The Men Who Wrought

The evening shadows were softly drawing their veil about them. The plain little room had lost its crudeness of outline. Ruxton was seated in the armchair which had been set for him, and Vita was crouching curled up on the cushion on the floor close beside him. Ruxton was smoking now. He had been smoking for some minutes. Vita was listening to the voice she loved, and occasionally interrupted it with a question or comment.

He had just completed the story of his success, and her delight in it had held the woman forgetful of those things she had yet to tell to him.

But now, in the silence which had followed, a flood of recollection spread over her. She searched for a beginning with a brave desire to reveal as little of the disquiet which haunted her as possible.

"I have no such success to recount," she said at last, gazing up at the strong face above her with a tender smile of confidence. "I have heard from Von Salzinger, as I knew I should after that evening in – the car."

"Ah!"

Ruxton laid a hand firmly over one of Vita's, which rested on the arm of the chair. It was a gesture which had in it all a strong man's promise of protection. To Vita it conveyed a sensation of exquisite reassurance.

"Oh, it all seems so futile," she cried, with a sudden helplessness. "I mean when you think of the terrible Secret Service which seems to know everything. No one in England except ourselves knows of such a person as Valita von Hertzwohl. As for my home, only my father knows that. I have kept it secret even from you. And yet this Von Salzinger comes to England and – calls upon me. The refuge I had so carefully prepared for my father in case of emergency is – no refuge at all. I believe I am terrified."

"Tell me more." Ruxton leant forward in his chair. All satisfaction at the thought of his own affairs had died out of his expressive eyes. They were full of concern and sympathy for the woman he loved. "Where is this home? I had better know – now."

Vita smiled tenderly. His trifling emphasis on the final word helped to banish something of her fears. It was the reminder of the bond between them.

"It is the sweetest of aged Elizabethan farms in Buckinghamshire. It is called Redwithy Farm, and is less than two miles from Wednesford. It is the most romantically beautiful place you could find anywhere, small, but – I love it." She sighed deeply. "I was out riding when he called. I had no alternative but to see him."

"Why?" The man's earnest gaze was steady. His alert mind was seeking something, nor did he know the nature of what he sought.

"Because Vassilitz had admitted him in my absence. He had no right to, but – he did. I cannot – but it doesn't matter now. I simply dared not refuse to see him, so I affected cordiality and – gave him tea."

Ruxton made an impatient movement.

"Who is Vassilitz? What is he?" he demanded in a level tone.

"My butler. He is a Pole – a German Pole. All my servants are Poles. I have known them all my – "

"Ah. And you marvel at the power of the Secret Service?"

The gravity of her lover's tone startled Vita. But she could not credit his suspicion.

"But I have known them all my life. They are devoted to me and mine."

"Then I should know them no longer. But tell me of Von Salzinger. He has found you out. It does not much matter how. The purpose of his visit. That is the important matter."

It was some moments before Vita replied. A fresh terror was slowly taking possession of her. After a while, however, she pulled herself together with an effort.

"He told me it was to see me. I have told you that years ago he made love to me. He pretended his visit was – to see me."

"Pretended?"

A furious jealousy was suddenly taking possession of Ruxton. Only by a powerful self-control was he keeping it under. Vita understood by the tone of his enquiry, and hastily sought to set his doubts at rest.

"Oh, but he is a loathsome creature." Then she turned to him and looked up into his dark eyes. "Ruxton, dear," she appealed, "never, never, never believe anything but that I loathe and fear that man."

The demon of jealousy died out of the man's eyes and he smiled.

"I never will believe otherwise, Vita," he reassured her. "Now tell me."

After that Vita told her story briefly and simply. But at its conclusion she asseverated her conviction emphatically.

"He was lying. It was patent to me. If he desired to make love to me it was incidental. He came because he and the rest of them are in hot pursuit of the Borga affair. He is over here to fight to retrieve the position from which we know he has fallen. What they will do, what they can do – here – I cannot imagine. But they are so subtle – so subtle."

Again that haunting fear had come back to her eyes Ruxton pressed her hand gently.

