Presently in a low hurried voice Vita began her story. She made no attempt to convey to him the terror through which she had passed. Yet it was all there. It lay under every word she uttered. It found expression in the brilliancy of her eyes, and the heated color which leapt to her thin cheeks. Ruxton read it all as if he were witnessing the whole action of the scenes she was describing. He not only read it, but something of a sympathetic dread swept through him, and his heart set him wondering how his poor troubled love had managed to survive the horror of all she must have endured.
Vita told him of Von Berger's coming, silently, secretly to Redwithy, and the way in which he had forced her to embark on that journey over the wild moorlands into the heart of Somersetshire. Then she told him of the imprisonment in the dreadful valley. She hurried on to the scene when Von Berger had warned her of her condemnation to death. After that she paused, gathering her courage for what was next to come. Her eyes gazed yearningly into her lover's now serious face. Her courage was ebbing fast. Then came the heartening tones of his voice.
"Tell it all, dearest. You have nothing to fear. Perhaps I can guess it."
Instantly her courage rose, and she poured out the story of her renunciation of his love, that she might be permitted to live. And in her renunciation she warned him that she had been resolved to carry it out to the hideous completion of marriage with Von Salzinger.
And while she leant back on her cushions pouring out her passionate story, Ruxton's thoughts were less on her words than on the wonder at the loyalty and honesty which made it necessary for her to lay bare her very soul to him now, revealing every weakness which she believed to be hers. Its effect upon him was deep and lasting. Blame? Where could there be blame? The thought became the maddest thing in the world to him. His whole soul went out to her in her suffering. All he felt he longed to do was to place his strong arms about her and defend her from all the world; to drive off even the vaguest shadow of memory which might disturb her.
But he did nothing. Her hand lay passive in his, and he waited while she recounted the details of the night journey from Somersetshire to the North. Then, when she came to the final scene of her father's death, passion surged through his veins, and he rose from his seat on the bed and paced the limits of the room.
"The treacherous devils!" he muttered. "The hounds! Gad! they could not beat him, so they played upon a woman, a defenseless woman. It was German. But they have paid – both of them. But the old man! The pity – the pity of it. If I could only have saved him."
Ruxton was not addressing her, but Vita was following his every word. Now she caught at his final sentence.
"No one could," she said, with a deep sigh. "I led him to that place of death, as surely as – "
"No, no, Vita! You must not say that. You are no more responsible for his death than I am. Those devils would have got him. If not in one way, then in another. He knew it. He was prepared for it. He told me himself. No, no, you did right. If there were shortcomings they were mine. I did not see far enough. Thank God, at least I contrived to save you from the fate they had prepared for you."
Vita's eyes had followed his restless movement. Now they rested upon his flushed face and hot eyes as he returned to his seat on the bed and took possession of her hand again.
"Thank God for your life and safety, dearest," he cried, raising her hand to his lips and pressing it to them passionately. "It was the nearest thing. It turns me cold now when I think how near. Listen and I'll tell you my side of it all. It's not a very brainy side, dear. There's not much in it that's particularly creditable to any thinking man. Most of it was luck, a sort of miraculous good fortune added to an inspiration for which I mustn't take any credit. I'll just take up the tale where you left it, but from the other side – the side whence you might well have expected succor, and from which, very nearly, there was none forthcoming."
He paused. He leant over on the bed, supporting himself on one arm. His dark eyes were shining as they dwelt upon the well-loved beauty of the woman who was, perhaps, at that moment, more than ever the centre of his life.
"I can't tell how I arrived at the certainty that you were in the power of these devils, and were being forced unwittingly to further their schemes. It was instinct, it was – well, whatever you like to call it. There's no need to worry you with the manner in which I persuaded your father to let me watch over him in his going from these shores. Nor does it matter the small things I prepared for that watch. I'll just tell you what happened.
"I owe a good deal to a small section of the Navy, including Sir Joseph Caistor and Sir Reginald Steele, who were both spending the week-end here. Also Commander Sparling, and some of his men, who are in charge of the new constructions at the yards. Captain Ludovic I owe something to for his shrewdness and loyalty and tolerance. These are the elements which contributed so largely in your salvation.
