But he dared not display any misgiving. He knew the value of promptness and brevity, with, at least, one of his audience. So he replied —
"In every detail the complaint is accurately outlined. But it avoids entirely Prince von Hertzwohl's offence."
"Offence?"
The interrogation came sharply from the man at the head of the table, who was almost lost to Von Salzinger's view behind the bulk of the oil-lamp which lit the scene.
"It was his right, just as it would have been your right, sir," Von Salzinger replied daringly, "to submit to the discipline of the place, a discipline which has been ordered by those who have a right to order such things. The complaint must come after obedience, not after open defiance of Berlin's most imperative orders. That is the case of Prince von Hertzwohl. I could not have acted otherwise than I did in the interests of our greatest of all State secrets."
The man at the head of the table nodded in seeming approval at the robust vindication. Von Berger gave no sign. His eyes never left the angular figure of the Captain-General.
"But you threatened his life – by your action in the matter." Von Berger's words came without emotion. The hard eyes were unchanging.
"I submit that it had been better for the State had I more than threatened it."
"How do you mean, sir?"
The man at the head of the table was sitting up. His eyes were angrily alight.
For a second Von Salzinger flinched before this display. He recovered himself swiftly, however. He knew he dared not lose a second in such a crisis.
"Your pardon, sir, if my manner should seem rough. I feel strongly. If a man in Von Hertzwohl's position refuses to obey the laws he is fully cognizant of, then, I say, he has reason – grave reason for so doing."
"You imply?"
Again it was the question of the man at the head of the table.
"He dared not have his – nephew interrogated, sir."
"And if he dared not?" It was still the same speaker.
Von Salzinger shrugged.
"There can only be one interpretation, sir."
"You mean – betrayal of Borga's secrets."
"Yes, sir."
The man at the head of the table turned to Von Berger with a smile that never reached his eyes.
"Tell him," he said imperiously.
"Your contention loses all its apparent force in the light of – facts," said Von Berger coldly. "Agents have been set to work upon the matter. From the moment of Von Hertzwohl's complaint, in justice to you as Borga's commandant, the closest secret enquiries have been made. On the occasion of Hertzwohl's visit to your command his nephew did accompany him. This nephew is certainly his most trusted engineer, and is the actual inventor of the U-light. There is no shadow of doubt about these matters. Your suspicions are groundless and cannot be accepted in your defence."
Von Salzinger was taken aback at the concise refutation of his carefully elaborated suspicions. He began to see the fabric he had constructed tumbling about his ears. He had been the victim of his own spleen, he knew, and his suspicions had had no sound foundation.
He stood flushed and silent. Then the man at the head of the table unconsciously came to his rescue.
"Show him," he briefly ordered Von Berger.
The latter picked up a photograph – a mere rough print – and handed it to the troubled Von Salzinger.
"That is Herr von Bersac, the Prince's nephew. It was taken three days ago, without the man being aware of it. That is the man who visited Borga with his uncle."
Von Salzinger had taken the picture in his hands, and his eager eyes scrutinized it carefully. A moment later he handed it back, and an intense look of triumph had replaced the embarrassment of a moment before.
"That is not the man to whom Von Hertzwohl displayed the secrets of Borga. It is not the man I sought to have interrogated. The man who posed as Hertzwohl's nephew was a tall man of magnificent physique. Not slim like that youth. He was a man of nearly forty, with fair, curling hair and dark eyes, and the face and general figure of an – Englishman."
"Englishman?"
The man at the head of the table started up. The passionate hatred flung into his echo of the other's word sent a wave of rejoicing through Von Salzinger's heart.
"I am morally certain, sir," he added.
Quite abruptly Von Berger had become completely thrust into the background. The other had taken entire possession of the scene. He began to pace the stone-flagged hall with hasty, uneven steps.
"If I thought it could be so," he cried, with a sudden wave of intemperate heat. "Oh, if I believed it were!" He raised one clenched fist above his head and shook it in dire threat. The other arm remained unmoved at his side. The passionate eyes were flashing a cruel, almost insane fire as he strode the echoing stones. The others were held in appalled silence in face of his paroxysm.
In a moment he turned fiercely upon the Captain-General, standing beyond the table. There was no longer any dignity or restraint in him. The hectoring nature of the man was caught in the passion of the moment, and his innate brutality must find an object upon which to vent itself.