"I think you are wrong, dear," he said firmly. "I am sure of it. As you say, they are subtle. I am convinced his visit to you was – for you." Ruxton's eyes had grown darker, and his brows drew together. Apprehension was stirring, but it was apprehension for Vita. "You must not receive him again. I do not think it safe for you down there. I should give the place up – temporarily. Anyway it can be no safe refuge for your – "

He broke off and sat up with a start. His caressing hand was drawn from hers with a suddenness that communicated some further anxiety to the woman. She watched him, searching his face while his hands groped in the side pockets of his coat.

"What is it?" she demanded, with a sharp intake of breath.

For reply Ruxton withdrew a newspaper folded, and held it out to her, pointing at the stop press paragraph on the outside fold.

"Read it," he said urgently.

She stood up and moved to the window for better light He watched her while she read.

"Can it be – ?" he demanded, leaving his sentence unfinished.

Vita looked up at last. Her eyes were wide. A stunned look was in them. Her parched lips moved.

"Do you think it's father?" she asked. "Do you think he has got away?" Then, with a sudden appealing gesture: "Oh, say you do."

CHAPTER XVII
THE CROUCH OF THE TIGER

Johann Stryj had departed as silently and undemonstratively as he had come. The chief spy was a born master of his craft. The only matter in which Nature had been less kind to him in his fitness for the work he had imposed upon himself was in the slightly furtive restlessness of his eyes. Otherwise the ideal had been achieved. His whole air of simple inoffensiveness left nothing to be desired.

Von Salzinger admitted these things to himself, in spite of the morose venom which the man's report upon Dorby had inspired.

This venomous mood, however, was not directed against his helper. It was inspired by his realization that his own purpose had been made more difficult of achievement. He had discovered that his efforts were not directed against private individuals, but against the British naval authority, an authority he had reason to know had nothing of the ineptitude of other departments of the Government.

Thus he sat back in the largest and most comfortable chair in his private sitting-room, with his trunk-like legs supported upon a smaller chair, and divided his savage mood between outlining the report he must now make to Berlin and the devouring of the contents of a large bier-stein, which stood on the table within reach.

He had nearly succeeded in achieving his double purpose, and incidentally relieving his unpleasant mood, when a diversion occurred in the form of a telephone summons from the hotel office below.

A visitor for him. Name of Von Berger. Would he see him at once?

Yes, Ludwig von Salzinger would be pleased to see him at once. This is what he 'phoned down. To himself he cursed bitterly in homely Prussian adjectives.

Von Berger was the last person he wanted to see in England until the outcome of his work was assured. This man's coming suggested all sorts of vague and disquieting thoughts. With Von Berger in England he would no longer be a free agent. He would be forced to yield the conduct of affairs to another – a man whom he felt had neither friendliness nor mercy for any soul on earth. He was more than disquieted. He was awed, and not a little apprehensive.

The latter was displayed in an almost schoolboy action that was pathetically humorous. He quickly removed his bier-stein– and concealed it.

The entrance of Von Berger was characteristic of the frigid, unyielding aspect he displayed at all times. No one could have encountered this personality and detected one soft spot in the whole of its make-up. It was almost as if something of the iron of his native Baltic shores had been bred into him through the ages of his ruthless ancestry. No iceberg in the northern reaches of his native inland sea could have gleamed more coldly bright than his hard eyes. No ice-bound crag could have been cut more sharply than the thin compressed lips of his set mouth.

He entered the room with cold assurance. He possessed himself of the chair which had supported Von Salzinger's legs, and occupied it without invitation. He indicated the armchair beside which Von Salzinger was standing, with the certainty of authority. And the lesser man sat in it, obedient to his visitor's lightest command. There was no greeting between them.

Von Berger's keen eyes searched the room. For a moment they rested upon the door which shut off the other's bedroom.

"That door?" he demanded.

"My bedroom, Excellency."

"Ah! Admission that way?"

"I keep the outer door locked."

The cold eyes surveyed the windows. They were closed. Then his regard came back to the heavy square face of his host.