"Well, all day long on that Sunday a light cruiser was standing off the coast. It had definite instructions. Yes, Sir Joseph had ordered it there to help me. It was scouting for a submarine. You see, I had made up my mind that there would be a German submarine in the matter. That is to say, if my fears were to prove well founded. Sure enough one turned up late in the afternoon, and the cruiser picked her up while she was running awash. We got the signal that she'd found her. Then was played a wonderful game of cat and mouse. The cruiser never for a moment let it out of her sight. When darkness closed she just ran up closer and played about with a searchlight. There was no question of interfering with or even 'speaking' her. She was outside the three miles. Then about six o'clock there came the development. The submarine launched a boat for shore. It was well manned, and she drove away in the direction of the cove. Then the cruiser settled to her work. She turned her searchlight right on to the vessel lying awash, and never left it. The men on the submarine could do nothing which could not be seen from the cruiser, and, to make matters more exasperating, the cruiser closed right in upon her."
Ruxton paused as though reviewing and criticizing the scene, to observe the completeness of the operation.
"You must understand, dear, what was in my mind to make this necessary," he went on, seeing the need for explanation. "You see, I knew what your father's submersible meant to Germany. They had lost the plans of the U-rays lamp. Nor had they any models. The only installation of the U-rays was on the submersible. I had made up my mind that if there was to be any interference with your father they meant capturing his vessel too. Besides, it would be simple from their view-point. Your father's vessel was wholly unarmed.
"Very well. What were the intentions with a submarine probably full of German naval men? It seemed to me natural that while their boat went ashore, in pitch darkness, to take off your father, the men on the submarine would set about securing possession of the submersible the moment it hove in sight. How right I was you will see. However, the submarine never had a chance. She could not escape that light. She dived again and again to avoid it, but each time she came up the light picked her up and held her. Had they attempted to launch a boat the cruiser would have done the same, and then followed it up whithersoever it went; and, had there been an attempt to board the submersible, our boat would have been there first. The skipper of that submarine was out-manœuvred, beaten – peaceably, but – beaten. Nor had he means of communicating his trouble to those in the boat which had gone ashore."
Now Ruxton's manner become less exultant as he went on after a brief pause.
"What went on at the cove you know better than I. That was the chief weakness of my plans. I stationed a number of the confidential Government agents ready to lend help if it were needed. But I had been driven to concentrating on the ultimate 'get away.' That, to me, stood out as imperative. I had to chance the other. Therein lay my blame for the sacrifice of your father. The sound of shots fired told its tale, but I still hoped."
He drew a deep sigh of regret. His eyes were troubled. Now he went on, without a sign of elation.
"The crucial moment came when it was seen that the pinnace, loaded well down, was racing towards the submersible from the shore. It was more than ticklish. However, things were carefully planned. They hailed the submersible, which was lying awash. They found only two men on the deck – your father's men, and Captain Ludovic in the conning-tower doorway. Von Berger led the way aboard, and Von Salzinger followed. The former glanced at the men, and spoke to Ludovic. In his words he justified my whole supposition. He asked for a Lieutenant Rutter, and Ludovic, in assumed sullen submission, told him he was below in the saloon. Von Berger was satisfied. He only waited till the crew was aboard, and you, lying unconscious in the arms of one of his men, and your father's body supported by two others, had been conveyed down below. Then he gave Ludovic orders to head at full speed for Cuxhaven, and, if followed, to submerge. He said that the man Rutter would be sent up to see he played no tricks. Then he and Von Salzinger went below, and the steel door of the conning-tower was made fast.
"The rest – do you need it? It was a bloody affair. You and your dead father were taken into the saloon. Von Berger and Von Salzinger followed. Then Von Berger dismissed the men, who went out while he looked round for Rutter. But in a moment he understood what was happening. As the men left the saloon they were set upon. They fought like demons, but were either overpowered or shot down. Von Berger slammed the saloon door closed, and strove to hold it. But as well try to hold a rabbit-hutch against a tornado. They were caught. Caught, as I heard Von Salzinger say, like rats in a trap."