"I tell you, if the secrets of Borga have been betrayed there shall be such a reckoning as shall stagger our country from end to end. From the highest to the lowest those responsible shall pay to the uttermost. Of all the world – an Englishman! Gott in Himmel, it is unthinkable!"
He glared for a silent moment into the abashed face of Von Salzinger. Then he went on more calmly —
"I tell you you are wrong. Damnably wrong – somehow. Hertzwohl dare not betray us. No money in the world would buy him. We have proved him a hundred times. English gold to buy Hertzwohl?" He laughed derisively, but there was no conviction in his manner. "You understand, sir, you are wrong – utterly wrong. The matter shall be cleared up. You shall confront Von Hertzwohl. And if lies have been told, God help the liars."
The two men stood eye to eye across the table. Von Salzinger had recovered under stress of emergency.
"I could ask no better, sir – if it were in the best interests of the secrets of Borga. But is it? I could give you the names of a number of my junior officers in Borga, all of whom encountered this – nephew of Hertzwohl. And without reference to me, there is not one of them but would deny the identity of that nephew they saw in Borga with the identity of the original of that picture. If the liar is to be punished I have no fear, sir. But would it be in the best interests of Borga to deal hastily with the matter?"
"Explain!" The man went back to his seat at the head of the table. His harsh demand warned his hearers of the storm still raging within him.
But Von Berger took up the reply.
"I see the Captain-General's point, sir," he said. "If Hertzwohl is confronted it means his vindication or immediate punishment. If secrets have been betrayed such a course will not serve us. This Englishman Von Salzinger speaks of will still possess them, and – be free to act upon them. We must recover those secrets, or make them useless to their possessors. Then we can deal with those responsible for Borga."
Von Salzinger listened to the cold words and eagerly awaited the reply of the man at the head of the table. But none was forthcoming, for he seemed to be lost in moody contemplation of the whole affair. Therefore the Captain-General seized his opportunity.
"That is how I see it, sir," he said eagerly. "I submit, with all deference, that I be nominally punished as though I had seriously offended. What is that punishment? Degradation? Degradation and retirement from the service of the Fatherland. It will satisfy Hertzwohl, and put him off his guard. He will have no suspicion, and I shall be free to work. If I am placed on the Secret Service and sent to – England, it should not be impossible to discover all we want to know and nullify the effects of the treachery. Those concerned can be silenced. We can be guided by developments. And – "
"The harm is done, man! You talk of nullifying. You talk like a fool. There can be no undoing the harm done."
The hoarse passion of the man at the table was in every word he spoke. The gleaming eyes were full of the burning fire of unrestrained ferocity.
But the cold tones of Von Berger once more dropped like ice upon a kindling fire.
"It will be the better course, sir," he said. "We do not yet know the full position. That must be perfectly established before we can estimate the damage."
But the other seemed absorbed in his own imagery of the matter.
"An Englishman! Gott!"
Von Berger turned abruptly to Von Salzinger.
"Leave us. I will call you when ready. Remain within call."
The authority was unmistakable. The Captain-General might have been the veriest conscript for the courtesy displayed. He left the great chamber with no outward sign, but with storm sweeping through his heart.
Beyond the door he reviewed the situation. His position was by no means enviable, but it was not without possibilities. He realized now that the hand of Fate had pointed through the whole affair. He knew that he had had no suspicion of Hertzwohl in Borga. A thought of treachery had never entered his head. Hertzwohl had piqued him. He had seriously offended him, as, long ago, this same man's daughter had offended his pride. He had intended merely to retaliate through his official capacity, and now through these trivial pettinesses a deadly plot had been revealed. He had answered the summons to Kuhlhafen intending to defend himself by casting suspicion upon Hertzwohl, and his defence had turned out to be the true estimate of the matter. Well —
But his reflections were cut short by the summons to return to the council-chamber. Von Berger held the iron-studded door for him to enter, and, as he passed within, he closed and carefully secured it.
Then he came back to his place at the table, and his companion signed for him to proceed.
He faced the waiting officer.
"Captain-General von Salzinger, you are to be degraded from your rank and office. You will be relieved of command at Borga at once. You will then report to the Foreign Office, where you will receive sealed instructions. On receipt of these instructions you will proceed to London without delay. When you have completed the work allotted to you in England – satisfactorily – you will receive your reinstatement. That is all."
CHAPTER XIII
NEWS
The atmosphere of the little study, or library, or whatever it was called, in which Ruxton carried on the private work of his political calling, in the diminutive house in Smith Square, Westminster, was redolent with that delightful suggestion of the old world so dear to the collector's heart.
