched them, seeking that faint spark which might hold out the smallest hope. She was living for that alone – now.

The Prince stood for a moment, his eyes gazing past her at the sides of the travel-stained car. Then one long thin hand went up to his forehead, and his soft hat was thrust back on his head. The hand pressed down upon his brows and moved across them, as though brushing aside some sense of weariness. His eyes shifted their gaze towards the man standing near the car. They took in the square, burly figure from the crown of its hat to the soles of its feet. Then they came back to Vita, and the smile in them suggested a final sympathetic decision overriding the natural antagonistic feelings towards the man whom he looked upon as his enemy.

"Where is he – Von Salzinger?" he demanded.

Vita caught her breath. It was the crisis.

"Here, father. He drove the car."

The Prince's eyes again sought the man. Then he spoke, and the tone of his voice eased the woman's tension.

"You have done me a service, Herr von Salzinger. A service I could hardly have looked for. It is to be paid for, I understand, and the price is high. However, the risks you have taken, the sacrifices you have made are doubtless great, from your point of view. Therefore I can only – thank you. Come. The vessel should be lying off by this time. What will you do with the car?"

Von Salzinger stepped forward. The night was dark, and it was impossible to observe the expression of his face.

"The car can remain. It is – not mine."

The Prince inclined his head.

"Then we will go down to the cove. Vita!"

At the gentle tone of his voice the woman moved at once to his side. Whatever his innermost thoughts and feeling's, he had conveyed to her troubled heart the assurance of his perfect love and sympathy.

A man stood in the steel doorway of the clumsy tower which supported a pair of periscopes. The vessel was an early type of submarine. It was crude in finish and severe in fashion. Its flush deck was narrow, and a mere rail protected its sides.

His attention seemed divided between a group of men in oilskins engaged in launching a motor pinnace, and the movements of a war-craft standing off some distance astern.

Night was closing upon an oily sea, which lolled in listless fashion beneath the starry sheen of a now almost windless evening. The threatened "northeaster" which had been developing all the afternoon had suddenly died out under the influence of a sharp frost. There was a certain satisfaction in the luck of the weather. This man knew quite well what he might have been called upon to face on the bitter northeast coast of Britain.

The stone-grey eyes of the man were no less keen than the bitter air. Nor were they less watchful than the peeping stars already beginning to stud the sky. The rest of his face was lost in the folds of a woollen scarf, which was in turn enveloped in the high collar of his overcoat.

There was the sound of footsteps behind him coming up the steel companion, and in a moment he was joined by a man in oilskins. The latter were carelessly adjusted about the neck, and from beneath them peeped the details of a uniform which was foreign to the coast off which the vessel was lying.

The newcomer joined in the survey of the war-craft's dim outline against the horizon.

"She's not there by chance, Excellency," he said warningly, in the deep guttural of the Teutonic language.

For some moments the other made no reply. His eyes were upon the men at work. The boat was launched, and the engine was being started.

"No," he said at last. Then his eyes came sharply to the other's face. "You have had to take big chances in your time. You've got to take a greater chance now. This is not war."

"No, Excellency. This is peace." The man laughed deep-throatedly.

"That is why the warship does not matter. She will not break the peace, and we are beyond the home-water limit. We are free to do as we please."

"And yet she is watching us. It interests me what she intends. These British naval men are a different race from those ashore. They will do as they think, in spite of – peace."

"Yes." There was a speculative look in the stone-grey eyes.

Finally he gave his whole attention to the men on the deck. He seemed to have put all speculation aside.

"Von Hertzwohl's submersible will soon be along now. We shall see her lights. She will carry lights. She must do so for the shore boat. You have your orders."

"Yes, Excellency. When you have left in this boat the other will be prepared. I shall take a party and board Hertzwohl's vessel, and make myself master of it. Meanwhile, this vessel will lie off with lights out, standing by in case of accidents to pick you up. If all goes well you will return from shore and come aboard Von Hertzwohl's vessel. Instantly she will submerge and lay a course for Heligoland Bight. It is clear, and should be simple."

"It should be simple. Hertzwohl's vessel must go back with us. She has the U-rays lamp on her." The grey eyes were turned questioningly in the direction where the war-vessel had been lying. The darkness had become such that its outline was scarcely visible. Then he went on. "This vessel will follow us to the Bight. Ha!" He thrust out a pointing hand. "The lights. Red. Green. White." He turned again, and his eyes were hard and stern in the light of the conning-tower. "Make no mistakes. Your orders to – the letter."

"Yes, Excellency."

Both men moved off down the gently swaying deck towards the break in the rail where the pinnace, with its complement of four men, was waiting. The man with the stone-grey eyes leapt into the boat. The next moment its crew had cast off, and its head had been swung round shorewards in response to the race of its powerful motor.

