The Men Who Wrought

Having launched his appeal, Ruxton sat back in his seat and waited with a tense patience. Vast affairs were hanging in the balance, waiting upon the decision of this man, who was perhaps the mechanical genius of the country which claimed him.

After a while the Prince slowly shook his head. And the lack of impulse he displayed warned the other that his decision was irrevocable.

"No," he said. "To do so would be to destroy all the possibilities of the future for our cause. You will see. It is equally simple. Were I to abandon my work for Germany in the manner you suggest, they would know that I had betrayed them – and their secrets. All we have gained by the knowledge of their secrets would be lost. Then – though it matters nothing to me, for I do not value it beyond the help I can give to humanity – my life would be destroyed as sure as day follows night. No. I go back to my shops, and to my work. I will meet every emergency as it arises. Should I fall to this man Von Salzinger I can always beat the authorities, and – make my escape."

"You are sure?"

"Ach, yes."

"Then prepare from this moment for that escape. You will have to make it. Of that I am equally – sure."

Ruxton's eyes were smiling, but without lightness. And the two men smiled into each other's eyes for some silent moments.

The Prince was the first to break the spell. It was with a glance up at the skylight overhead.

"See," he cried, not without satisfaction. "There comes the daylight. We are on the high seas. All danger is past."

"Immediate danger," corrected Ruxton.

"Ach, so. Yes, 'immediate.'"

The old man turned to the two rolls of paper on the table beside him. He picked them up and fondled them tenderly with his long fingers. They were to him something very precious, and – he was about to part from them.

Suddenly he held them out towards his guest. The shining light had returned to his eyes. Again had mounted to that splendid brain the hot desire to speak from the bottom of his heart.

"Take them! Take them!" he cried passionately. "They are my children. I give them for the world. They must grow, and do for the world all that I have dreamed of into their creation. They are the plans, drawn and written in English by my own hands. No eyes but mine have seen them, and there are no others in existence. They are the plans of the U-rays light, which, by taking from them the cylinders you brought away, I have robbed Germany of the use of, and the plans of this submersible. Safeguard them as you would your life, and lose not a moment in forcing your slow country to construct. We have agreed that you have ten years, and in ten years you can do much, if you do not let your country meanwhile sleep."

Ruxton took the proffered rolls and held them a moment while his eyes rested introspectively upon the seals.

"And the price?" he demanded, in a firm voice.

"The price! Himmel, the price!" The Prince threw up his hands in a gesture of dismay. "The price!" he repeated. "The price when humanity stands at the threshold of disaster! Ach! You are a true Englishman."

He rose from his seat and moved hurriedly across to his stateroom. At the door he paused and turned.

"There is no price," he said, and his big eyes were alight with a whimsical smile.

CHAPTER XI
BACK AT DORBY TOWERS

Sir Andrew had listened patiently. His had been the grave attitude of a man impressed beyond mere words of agreement or understanding. His reading glasses had been thrust aside. His grey head was inclined towards his clasped hands, and his broad chin found support upon them. His whole poise was of the closest attention.

"It's like a – fairy-tale," he said at last as Ruxton's story came to an end, and the deep, calm tones of his voice died out.

"Or a – nightmare?"

"Ye-es."

Sir Andrew swung round in his ample library chair and faced his desk. It was the movement of a man stirred out of his customary calm.

Ruxton watched his father closely from his seat on the settle under the mullioned window. He was seeking the effect of his story upon a man whom he knew to be typically British at heart. He had seen it all, had experienced it all. His father had not.

Presently Sir Andrew faced him again.

"Now your – purpose," he demanded, with the air of crisp business. "You would set out to revolutionize our mercantile marine by the adoption of this – submersible."

"As rapidly as is compatible with commercial interests."

"You mean that we are to take the entire risk of the success of this new departure?"

"It is our contribution to our country's cause."

Then Ruxton drew a deep breath. He sat up, and his words came swiftly, passionately.