Its owner was a collector by instinct and training. He had been brought up to the study of old-world art, and had learned to appreciate the beauties of all those delicate and priceless specimens which are the handicraft of bygone genius. But he was no keeper of a museum. His little home in the purlieus of Westminster was a storehouse of beauty and charm. Every piece of furniture, every tapestry, every rug, every metal gem was full of significance and harmony with its setting. Not one detail of this home but had cost him hours of thought and consideration, and the result was all he asked, a perfectly harmonious whole, a creation of all that made for undemonstrative artistry in his nature.
Just now even the dying early autumn sun seemed graciously disposed towards it. It was peeping in through the old Georgian windows and searching out the mellow beauties of the study. Its softened tone seemed to somehow belong to the picture it discovered within. The delicate tracery of the deep, ruddy mahogany furnishings, the design of which must have given hours of delight to the artist soul of Chippendale; the softened tints of the ancient Persian rugs upon the crazily uneven flooring; the exquisite carving of the oaken panels and the delicate pictures of the hanging tapestries above them, – all these beauties seemed to belong to a time of softened light which comes with the ageing of the year.
The calm delight of it all resisted even the touch of a modern figure suddenly appearing in its midst. Ruxton's modern blue serge suit and soft felt hat might have been an anachronism, but it gave no serious offence. He entered the room and glanced swiftly and appreciatively upon his treasured friends. Then he laid his hat aside, took his seat at his desk and prepared to attend to some work he had on hand.
But, for once, inclination proved stronger than purpose. He sat back in the ample chair, such as an elderly ancestor might have revelled in, lit a cigar, and, for some idle minutes, all effort was abandoned in favor of the relaxed dreaming of a brain accustomed to high pressure.
It was the late afternoon of a long day spent in endless interviews in the world of the officialdom to which he belonged here in London. But his interviews had had little enough to do with the more commonplace affairs of State. His portfolio in the Cabinet, which left him responsible for the affairs of the Duchy of Lancaster, also left him with ample time to carry out those other plans which he believed were to have so great a significance in his country's future.
His day had been spent in completing the negotiations whereby, for a considerable period, certain portions of the great ship-building yards at Dorby were to be adopted and controlled by the Admiralty. It had not been easy to stir the machinery of departments, and only had it been made possible by invoking the efforts of the Prime Minister, Sir Meeston Harborough, and the Foreign Secretary, the Marquis of Lordburgh, with both of whom he had already established a confidential understanding. Admiral Sir Joseph Caistor was purely a naval man, a brilliant officer, but as yet intolerant of desecrating the traditions of his department by confusing it with civilian controlled establishments.
However, the last obstacle had been finally surmounted, and, with its passing, he discovered the real depths of his anxiety. A strong conviction of impending action by the German Government had taken hold of him without his being fully aware of it. He had been oppressed by it. And now, at last, he experienced a deep sense of relief that the cloak of naval secrecy and protection was to be spread out over the new construction upon which he and his father had embarked.
He sat thus reviewing these things and smoking leisurely, in the manner of a satisfied man. He knew he ought to attend to his letters and then go on down to the House, which was now sitting. But he had no intention of doing so. There was no debate of importance going on, and he had no desire to listen to the silly twaddle of a number of men whose qualifications as legislators would have been insufficient to achieve for them squatting room on a council of Red Indians, and whose minds had no other conception of greatness than the limelight of a halfpenny press.
It was five weeks since his return from Borga. Five weeks of hard, rushing work in which a confusion of affairs required to be sorted and carried through; in which plans had to be developed and set in train, and during which a growing and almost oppressing sense of responsibility had steadily taken possession of him. There had been no leisure. It had been work incessant, work, and again work. Now, at last, he felt that a breathing space was almost permissible.
In his first moment of leisure he was determined to carry out a purpose upon which he had resolved, even amidst the turmoil of the affairs he had been engaged upon. For not once during all those weeks had the haunting memory of his beautiful visitor on the Yorkshire cliffs been lost to him. He had heard no word from her, he had caught no glimpse of her since he had watched her finally ascend the companionway of the submersible to return to the shore. For the first time in his life he had been made aware that there could be a more imperative claim upon a man than his simple duty. For the first time in his life he found himself hearkening to the mandates of Nature in a yielding spirit. He could no longer resist the haunting charms of the wonderful creature who had so appealed to his manhood.