Suddenly a great beam of light shot athwart the sky. It lowered slowly, and, a moment later, it fell upon the submarine, on the deck of which a number of men had replaced those which had just left. For a moment the officer in charge of them looked up, and his eyes were caught in the dazzle of the blinding light. Then the light was raised and swept away landwards. It described a great arc and fell upon the shore. A moment later it was withdrawn. Again it settled upon the submarine.

The officer waited for it to pass. A look of deep anxiety began to fill his eyes. He was thinking of his orders, and of the man who had given them. But the light remained focussed full upon his deck, and presently it dawned upon him that the warship was steaming, steaming slowly and almost noiselessly towards him. A feeling of impotence took hold of him. He thought of his torpedo tubes, but the thought passed, thrust aside with an impatient remembrance that it was peace and – not war. His impotence grew. He could only stand there helpless and stupid.

The great vessel came on slowly, slowly. Soon its outline became clear, even in the darkness. The silent threat became unnerving. The officer ordered his men to desist from their work. The vessel drew abreast. Then she hove-to. But the terrible glare of the searchlight remained full upon the long, narrow deck upon which the officer stood.

His eyes sought for a sign. But the blinding light held him. He could see nothing. Just a shadowy, sombre hull. The great guns were not visible to him in the painful light.

There was no alternative. He turned to the conning-tower, and his men were sent below. The next moment the engines were at work, and the vessel submerged. Minutes later a swirl of water a quarter of a mile distant, and a great bulk rose to the surface out of the watery depths. The steel door of the conning-tower opened again, and the officer looked out. The beam of light from the war-vessel was gliding over the lolling surface of the water. It was moving towards him slowly, as though searching carefully. Again his vessel was caught in its silvery shaft. Again it held. Again the great vessel began to move towards him.

With a bitter oath the officer turned back into the conning-tower and slammed to the heavy steel door.

Vita and her father were standing at the water's edge. A pace or two behind them stood Von Salzinger. None of the three seemed inclined for speech. Von Hertzwohl was gazing out at the narrow opening to the open sea beyond. His thoughts were busy with the unexpected phenomenon he beheld.

A searchlight was playing over the water, moving at intervals, then it would become stationary. The vessel from which it emanated was a long way out, yet its light hovered persistently, as though its whole purpose was riveted upon the definite area which lay in full view from where he stood.

Vita, too, was gazing out to sea. But though the play of the lights caught and held her attention, they had no power to sway the trend of teeming thoughts which were passing through her brain. The things she beheld meant nothing to her. They could mean nothing. These were her last moments on the land she loved – the land which was the home of the man who had changed her life from a troubled and anxious existence to a dream of bliss such as she had believed impossible. She had sold herself at the price of life. Life? She had gone back again to existence a thousand times more dreadful than the worst nightmare could have conjured. Yes, her father was safe, her beloved father. All their plans would be the safer for their going. She would be free to witness, in due regularity, the progress of future seasons. She had done her duty, and her best. But oh, what a best!

There were moments as she stood there waiting when she could have flung her arms out and screamed till the echoes of the cove rang again. There were moments when she could have flung herself upon the angular figure she knew and felt to be standing behind her, and impotently torn at his hated flesh. He was her master, her future arbiter, the man to whose caresses she must submit.

Quite suddenly her father raised one thin, pointing hand.

"The boat," he said. And Vita's thoughts were swept aside for the moment, and her comprehending gaze became fixed upon a dim object sweeping through the jaws of the cove. The darkness of the place made it impossible to distinguish its outline. It was a shadow, a mere shadow against the moving lights beyond.

Once it was past the jaws, however, the throb of its engine beat against the rocky walls and echoed again. It was as though half-a-dozen engines were thrashing the water. Now, too, a headlight shone out.

Suddenly Von Hertzwohl caught up the lighted lantern at his feet.

"Ach!" he cried. "The madmen! They are heading here – for this light. One would think they had never made the spit before." He turned. "Quick. The spit, or they will drive on the rocks."

He ran along the beach, followed by Vita and Von Salzinger. In a few moments he was standing on the extremity of the rocky spit, waving his lantern and calling instructions.

"Gott in Himmel!" he cried. "Slow, slow. You will break on sunken rocks. Are you mad? This way. Ach! Slower, slower. So. Easy. Bring her nose round. So. Easy. Now!"

The old man stooped, and, with Von Salzinger, assisted in fending off the pinnace. Vita had taken up the lantern. She was holding it to make the most of its feeble rays. Then of a sudden a sharp exclamation broke from the Prince.

"Four!"