"There must be no hesitation, Dad. The submersible will be no failure. You must see this thing with my eyes, you must understand it with my understanding. What I would do is to take upon ourselves this first burden in the cause of patriotism. We must take the lead, cost us what it may. If the thing is a failure, then we are so much the poorer in this world's goods, but we shall have wrought honestly in the cause of our country. If it is the success I am sure of, then our gain is twofold. But even if the latter is fulfilled beyond my expectations it is not going to be the easy thing it looks. Listen. Hertzwohl believes that he can completely cover his tracks. I am just as certain that he cannot. Germany will discover the betrayal of her secrets. She will punish the offender in the complete manner of which she is so great a mistress. Then, by every art and wile of which she is capable, by every ruthless persistent purpose for which she is renowned, she will strive to undo the harm already achieved. We shall not be left to peaceful construction, if my understanding of the situation is correct. We may have to face even personal attack upon our lives and upon our ship-yards. It is with ideas of this sort running through my mind that I intend to lay the whole matter before the Cabinet. I intend to secure Government patronage and protection for this scheme. It is the only means by which we can hope to meet the attack which I am convinced will be forthcoming from our country's enemies. It is a lot to ask of you, Dad, at your time of life. Did I not know the great strength of your character, and the extreme loyalty you possess for our country, I should have shouldered the whole of this burden myself. As it is I know that with all your spirit you would have resented such a course. Therefore I lay it before you."

The older man made no attempt at agreement or denial. He sat drumming his fingers upon the edge of his desk while his keen eyes twinkled in his boy's direction. He understood the earnestness of the idealist. He saw the purpose in every line of the strong young face. He appreciated the perfect poise of the keen, fresh intellect. And for the moment his mind went back to the glimpse of Paradise which had been his during the brief period of his married life. This son of his was that splendid Russian woman over again, and he was glad. But when he spoke his manner had undergone no change from his crisp business practice.

"You would have us build – ?"

"Two vessels of three thousand tons each and incorporate them with our coastwise fleet. Then two deep-sea craft of say six thousand tons. I would lay these down at once. Once their success is proved the plans can be laid open to all our shipping world. When the time comes the Government must be induced to foster the new construction by subsidy, and by every other means in its power. But in the first instance we alone must bear the burden and all it involves. If disaster should overtake our efforts our justification remains. The days of Britain's pre-war ineptitude are so recent that even an active progressive failure would be a matter scarcely to be deplored. We must convince the world of the sincerity of our convictions, and, to do that, we must, if need be, risk our entire fortune. The danger we know lies ahead. In Britain it is useless to tell of it. Only our own actions can speak and carry convictions. It is our plain and simple duty to put our all into this thing. If it should bring us disaster or even simple ruin, I tell you, Dad, I would rather spend the rest of my life in honest rags, with the knowledge that my substance has been absorbed in an endeavor to help my country, than claim this beautiful home of ours as a view-point from which to watch the triumph of our country's enemies."

"Ye-es."

The twinkling eyes of Sir Andrew developed a smile upon his rugged Yorkshire features. But it was a smile of sympathy.

"The most thoroughly unbusinesslike transaction I was ever asked to countenance," he observed drily. "This sort of thing, as you have suggested, has come rather late in my life. But it only makes me regret my years. But tell me again of this man. His genius, his curious attitude of mind have left me rather breathless. This sort of thing in a German – ?"

"Pole. There is not a drop of German blood in his veins." Ruxton caught eagerly at the opportunity of the man's defence. "His attitude, his personality, has left you no more breathless than it has left me. Dad, I have spent nearly a week in his company, a week spent in contact with the greatest mind it has ever been my good fortune to encounter. Nor do I think the mind is greater than the soul. Oh, yes, I know what the unthinking would say. They would think and speak of treachery. They would spurn the creature who could betray the country which claims him, the country which has bestowed wealth and rank upon him. They would talk of loyalty and honor, and so, in their shallow way, prove the vile thing he must be. But I tell you there is something terrible in the demand for allegiance to a country whose sole aim is conquest in every phase of life; not the peaceful conquest which springs from the higher intelligence and purity of soul, but the brutal conquest of bloodshed, rapine, and terror. The man who can detach himself from the commonplace understanding of honor, the man whose courage is such that he dares to outrage such understanding in the cause of humanity, is something approaching my understanding of a demi-god. If Prince von Hertzwohl is a traitor, then I would gladly be branded in a like manner."