"You – you were there – in the submersible?"
Vita's eyes were shining with a world of emotion. The story had caught her and swept her along with it. A great pride was in her heart. This man had risked all, everything for her father and herself.
"Oh, yes. But I wasn't by any means alone. Young Sparling and twenty of his bluejackets from the yards had been secreted aboard. But – it was deadly work. How I escaped without a scratch I don't know. Five of our men got wounded. Von Berger fought like a fury. The other, Von Salzinger, went out suddenly at the outset. I'm not sure who brought him down. Sparling and I fired simultaneously. I hope it was my shot that sent him – home. But Von Berger was wonderful. It was not until we had crushed his wrist and hand in the fighting that he was overpowered. He was a veritable Hercules."
Vita had listened almost breathlessly. Now her enquiry came in a low, eager tone.
"And Von Berger – what happened after he was overpowered?"
Ruxton hesitated.
"It was he who killed my father," Vita reminded him.
"Yes."
"Tell me."
Ruxton had no alternative.
"We had a talk – he and I. The result? He was given an alternative. The hangman's rope here ashore, or half an hour's freedom of the submersible's deck."
Vita nodded. She understood.
"And he chose?"
"The deck. You see he was a royal prince."
"Yes."
Neither seemed inclined to break the silence that followed. Each was thinking of the scenes which must have been enacted. Ruxton, as he had witnessed them. Vita, as her imagination portrayed them.
Finally it was Vita who spoke in a whisper that became almost startling.
"The others – the crew of the boat?"
"They have been all sent back to Germany – via Holland. They were all held here till the wounded had recovered. Then they went away together."
But Vita's eyes were wide with apprehension.
"But the secret. The secret of it all will reach Berlin. It will reach even to – "
Ruxton smiled.
"Precisely what was intended and – hoped. It has done so. We know that. We have had the most curious and subtle enquiries from the Berlin authorities. They dared not openly accuse. We have replied. Our Foreign Office formulated the reply. They have been told that a murder was committed upon the Yorkshire coast – the murder of a German named Von Hertzwohl. It was committed by a rascally crew of Germans, headed by one, Von Berger, and assisted by another, Von Salzinger. These seem to have been the names they were known by, though the police think they were probably aliases. Unfortunately the gang got away in boats. However, the leaders came to an untimely end in the pursuit by the police. One shot himself – the one called Von Salzinger. The other, Von Berger, who seems to have been injured, tried to escape by going overboard from the boat in which he was endeavoring to get away. The Foreign Office has regretted that it can obtain no further information which might be of use to Berlin."
"But it is a challenge," cried Vita in an awed voice.
Ruxton's smile broadened.
"So it was intended." He shook his head. "But it is a challenge they dare not take up. Furthermore, it should leave us in peace to complete the work your poor father has so well begun."
Ruxton rose from his seat on the bed. He moved away, across to the leaded window, from which the sunbeam had long since passed. He gazed out across the leafless trees of the park towards the drab of the moorland beyond. He was not unaffected by his own story. He knew how much more it must mean to Vita. He waited. He was waiting for a summons which he felt would come in Vita's own good time.
A few minutes passed and then it came. He turned about and smiled over at the sweet grey eyes which were so frankly appealing. There was a change, a great change in them. All the trouble seemed to have passed out of them. And the weary brain behind them seemed at last to have found that rest it so seriously needed.
"Ruxton," she murmured. "Can you – can you ever forgive me for – what – "
The man was at the bedside again. This time he was not sitting. He was leaning across it, and his arms were outstretched and thrust about her soft, warm body, where she leant against the cushions. His face was drawn up within a few inches of hers. His eyes were on a level with hers. They were smiling into the deeps of grey beauty before them. Nay, the tragedy of it, he was laughing into them.
"Promising to marry Von Salzinger? If I had been in your place I shouldn't have promised. I'd have married him right off if it were to save me from being murdered." Then his laugh died out abruptly. "Don't think of it, my beautiful Vita. Don't ever let the thought of it enter your dear, dear head again. If ever a poor defenceless woman went through an earthly hell, you did. Sweetheart, it's my sole purpose in life now to endeavor to place you in an earthly heaven."