He had counted the men in the boat. Vita heard the exclamation without gathering its significance. A man leapt out of the stern of the boat, and another followed him. The light of the lantern fell full upon the leader's face. A cry broke from the woman, an inarticulate cry. It brought her father to his feet.

Then, swiftly and terribly, was enacted a scene unforgettable to those who beheld it. The wide, fearless eyes of the princely Pole gazed with loathing and hate into the stone-grey eyes of the man who had leapt first from the boat. It was only for one paralyzed moment. Then a harsh, furious voice ejaculated a name, and Vita's lantern clattered as it fell upon the rocky spit, and went out as it rolled into the lapping water.

"Von Berger!"

It was Von Hertzwohl's voice; and as he spoke he stepped back from the hated proximity. Once, once only his wide eyes swept over the various figures about him. Then, with a lightning movement, one long arm was flung out. There was no word spoken. There was no mercy in either heart of the antagonists. The penetrating crack of an automatic pistol alone awoke the echoes. They were flung from rock to rock, and, blending with them, came the sound of running feet.

But long before the echoes had reached their climax a second shot rang out – a heavier shot; and as it split the air Von Hertzwohl fell. His knees gave under him, and his tall figure toppled almost into the arms of the man who had fired the shot with such deliberate, deadly effect. To this sound was added swift movement. Vita, standing paralyzed with terror, was seized from behind, and the heavy breath of Von Salzinger fanned the back of her neck. She was supported bodily, and, in an instant, the swaying boat caught her struggling body with brutal force, and for her all sensation abruptly terminated. Then came Von Berger's voice in sharp command, as the shouts of men aroused new echoes in the black arena.

"Quick! Take him! Now cast off!"

The arms of men reached up and caught the inanimate body of Von Hertzwohl. It was dropped urgently into the bottom of the boat. Then, to the accompaniment of scrambling feet, the boat was vigorously propelled backwards into the ebbing tide.

The headlight was extinguished, and the boat vanished like a ghost into the blackness of the gaping cove.

A moment later the racing engine pulsated with a confusion of echoes, and a group of men stood at the water's edge searching for the direction in which the speeding craft was moving. It was hopeless.

Then came a voice – the authoritative voice of a leader.

"Don't fire. Not a shot. You can't be certain who you'll hit. They won't get far."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE CLOSE OF THE WEEK-END

A sensation of dreadful pain swept through an eternity of obscurity, impenetrable to all but a subconscious emotion. Horror floated through a world unseen, unknown. Terror thrilled senses dead to all reality. An abyss yawned on every hand, a black abyss in which stirred, all unseen, a threat so overwhelming that the victim remained passive, defenceless; waiting, waiting for the final crushing torture.

The blackness changed. It gave place to a deep, ruddy light. It was a light which inspired a sensation of fierce burning. The scorch of it was devastating, yet the torture went on as if the limit could never be reached.

The ruddy light faded to a grey twilight, through which shot tongues of forked flame, and, with each rift in the grey, pain shot a hundredfold more intense for its broken continuity. A terrified shrinking resulted. The moments of respite became a period of mental torture greater than the reality of the stabs of blinding light.

It seemed that no suffering could ever equal such agony again. It was living death.

Again it all changed. The bodily suffering no longer broke intermittently. Terror had given place to a grinding physical burden of agony in which something approaching consciousness had place. It came with a hammering upon the straining brain, and beat its way through the body, right down to the very depths of the tortured soul. It was unbearable, yet its burden seemed inevitable, and complaint seemed hushed by an irresistible power.

Then in the midst of all the torture a sound reached the victim. It was the sound of a voice, of voices. Harsh, jarring voices, carrying threat in every tone. It was the magic touch which brought about a vague semi-consciousness, and Vita's eyes slowly opened.

The pain went on, burning, throbbing pain, but she did not mind it. She was scarcely aware of it. The voices held her, and she struggled with all her power to grasp and hold their meaning. But the effort was beyond her. Only the words came, and with them a growing, unaccountable fear inspired by the violence of their intonation.

"Trapped like rats in a pit," she heard a voice cry out in thick tones.

"That door. Fool! They must come that way. We can shoot them down as they come. Trapped? They'll pay dearly for the trapping."

What were they talking of? And why in such tones? What were those other sounds she heard? Vita remained unmoving, helpless, and without understanding.

Suddenly a crash overwhelmed every other sound. It left her poor head whirling with uncertainty.

Then something else shivered through her every nerve. Another sound – different. There was a clatter and bumping, and strange, sharp explosions, such as in a vague way she half remembered having heard somewhere before. What was it? Each sound seemed to bite the air, echo, then die out. Then quickly on its heels another followed, and then another. Every explosion gave her a stab of exquisite pain in the head, her aching, throbbing head, in which the sufferings of her body seemed to find a sort of dull, constant echo.