The father permitted nothing of the effect of the idealist's words any expression. But he was not the less affected by them. However, he still bent all his mental force upon the practical side of the situation.

"And you believe this man's life will pay for his – for what he has done?"

"I am certain of it."

Sir Andrew drew a deep breath. The assurance carried conviction.

"I am so certain," Ruxton added, "that I offered him shelter here."

"He accepted?"

"On the contrary – he refused."

His father's manner softened.

"His courage is almost – tragic."

"Or sublime."

"When were the preparations at this Borga begun?" Sir Andrew asked a moment later.

"During the war." Ruxton gave a short hard laugh. "Borga was purchased to be used as an alternative base for submarine construction in case Kiel and Cuxhaven should be raided from the sea. Germany, even then, was looking far, far ahead."

"Yes."

For a few silent moments Ruxton's father continued to drum his fingers upon the desk before him. Then his keen eyes were raised again unsmilingly to his son's face.

"And the price? What price does he demand for these plans?" he enquired sharply.

Ruxton's eyes levelled themselves at his father's.

"There is no price."

The old man's busy fingers became suddenly still.

"No – price?"

"None. They are a gift – in the cause of humanity."

Sir Andrew ran his strong fingers through his snowy hair. A whimsical smile began to possess his eyes.

"You have left me more convinced than I had thought possible."

"Of the danger?"

"No – of the man."

"I am glad."

"In England, as elsewhere, humanity is generally helped at our neighbor's expense."

A flash of disapproval leapt into the younger man's eyes.

"If I did not know better, Dad, I should take you for – "

"A cynic," broke in his father. Then he went on explosively. "Believe me, boy, I am a cynic where our country's splendid character, as depicted in song and verse, and the ha'penny press, is concerned. On the subject of our national characteristics the late war was enough to break the heart of the veriest optimist. As far as I can see only two things stood the test of that fire. The fighting power of our people and our naval record. For the rest, for the men whose duty it was to supply the moral support, well – "

He broke off and leant across the desk and picked up the telephone receiver.

"Hello!" he called. "That you, McGrath? Good. Have you examined those – ? Yes. Can you come up and talk to us about them at once? Yes. Very well. Please do so."

He replaced the receiver and turned about. His keen eyes were regarding his son affectionately. There was pride in them, too. His only son represented the whole of his life's interests and ambitions.

"You have most of your life before you. Most of mine is behind me. You, my boy, have been brought up, as far as was possible to me, in all the simple, beautiful beliefs which belonged to your dear mother. I was brought up to the hard life of commercial competition, and all the moral looseness which that implies. As time goes on I fear many of your splendid temples and shrines will be shattered. This must be so, and it is right. With the passing of youth you will gain a true perspective of human worth. And when that perspective is attained, if I have any understanding of my own son, he will not be unduly affected by it. That perspective is already mine, I believe, and, since I am first and foremost a commercial man, you will forgive me if I reduce my understanding to mere percentages. With exceptions, of course, I have found that human nature's sense of duty is made up of about 75 per cent. of regard for itself, 24 per cent. of regard for the duties of other people towards life, and about 1 per cent. of the milk of human kindness. So that – Ah, here is McGrath."

Sir Andrew turned sharply from the amused gaze of his son to the newcomer. Ian McGrath was a powerfully built Scot. The sense of strength was displayed in almost every detail of his appearance. In his short, bristling, iron-grey hair, his extremely decided, plain features; the deep-set eyes, the long nose; the hard mouth, and harder chin and jaw. Even his build and his gait were loud in their assertion of his normal characteristics. The broad, lean shoulders, and generally loose-limbed body was propelled swiftly and alertly at all times.

He had thrust his way in without heralding his coming, and he came swiftly towards his employer's desk. His position as chief engineer and marine architect to the Farlow, Son and Farlow Line at Dorby left him upon an extremely intimate footing with the heads of the firm.