"Von Hertzwohl has – escaped."

There was no emphasis; no heat of any sort. The lips moved, and the pronouncement was made. That was all.

Von Salzinger started. Then a half-smile grew in his eyes. In a vague way he realized that the Prince's flight was a triumph and vindication for himself. But his momentary satisfaction was damped by the cold voice of his visitor.

"On receipt of your report that you had discovered the identity of the man who visited Borga, vigilance was redoubled. For obvious reasons we had no desire to arrest him until more definite news was received. He had no suspicion that he was – observed. Then, suddenly he disappeared. We picked up his tracks. He had escaped by sea in his submersible. Our squadron very nearly effected his capture. However, he escaped. He must have received news from – here. He is probably making for – here. Have you any additional report to make?"

Von Salzinger cleared his throat. He sat up. The veins stood out upon his square temples. His momentary satisfaction was completely gone. In its place was a sickening apprehension that his enemy was slipping through his fingers, and in doing so it seemed more than likely he might contrive to make his, Von Salzinger's, position even less favorable with Berlin.

"Yes, Excellency. I was about to write one when I received the telephone message of your arrival."

"Let me have the details quickly and briefly."

"In the yards at Dorby in Yorkshire, owned by Farlow, Son and Farlow – Ruxton Farlow is a partner – certain portions of them have been taken over by the British Admiralty. But these portions are not being used for naval purposes. They are constructing a new type of mercantile submersible from foreign plans, which have only very recently come to England. The submersible portion of these vessels is the principle perfected by Hertzwohl in our naval submarines. The rest of them is an entirely new design. But the complete boat is the design of – one man."

"Hertzwohl."

"That is how I read it."

"The object of naval authority in these yards is – ?"

"Security and secrecy."

"Which proves the plans have either been stolen or traitorously acquired, and they fear interference and – reprisal."

Von Salzinger nodded.

"And this information?" Von Berger's enquiry came with even colder incisiveness.

"We have men working in the shops. We have one man in the drawing office. All hands, even the clerical staff of these departments, work under oath of secrecy, and naval discipline." Von Salzinger smiled contemptuously. "This, however, does not impede our flow of information. The man in the drawing office has discovered that the plans are shortly to be photographed by the naval authorities. Further, they are testing a new light which seems to correspond with our new U-rays, which was found to be defective by us, and the vital parts of which Hertzwohl removed on his last visit to Borga. If this light should prove to be identical with the U-rays it suggests a further conspiracy. Hertzwohl contrived its faultiness himself, and seized the opportunity of removing the vital parts of the —only– lamp we possessed. It suggests that the whole thing was carefully planned and carried out by – Hertzwohl."

The only sign from Von Berger was a curious flicker of the eyelids. The unyielding expression of his keen face never varied for one moment.

"This man Farlow – Ruxton Farlow?"

Von Salzinger shook his head.

"For the moment he is beyond our reach. He is a Minister in the British Cabinet."

"Yes."

For some moments neither spoke. Von Salzinger watched this man whom he feared more than any man in Berlin. He was wondering at the activity behind those cold eyes. He was speculating as to the direction in which that force would drive. He labored under no delusion. The conduct of this affair was to be removed from his hands. It was an added bitterness, but a certain relief left it not without compensation. If this matter were successfully dealt with, no matter by whom, it must redound to his advantage.

Von Berger did not leave him long in doubt.

"It may be possible to destroy those plans – before they are copied," he said. "If they have already been traced, still it will be a proper step. They may even have neglected to trace them – these English. I must see Stryj at once. You will telephone him. Not now," as Von Salzinger rose with alacrity to obey. "There is another matter to be dealt with first. Hertzwohl has got away. He must be silenced. He must be punished. If he is in England – of which I have no doubt, he would be even less safe elsewhere – he is to be run to earth, and his power for further mischief must be – cut off. You understand."

Von Salzinger's eyes were full of meaning as he nodded, but there was no fraction of change in the other's. Von Berger drew a note-book from his pocket, and turned some odds and ends of papers over. Finally he selected one.