Now came the sound of voices again. But they were indistinct exclamations which conveyed nothing to her. What was that tearing and crunching? A perfect pandemonium had suddenly been let loose, in which voices and biting explosions blended with the rush and scuttling of many feet. A dreadful nightmare of noise disturbed her. The hoarse cries of the voices were distressing. Something, something – Hark! What was that? That voice. She knew it.

"Hold him! Gad! He's like a tiger. Smash his wrist! Only get that gun from him! Ah! That's it. Now – see if he has any more weapons."

Full consciousness had suddenly awakened. The familiar voice had succeeded where pandemonium had failed. Vita stirred with infinite pain. With a great effort she moved her body. She could have wept with the torture of it. That voice. She must see him. She must gaze upon the face of the speaker. She must – With a lurch she strove to raise herself upon her elbow. For one dreadful second an agony surpassing anything she had ever endured crowded her brain, and swept through her nerves to every extremity of her body. Then she fell back, engulfed in the black abyss of complete unconsciousness.

Three men were seated in the dishevelled saloon of the gently rocking vessel. Brilliant electric light shone down upon the wreckage about them. At the far side of the apartment lay the still form of a woman stretched out upon a luxurious settee, which was built against the ship's side. In another direction another inanimate form was stretched out upon a lounge. But this was the lean figure of a tall man with grey hair and bushy eyebrows. His face was ghastly, and his eyes were staring. His square jaw was hanging loose, and his lips were agape.

These two figures seemed to have no interest for the three men who sat facing each other. One of them was seated on a chair that was fixed to the deck with its back swung round against the table. He was sitting in a hunched attitude of great pain. One hand was supporting the other arm just above the wrist. His stone-grey eyes burned with a desperate light.

The other men were within two yards of him. One, a youngish-looking man, in British naval uniform, was seated on the edge of a table. With his right hand he was grasping the butt of a revolver, whose muzzle was lying across the fleshy part of his thigh. The other, in civil dress, was astride of a chair.

The man in civil dress was speaking. His voice was stern and cold. And, by the expression of his dark eyes, it was obvious that he was holding himself under a great restraint.

"This is a bad end for a man holding the great position which Prince Frederick von Berger occupies," he said. "I want you to understand, Prince, that it is the end, just as surely as the sun will rise to-morrow. Do you grasp the position? I am not here to taunt you with it. But for your own sake I must make it clear to you. Your fellow-conspirator, Von Salzinger, has by this time been lowered to his last resting-place beneath the waters. For you there will be less mercy."

He paused, narrowly observing the fierce light shining in the desperate eyes. Ruxton had no desire for unnecessary cruelty, but Vita was lying injured and unconscious just across the room, and he had no thought to spare the author of her troubles.

"Make no mistake, Prince," he went on again, continuing his use of the Prussian's own tongue, and fighting down his own deep feelings, "there will be no succor from your countrymen. You have deliberately caused the murder of Von Hertzwohl upon British soil, and for that you will pay the full British penalty. That penalty, Prince, is the rope which awaits every common murderer."

Von Berger threw up his head in a fury of denial. The naval man sat alert, and the barrel of his revolver moved a shade. But the Prussian made no attempt at the violence which was gleaming in his eyes. His wrist had been smashed in the struggle which had taken place, and he knew he had no chance with these men.

"England dare not place me on trial, and condemn me," he cried fiercely.

Ruxton raised his brows.

"Dare not? You can put those words out of your head, Prince. The time has gone by when international relations could affect the administration of our courts of justice. Your own country has taught us the absurdity of such a policy. We have learned the necessity of protecting our own at any cost – even at the cost of war. You will be tried, and hanged for the murder you have committed."

The solemnity of Ruxton's words was not without effect. A curious questioning incredulity crept into Von Berger's desperate eyes. His lips parted to protest. Then they closed again in a spasm of pain. But a moment later his cold voice was speaking.

"There is no power on earth which can give you the right to hand a royal prince over to your police," he said. And his coldness and calmness were a triumph of the man over physical suffering.

"There is no power on earth which will stop me doing so – if you land at Dorby, where we shall presently head for."

Ruxton's manner was frigidity itself. His dark eyes looked steadily into the other's.

Quite abruptly a hard, mirthless laugh broke the silence.

"If I land?"

"If you land."

"Will you explain?"

Ruxton shrugged coldly.

"Is there need? I am prepared to display a lenience which is the only mercy you need hope for. You will be given the freedom of the deck for half an hour. We are lying awash. There is only a bare rail about it, a rail between you and the water. After that we return at once to Dorby – and the authority which deals with every common felon."