But just now his manner was even more confident than usual. There was a light almost of enthusiasm in his usually cold eyes. He paused at the desk and deposited the rolls of drawings he had in his hands upon the table. Then his eyes turned upon the recumbent Ruxton, and, in a moment, came back almost defiantly to his white-headed chief.

"They're the most exquisitely drawn plans I've ever seen, Sir Andrew," he said, in a peculiarly metallic voice. "If I believed in genius I'd say they are the work of one."

"Sit down, McGrath," said Sir Andrew pleasantly. "We've got to have a talk."

Mr. McGrath promptly deposited himself in the nearest chair, and again his questioning eyes passed from one to the other of his employers.

Sir Andrew drew the plans towards him and idly turned over the sheets and tracings. He was not considering them. He was thinking. Thinking rapidly, as was his habit when engaged upon the work of his enterprise.

"This boat has been built and tested. So has the light. Mr. Ruxton has travelled in a two-thousand-ton boat of this description for nearly a week. He has witnessed the light in operation."

McGrath's eyes were turned half enviously upon Ruxton. There was something bordering upon incredulity in them, too.

"Then they are not some crank's – dreaming?"

"No." Sir Andrew raised his eyes from the drawings, and their unemotional light held the engineer's.

"These plans are for a two-thousand-ton boat. You will put your department on them and increase the tonnage to three thousand, approximately. When you have completed the plans we will lay down the keels of two vessels of that size and proceed with construction with all speed, and —in absolute secrecy. So imperative is the latter that no precaution is too great to take. We will go into other matters later on."

Sir Andrew's manner was a dismissal, and the engineer rose to depart. He was accustomed to the ship-owner's brevity, and it suited his own ideas of things. But Ruxton detained him. He, too, had risen from his seat.

"One moment, McGrath," he said quickly. "There is danger – personal danger in this work. It may even be a matter of life and death to – all concerned. We shall probably have no peaceful time over this thing. I expect that every means – even force – will be used to – wreck us. It is only right to tell you. Shall you be – willing to undertake it in the circumstances?"

The engineer regarded him keenly. Then his hard mouth relaxed, and he seemed to lick his lips.

"This danger. Where does it come from?"

"Germany. The German Government."

The Scot's eyes lit. His face contorted, and he gave a short hard laugh.

"I'm more than willing," he said briefly. Then, with a curious unconcern for the warning, he turned to the drawings and gazed down at them affectionately. "Man, but they're beautiful. Did you – get them, Mr. Ruxton?"

There was no mistaking the implication.

"They are not stolen, McGrath," said Ruxton quietly. "At least not in the manner you are thinking. They were given to us by the inventor, whose property they were. But – they represent one of Germany's most treasured secrets."

The Scot nodded.

"Fine," he said, and the ring in his voice left the two men more than satisfied.

Sir Andrew smiled in his most genial fashion.

"Good," he exclaimed. "I shall be free in half an hour, McGrath. We'll go into details then. Thank you."

The engineer departed as hastily as he had appeared, and Ruxton dropped back into his seat. His father was still contemplating the plans.

At last he spoke without looking up.

"We are committed to it," he said. Then: "I wonder."

Ruxton sprang to his feet.

"I am glad – glad."

Then he moved round and stood gazing out through the leaded window, and his thoughts went back to the beautiful creature who on that one memorable night upon his beloved Yorkshire cliffs had first opened the doors of Life to him.

CHAPTER XII
KUHLHAFEN

The old fortress of Kuhlhafen stands a milestone on the path of Time. Its vast walls have endured and survived the ravages of a thousand storms driving in off the sea. Its gloomy might still rears itself silhouetted against the grey skies of the Baltic upon its lofty setting of wood-clad hills. Its dull, unlit eyes still gaze down upon the broad waters of the shallow, silted harbor from which it takes its name. And with it all it haunts the primitive mind of the simple fisher folk beneath its shadows with the grim romance of the days of martial barbarity which have endured within its walls.

No one would have associated modern significance with this survival of the ages. Yet it was sedulously kept in repair. It still retained its splendid furnishings, and all the relics of its antiquity. Furthermore, all the invention of modern days had been applied to add to its convenience. And it was solicitously cared for by the retainers of the princely house to which it belonged.