He held it out, and his level eyes forced Von Salzinger's till the latter felt that the remotest secrets could be penetrated by their cold intensity.

"You know that place?" he enquired.

Von Salzinger read —

"Redwithy Farm, Wednesford, Bucks."

He drew a deep breath. At the sound of it Von Berger's eyelids flickered.

"Yes." Von Salzinger's eyes were slowly raised to the other's.

"Quite so. You visited there the other day. For what purpose?"

"Information." There was a flush in the man's fleshy cheeks. He loathed and feared those searching eyes.

"Was your visit productive?"

Von Salzinger shrugged.

"No."

"We will visit there together and must make our visit productive. Vassilitz will expect us there to-night. If Hertzwohl is in England we must find him through the Princess Valita. Now send for Stryj."

CHAPTER XVIII
FROM BENEATH THE WATERS

The appeal in Vita's voice, in her yearning, distressed eyes, when she demanded her lover's reassurance of her father's escape, was not without a powerful effect on the romantic chivalry which was so large a part of Ruxton's nature. It set every nerve in his body tingling to serve her. Then, too, the debt he owed to the Prince himself, in the name of his country, urged him.

That night he had bought later editions of the paper, seeking further news which might throw light upon the matter, and possibly yield an explanation of the Baltic incident which might relieve them of all anxiety. But none was forthcoming. The reports passed from the "stop press" to the news columns without added detail. Editorial speculation was added, but this afforded no clue to the unravelling of the mystery.

Then, at last, Ruxton took a decision. Its purpose was vague, but the impulse was irresistible. His whole thoughts focussed themselves upon Dorby and the work going on there. He had offered this foreigner the shelter of his home. He had impressed it upon him. It seemed to him that such being the case, should his anticipation prove correct, his place, at the moment, was unquestionably Dorby.

He communicated his feelings on the matter to Vita, who saw in his ideas the inspiration which he would never have admitted.

"If it should be that he has escaped those dreadful guns," she said, her hands clasped in an effort to steady herself, "Dorby is the place he will make for – the Old Mill Cove. Oh, my dear, my dear, can you not see what would happen if he arrived with no one there to caution him? He would make for Redwithy. He would come straight to me. And Von Salzinger would be ready for him. You will go? You will help him for my sake? Ah, thank you," as the man nodded his silent reassurance. "Meanwhile I will return home at once that I may be ready for every eventuality – and Von Salzinger. I will let you know any development."

So it came about that Ruxton found himself at Dorby Towers once more, in deep consultation with his father, who, with steady twinkling eyes, listened and advised with all the shrewd, calm wisdom of his clear commercial brain.

Nearly the whole of the next day was spent by Ruxton upon the cliffs, where, with powerful glasses, he searched the calm surface of the treacherous grey waters of the North Sea. His search remained unrewarded, but he was indefatigable. His watch was kept up with the aid of a confidential man of his father's to relieve him, and when evening came he decided that a night watch must follow the day. He had carefully calculated the time from the date and hour of the Baltic firing, and, in the light of the experience of his own journey to Borga, he calculated that if the Prince had actually escaped, and was making for Dorby, he would reach the coast some time during the next twelve hours.

From three o'clock in the afternoon until darkness set in he had rested, leaving his assistant on guard. Then he set out alone to keep his night vigil.

His way took him across the wild moorland in the direction of the black remains of the old mill, and, in setting out, he remembered that night which now seemed so far back in his memory, when, out of the darkness, he had heard those tones he had now come to love so well. This time, however, his dinner coat and thin shoes had been abandoned in favor of a heavy tweed ulster and thick shooting boots. For the autumn night was bitter with a light breeze from the northeast, and a great silvery moon, and the cold diamonds of a starlit sky, suggested that the speeding hours were likely to bring with them many degrees of frost before he could return to the warmth of his bed.

His direction gave him no trouble. Every foot of the moorland cliff was familiar to him with the instinct bred through childish years of association. Then there was the great, heavy moon yielding a light by which it would almost have been possible to read.