He drew her to him in a passionate embrace. And so their lips met and lingered.
CHAPTER XXXI
AFTER TWELVE MONTHS
The shock which electrified London was reminiscent of the shocks to which it was submitted in the early days of the war, when the "Yellow" press ran riot, and journalists dipped deeply into their reservoirs of superlatives to generate the current of sensation which should sell their papers.
It was a misty afternoon, with an almost intangible yet saturating drizzle; a setting admirably fitting an evening newspaper thrill. Spirits were at a sufficiently low ebb for something of a screaming nature. Fleet Street did its best; a best at no time to be despised.
It came as the homeward rush began from the offices of the great metropolis. It stared out from street corners and the fronting of bookstalls. It looked up from the greasy pavements. It served to hide a portion of the rags which hung about the nether limbs of small street urchins. It came in strident, raucous tones upon the moisture-laden atmosphere. There was no escaping it. That which escaped the eyes thrust itself upon defenceless ear. And its urgent note created the necessary excitement in minds set upon the task of making the homeward journey with the least possible delay.
Then, at once, the careless eye was caught and held. "Under Water: The World Defied," cried one contents bill. "The New Submersible Merchantman," announced one of the more sedate journals. "The Great Problem Solved," cryptically suggested a buff-tinted sheet. "From Downing Street to the Deeps," smiled the more flippant pink announcement. And so on through the whole jargon of the press poster. There was no escape from it. The word "submersible" seemed to fill the whole of the wretched winter atmosphere. And, as was intended, it caught the London fancy, and deflected purpose into the channel it desired.
London was startled; and when London is startled by its press it is no niggard. Therefore the rain of coppers which set in became perilously near a deluge. The small boys snatched, and the old sinners with grey whiskers and weather-stained faces swept in their harvest. The bookstall attendants dealt out their papers in a steady, accurate stream, and, within an hour, the whole of London's democracy had formulated its definite opinion upon the new adventure, in the dogmatic manner of the British ratepayer.
Strange and mixed were many of the opinions which flew from lip to lip in the overcrowded homeward bound trains and 'buses. True, there were many who read the well-told story of the skilful journalist as they might read a sensational tale in a sixpenny magazine. They enjoyed it. They devoured it hungrily. Then they passed on to the sports page, and considered the doings of their favorites in the sporting world. But the suburban ratepayer, the householder whose responsibilities left him no alternative but to take himself seriously, was of a different calibre. He possesses to the full the stolid, fault-finding mind of the British race. He is as full of prejudice as the egg is supposed to be full of meat. He is ready at all times to hurl blame and anathema at the heads of those who conspire to extract from his pocket the necessary funds to contrive that he shall live in security and comfort in his home. He is the victim of a splendid pessimism for all things except his summer holiday. His opinions come like a shot from a gun.
He read with incredulity until he arrived at the point where he felt righteously he could open afresh the rut of his ever-ready disapproval. Then the full force of what he read percolated heavily through his fog of prejudiced incredulity, and virtuous indignation supervened.
"What was this absurd nonsense? Who ever heard of submersible merchantmen? What fresh folly of the Government was coming now? The Prime Minister on the trial trip. Why the devil didn't he stick to his job in Downing Street? The moment these fellows got their five thousand a year they didn't care a hang for the country. Playing about with these toys of some crazy inventor. It made one sick. Anyway, if the Government were concerned in the scheme, why was it kept secret? Why wasn't the taxpayer told of it? Who was making the money out of it? Somebody. There was always graft in these secret things. There was too much of this hole-in-the-corner business – entirely too much. Altogether too much disregard for the liberty of the subject," etc., etc.
But the Fleet Street chorus of "epochs" and "masterly moves" and "strokes of statesmanship" found an abiding echo amongst the optimists. They saw, with eyes wide open, that which they read. There was no grumble in them. Why should there be? That which they read told them clearly of success. It told them that never again would Britain's overseas commerce be placed in jeopardy from enemy attack in time of war; that is, if British enterprise would only rise to the opportunity afforded. That was simple enough. Of course the ship-owners would see their advantage. Germany – pah!