The peasants of Kuhlhafen knew every detail of its history. Its martial story was part of their lives. Oh, yes. The information was handed down from father to son, and was told with all that care for fantastic detail in which the primitive mind never fails to indulge itself.

The owner? Of course. It was Prince Frederick von Berger. Did they not have to pay for the tenancy of their miserable hovels to his steward, who lived in the castle itself? Oh, yes. He was a great man – a very great man. This was only one of his estates, and one which he never visited. One could not blame him. It was scarcely attractive to a man who owned a palace in Berlin. Then the storming of the cruel Baltic, which robbed them of comrades every year. Who would live on its bitter, desolate shores unless tied there by the stress of existence? No, he never came, they would tell the enquirer with a shrug. A man who enjoyed the friendly patronage of the supreme War Lord had no call to visit Kuhlhafen, even though the whole of the countryside belonged to him.

This was the spoken attitude of the people towards their over-lord. Maybe, deep in their hearts, other feelings prevailed. But these poor folks had been bred to the discipline of an iron Prussian rule, and it is just possible that they had no power to think or feel otherwise than authority taught them.

But had these simple fisher-folk been less absorbed in the struggle for their frugal existence; had they sufficient initiative to go seek out information for themselves; had they, in fact, been human rather than Prussian peasantry, they might have discovered that their over-lord was a different person from the ease-loving creature of wealth they so fondly supposed.

They would indeed have found that it was by no means his habit to spend idle days in the gilded courts of Berlin. On the contrary, it seemed suspiciously as if it were his lot to have to work very hard indeed. Work which even the cleverest amongst the fishers could never have hoped to achieve.

Frederick von Berger was by no means an ordinary man. Amongst even his intimates he was something of an enigma. These knew that he occupied an exalted position in official life. They knew he was on the best of terms with the Supreme War Lord. This was all patent enough. But the nature of his work was doubtful. His name never appeared in the official lists, although it was understood that he was entitled to the rank of "General" placed before his name. Nor did he attempt to offer the least enlightenment on the subject.

But then he was a silent, even morose, man. He was harsh; a man devoid of any lighter side to his nature. There were even some who looked upon him as a sort of restless evil spirit whom it was very much best to avoid. But, like most men of genuinely strong purpose, public opinion left Frederick von Berger cold. He came and went as it suited him quite regardless of anything but his own objects, and he never failed to avail himself of every ounce of the power which the favor of the German monarch endowed him with.

Kuhlhafen, however, was not kept up in its present condition without having uses in its princely owner's scheme of things. Although the humble fisher-folk remained in ignorance of anything that went on within its austere precincts, it was not so much abandoned by their over-lord as they believed.

Thus it was that, one night, long after the village had been wrapped in slumber, a powerful automobile, with blazing head-lights, flashed through its single main street, and passed on up the heights towards the dour silhouette above. Later, a second automobile passed over the same route. And, with the coming of the second car, there was a tumult of bustle raised amongst the resident staff at the castle.

Later on still, there was even a stranger happening. A single white eye flashed out its searching rays from the sea and settled its focus upon the castle. Then, as though satisfied with its inspection, it turned its gaze upon the surface of the restless waters, and discovered a small motor-driven boat heading towards the fishing-quay of the village. Then, as though in answer to a signal, the blackness of the castle hill was lit by a pair of eyes less dazzling than the eye from the sea, and an automobile made its way towards the quay for which the little sea-boat was heading.

The great secret council-chamber of Kuhlhafen possessed all the air of a dungeon or crypt. It suggested no other for its original purpose. But as long as the present house had ruled within its walls this great underground apartment had been known as the secret council-chamber. It was probably the oldest portion of the whole castle, for it certainly dated back to the days somewhere before the earliest occupation of the territory by the Romans.

One or two significant additions had been made since the great dungeon had been converted to the dignity of a council-chamber. Down the length of the low-roofed hall, between the central aisle of piers supporting it, a long iron-bound oaken table filled up the major space. This was flanked by a number of leather-seated chairs belonging to a similar period, and of equal crudeness of manufacture.