So he strode on towards his goal, the blackened skeleton, which marked the old dishonest times of battles fought out against authority. With the detachment of youth his thoughts had been left free to wander from the purpose of his journey. A deep concentration had completed every detail of the work that lay before him. And so the resiliency of his brain had caused a rebound to those wonderful thoughts which claimed his every human sensation.

He was thinking of Vita. His mental faculties had visualized once more the perfections which were hers, and those with which this love of his endowed her. His big heart was stirred to its very depths with the memory of her final, wistful appeal. He felt that if human effort could serve her, that effort, the whole of it that was in him, was at her service. He felt that all quite suddenly a great new power had been vouchsafed him, a power to do, to act, and to think – all for the woman who had inspired in him this wonderful, wonderful feeling of love.

Nothing, no task, no labor, however great, was too arduous for him to accomplish. More, it was a happiness, such as never in his life he had known, to be privileged with the task of contributing to her happiness.

In the mood of the moment he had no desire to look ahead. The concerns of the future belonged to the future. For him, in this matter, the present was all-sufficient. Next to him Vita loved her father. She had fearlessly undertaken work which might well have daunted any woman, to help him in his motives of humanity. Was there any more sublime motive for a woman's action? He thought not. And a wave of delighted appreciation swept over him. In the ghostly silvery light of that autumn night he thanked God that the love of such a woman had been vouchsafed him.

He reached the decayed surroundings of the old mill all too soon. But, with a readiness which found him stoically regretless, he probed once more the mysteries of the old mill. It was precisely as he had left it on his return from Borga, which seemed so long ago. He could detect no sign that any one had been near the place. He was glad. He felt its secret was still safe, and was yet a power to serve the woman he loved.

The journey through the bowels of the earth was one of simple accomplishment now. He even required no lantern. All that was necessary was the lighting of an occasional match to verify his positions.

At the cavern mouth he found that it was high tide. The rock-girt pit was darkly sombre, but the radiance of the moon was sufficient to outline the restless, lapping water's edge, which was all he needed. With some care he scrambled over the slippery boulders and finally made his way to a great projection which overhung the water some fifteen feet below, and took up his position upon its rugged, unyielding extremity. Here he sat in full view of the mouth of the great inlet, through which the waters were still churning. Beyond it, miles out to sea, he could observe every light or object silhouetted against the skyline. But he knew that if Prince von Hertzwohl were making for the Old Mill Cove he would not approach it till the tide was at a low ebb. That would not occur for some hours.

The tide had long since fallen. It had been ebbing for nearly three hours and a half. So still was the air, so oppressive the sense of silent crowding by the towering cliffs about him, that Ruxton's ears had become attuned to every change in the sound of the lapping waters below him. He had recognized the period of slack water. Then he had caught and read the change of sound with the first signs of the ebb. Then again he had recognized its increasing speed. And all the time eyes and ears were straining for sight or sound from beyond the mouth of the cove. He had seen lights pass: slow, distinct, as some trader or trawler passed upon its chilly way. But these had been far beyond the range at which he expected the signs of the submersible.

It was warmer down in the cove than upon the moorland, but the chill of the night air was penetrating, and he huddled his neck down in the high upturned collar of his coat and drew its skirts closer about his knees. It was a dreary vigil, but his determination never wavered.

A few minutes later he produced a cigar, prepared to obtain the trifling comfort which tobacco might afford him, but, in the act of striking a match he abruptly abandoned the attempt. He flung it away and raised his night glasses. Some sound had caught his straining ears. It came from well beyond the towering gateway. It seemed to him like the vague and indistinct throb of powerful engines. After a moment's search the glasses revealed some dark bulk on the bosom of the sea. In a moment he was on his feet searching, searching.

Minutes passed. To him it seemed the bulk remained stationary, but its very indefiniteness left him doubting. At last he lowered his glasses and gave himself up to listening. Then he prepared to light his cigar again. He could hear no sound of engines now. He – A light had flashed out! Instantly a responsive thrill passed down through his sensitive nerves.

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!"