The men who personally felt aggrieved, however, were the professional politicians and the private Member. These men were seriously perturbed. Here was real limelight, and they were not in it! Horrible thought! Their course lay clearly before them. An attack upon inoffensive paper, by a pen, erroneously believed to be mightier than the sword, was their only hope of making up leeway. So those who had sufficient influence hurled broadcast the next morning, in their favorite daily papers, a wealth of ill-considered and valueless criticism and opinion of something which they were splendidly incompetent to judge.
And the cause of all the sensation? It was so small an incident, and yet so tremendous in its omen for the future. Just the story of a number of eminent men, Cabinet Ministers, naval and army men, and one or two great ship-builders, running a blockade of warships, and successfully shipping a cargo of pretended contraband of war from Dundee to Gravesend. The game had been played in deadly earnest. It was a test trip for a new type of submersible cargo and passenger vessel, pitting its powers against the concentrated might of a large squadron of the British Navy. It was a test of efficiency. The details were simple in the extreme. The laden vessel, carrying a thousand tons of merchandise and its burden of passengers, was lying at Dundee. Outside, watching and waiting for its appearance on the high seas, lay a powerful squadron of the British Navy. The rules laid down were that the submersible should make its way to Gravesend, and the naval squadron, under war conditions, was to capture it, or place it in such a position as to be sinkable, by any means in its power, at any point upon its journey.
The result. With all the skill and power at its command the great surface squadron had proved its helplessness. The submersible had slipped out of port under cover of darkness, and from that moment, until its arrival at Gravesend, the seas had been scoured vainly for so much as a sight of it.
It was a tremendous thought. It was a splendid victory for the pacifist hope. The dead Polish inventor had been justified beyond all question. Never had the word "epoch," such as Fleet Street loves, been better used. It was such a moment that those who made the secret journey, and witnessed the capabilities of the vessel which had been built at the Dorby yards, were flung back from all preconceived convictions of maritime affairs, established during the war, to imaginative speculation upon the vista of progress now opened up.
Not a man of them, from the Prime Minister of England down to the junior lieutenant upon the vainly striving fleet of war-vessels, but realized a picture of the doom of the magnificent and costly super-Dreadnought as the pillar of might upon which naval power must rest. Its proud office gone, it appeared to them as little greater than a means of defence against the landing of hostile man power upon Britain's vulnerable shores. The proud queens of the sea must pass from their exalted thrones to a lesser degree in naval armaments.
Nor was the realization without pity and regret. How could it be otherwise in the human heart which ever worships the actual display of might? It almost seemed as if the world had been suddenly given over to topsy-turveydom.
The facts, however, were irrefutable. As in the dim past the troublous surface of the seas had been conquered by the intrepid and skilful mariner, now at last the devious submarine channels had been turned into an almost equally secure highway of traffic by the inventor. The march of progress was continuing. It was invention triumphant. The world's sea-borne commerce was secured. It was held safe from enemy war-craft in the future. Therefore the doom of the proud battleship had been sounded.
Some day, perhaps, a new weapon would be achieved. Some day, perhaps, even the channels of the dark waters would be rendered insecure by the hand that had now made them safe. For the present, however, and probably for years to come, the sea-borne food supplies of Britain stood in no position of jeopardy.
It was well past midnight. The house in Smith Square quite suddenly displayed renewed signs of life. A closed motor had driven up, paused, and then passed on. Then appeared many lights behind the small-paned Georgian windows.
Ruxton Farlow had returned home with his wife after a strenuous and exciting day; and with them was their devoted Yorkshire father, burning with the sense of a great triumph for his beloved son, and his almost equally beloved daughter.
Their journey from Gravesend earlier in the evening had been broken that they might attend an informal dinner-party at Downing Street. It was a function entirely in honor of the masters of Dorby; and it had been arranged that Ruxton's colleagues in the country's Cabinet might tender their sincere congratulations and thanks for the work which he, and his father, and his wife had achieved privately in their country's cause.