Table and chairs formed the complete furnishing of this dreary apartment, whose only beauty lay in the simple antiquity of its architecture and the characteristic chiselling of the grey piers which supported its quartered roof. For the rest, in the dim recesses beyond the rays of the lamplight on the table, there were to be found the wrought-iron sconces upon the walls, which had once doubtless served to support the light of blazing torches. And further, still more remote from the light, lost in the dusky corners, were an array of instruments which had survived the years, and whose evil purpose there could be no mistaking.

At the head of this long table sat a man with almost snow-white hair and a moustache of similar color, carefully trained with a sharp, upward turning of the pointed ends. His was a handsome face of considerable refinement. But it was deeply lined, even beyond his years, and the thin lips, drooping markedly downwards at the corners of his mouth, gave his whole expression something of tragedy.

On his right, at the side of the table, the single lamp-light shining full upon his harsh features, sat Frederick von Berger, the absolute antithesis of the man at the head of the table. Here was cold strength and even ruthlessness, not one whit less than the harsh surroundings of the council-chamber in which he sat. The cold eyes of the man possessed not one single lurking shadow of warmth. He was perhaps forty-five, and the iron mould of his plain features, and the tremendous air of physical strength about his body, all added to the impression that here was the direct descendant, untempered with the blood of gentler races, of those savage forbears who had wrested place and power for themselves from amongst their people by the sheer weight of the sword.

These two men had remained seated in conference for some time. The manner of the man at the head of the table was silent, even morose. Frederick von Berger did most of the talking, and this fact, combined with his marked air of deference, gave some indication that his guest was some one of extremely unusual importance.

After a while Von Berger rose from his seat and was swallowed up in the shadowy remoteness of the room. His companion remained seated, leaning back in his chair, gazing after him with deep, cold, introspective eyes. His preoccupation was marked, and the drawn lines of his handsome face gave some clue to the importance, and even urgency, of his visit to these outlands of northern Prussia.

When Von Berger returned he was accompanied by another, who, as he came within the radiance of the lamp, revealed the angular, erect figure of the Captain-General of the great arsenal of Borga. The moment he came within view of the solitary figure at the head of the table he halted abruptly in perfect military salutation. His whole attitude underwent a marked and deferential change. His usual air of arrogant authority seemed to have dropped from him like a cloak. It was a perfect example of the effect of the Prussian system.

The man at the table nodded faintly. It was the signal Von Berger and his companion awaited. They approached. Von Berger took his original seat, but Von Salzinger remained standing.

Von Berger waited. Then the man at the head of the table bestirred himself.

"Go on," he said sharply. And at once the Prince turned upon the Captain-General.

"The complaint is a serious one, Herr Captain-General. It is so serious, and affects such deep interests, that, as you see, it is deemed inadvisable to place it before a military tribunal. But it is also felt that the complaint in itself is not all; that there is other matter of even greater importance lying behind it. Thus you have been summoned to make your explanations – here."

The cold eyes of the man were turned from Von Salzinger upon a document lying on the table. Just for a moment his hard voice ceased from stirring the echoes of the vaulted chamber. But it was only for a moment. The next he was reading from the paper before him.

"It appears that on Prince von Hertzwohl's last visit to Borga, when he was conveying thither his relative, his most important engineer, for the rectification of certain defects in his new light, you displayed towards him the gratuitous discourtesy of refusing the Prince's guarantee of his relative, and sought to submit the man to the interrogatory customary where there is some doubt of a visitor's credentials. The Prince, somewhat naturally, refused to submit to such an indignity, and left the arsenal. Whereupon you persisted in your attitude, and even went so far as to endanger the Prince's valuable life by opening the secret batteries upon his vessel – a course which was utterly unwarranted in view of the Prince's identity and position. It is necessary that you should now state your story of this affair without any reservations."

Von Berger's charge was coldly formal. It was also distinctly threatening in its final pronouncement. The arrogant Von Salzinger was bitterly forced to the reflection that he might expect small enough mercy if he failed to convince with his explanation. That which disturbed him more, however, was the identity of at least one of the men to whom he must explain. He had counted on a military tribunal, where his rank and the nature of his office would count. He felt that these things would by no means count here.