It was over; and all three were relieved and thankful. But the note of triumph surging through their hearts was still dominant. Scarcely a word had passed between them in the brief run from Downing Street to Smith Square. Their hearts were as yet too full, and the memory of the words addressed to them by Sir Meeston and his colleagues was still too poignant to permit of normal conditions. Vita had leant back in the car, with her husband's arm linked through hers, and one of his powerful hands clasped in hers. She sat thus with thought teeming, and a heart thrilling with an unspeakable joy, and happiness, and triumph, all for the man at her side. Her own share in the events through which they had passed was entirely forgotten by her. This man at her side filled her whole focus. He was all in all to her, as she felt he was all in all to the cause in which they had worked.
It was perhaps the profoundest and proudest moment of her life. It was a moment of perfect happiness. All she had ever dreamed of was hers; and the hand of the man she worshipped was even now, warm and strong, clasped tightly in her own. Hers to keep; hers to lean on; hers never to yield so long as their lives should last.
In the house they passed up into the small drawing-room, and, for a few moments, they sat there before retiring. Slowly the spell of the day's events fell from them. It was finally Sir Andrew who released them from it.
He gazed across at Vita with twinkling eyes. His smile was full of kindly tenderness.
"Now, perhaps, I shall have time to appreciate the fact that at last I am the happy possessor of a beautiful daughter as well as a headstrong son," he said. Then, after the briefest hesitation: "Vita, my dear," he went on, in his old-fashioned manner, while his gaze took in the radiant beauty turned abruptly towards him, "it seems to me that the most wonderful thing in the world has happened to me. The long, lonely life seems to have entirely passed. I mean the loneliness which only a man can feel who is deprived for all time of the association of his own womankind. Now at last I can draw deep comfort from the reflection of Ruxton's happiness. Now, however slight my claim, I can nevertheless claim something of a woman's filial regard. The grey of life has been tinted for me since you have chosen to make my boy happy, and as time goes on I can see that tint develop into the roseate hue of a happiness I somehow never thought to feel again. Bless you, my dear, for coming into an old man's life; and you, too, my boy," he went on, turning to the smiling Ruxton, "for having given me such a daughter. I feel this is the moment for saying this. The work is done now in workmanlike fashion, and the little triumph of it all makes me want to tell you of this thing that I feel."
Vita impulsively left her husband's side. She rose from the settee and crossed over to her second father and held out both her hands.
"You have made it difficult for me to say a word – " she began, smiling down upon him with her glorious eyes. Then she seemed to become speechless.
The oriflamme of her red-gold hair shone with a delicious burnish under the shaded electric light. Her flushed oval cheek glowed with a suggestion of thrilling happiness. The old man caught and held her hands, and, the next moment, she had bent her slimly graceful body and impressed upon his rugged cheek a kiss of deep affection.
Still she remained speechless, and she turned and glanced with dewy eyes in appeal to the great husband looking on.
"Won't you help me?" she demanded wistfully.
Ruxton laughed happily.
"Help?" he said quickly. Then he shook his head. "No, no. You don't need any help. Just tell him what you once told me. You remember." His eyes became serious. "You said 'I love him almost as if he were really my own father.' He won't need more."
And Vita obeyed him, reciting the words almost like some child. But she meant them, and felt them, and at the last word her glance was full of a whimsical light as she added of her own initiative —
"And aren't you two dears going to smoke?"
Half an hour later the two men were sitting alone in Ruxton's study. The smoke of their cigars hung heavily upon the air of the room. There had come a moment of profound silence between them. They had talked of the happenings of that day: of the test of their new submersible: its simple triumph, and all it meant in the cause of humanity, of that progress towards a lasting peace among nations which mankind was yearning to achieve.
Each man had offered his own view-point for discussion, and it seemed as if the last word had at length been spoken. But they sat on in silence, and Sir Andrew watched the reflective eyes of his idealist son. He was speculating as to what deep thought still lay unvoiced behind them, and he urged him.
"Well, boy? It has been a long day. Is it bed? Or are you going to put into words that dream I see moving behind your eyes?"