He sat revolving his purpose in his mind. And, so doing, he idly drew a copy of an evening paper towards him. He turned its pages in abstracted contemplation. Then, suddenly, a head-line caught and held his attention. It was the announcement of the completion of his negotiations with the naval department.
He read it eagerly, not with any desire to discover publicity for himself – rather the reverse. He looked to discover how far the pernicious habit of publicity might be damaging to the cause in which he was working. He sighed in relief as he came to the end of the paragraph. For once the press had exercised laudable restraint. There was nothing in it calculated to inspire curiosity or even comment. It simply stated that a department in the Dorby yards had been taken over by the Board of Admiralty to relieve the congestion in the Naval Construction yards.
He thrust the paper aside, drew a telegram pad towards him, and indited an address upon it.
"Veevee, London."
Then he paused and looked up as the door in the panelling of the room was thrust open and his secretary presented himself.
"It's the telephone, and a woman's voice speaking, Mr. Farlow," he said, with a whimsical smile. "I endeavored to get her name, but she refused it. I warned her that I could not call you without she stated her business, or gave her name. Finally she said I had better tell you that 'Veevee, London,' wished to speak to you urgently. I wrote the name down so there should be no – "
"You can put me through – at once."
The crisp response was not without significance to the younger man, and Harold Heathcote departed with the mental reservation that "even with Cabinet Ministers you never can tell."
A few moments later the telephone receiver on Ruxton Farlow's table purred its soft challenge, and he picked it up in hasty and delighted anticipation. In a moment he recognized Vita Vladimir's voice. His dark eyes smiled at the sunlit window as he replied to her enquiry.
"Yes. It's Ruxton Farlow speaking. How-do-you-do? Most extraordinary coincidence. I was just writing out a telegram to you. I was wond – Yes, it's ages. I've a lot to tell you about – things. Eh? You must see me to-night. Why, that's delightful. I am in great good luck. Not sure about the luck?" He laughed confidently. "I am. Eh?" His laugh had died out abruptly. "Bad news. That's – Well, where shall I see you? Not at – all right. Could you manage dinner with me somewhere? Ah, anywhere you choose. What's that? The Oberon? The West Room? Will that be all right in view of the – bad news? Yes, I agree. It is sufficiently secluded. Shall we say at eight o'clock? You're sure it quite suits you? Splendid. Yes. Then good-bye – till eight o'clock."
Ruxton replaced the receiver, and, for a moment, sat staring out at the sunlit square. His eyes were half smiling still, but there was a puzzled, slight elevation of his level brows. He was thinking, speculating as to the nature of the bad news. But even bad news which again brought him into contact with the Princess Vita was robbed of more than half its significance.
Whatever Ruxton Farlow's impressions, drawn from his earlier encounters with Vita von Hertzwohl, they became totally eclipsed by the delight in her perfect beauty as it appeared to him when he kept his appointment for dinner that night.
Her tall figure, so beautifully rounded, so perfect in its delicate proportions, and so full of a delicious sinuous grace, was gowned to perfection. Her wonderful red-gold hair, tinged with its soft sheen of burnished copper, was a perfect setting for the delicate tracery of jewels which completed its exquisitely unconventional dressing. Her wonderful grey eyes shone eagerly up into his, lighting the essentially foreign complexion which was hers with a warm fire of virile mentality. Such were the feelings she inspired that he wondered absurdly that he could ever have taken her for anything less than the princess he now knew her to be. So great was her effect upon him that it was not until her own low-spoken words, reminding him of the bad news of which she was the bearer, permitted the memory of the affairs he was engaged upon to return to their paramount place in his consideration.
They were seated at a small round table in a remote corner of the great West Room. The table next to them was unoccupied, but, for the rest, the room was fairly full, and amongst the diners were a considerable number of notables who preferred the quiet harmonious charm of tasteful surroundings and excellent cooking to the blatancy of the more advertised caravansaries.
It was not until the pêches-melba had been served, and the order for coffee had been given to the waiter, that the cloud was allowed to descend upon Ruxton's perfect enjoyment. They had talked of all he had seen upon his visit to Borga. They had talked of Vita's father, and the services he yearned to perform for humanity. Ruxton had described in detail their flight from the great arsenal and its Prussian commandant. And all the time Vita had withheld her news, fearing for herself, as much as for her companion, the complete banishment of the delight of this moment of their meeting again.
But it had to come, and she faced it resolutely. There had fallen a pause in their talk, and she drew a deep sigh.
"And now – now for the purpose of this meeting," she said.
Then with a resolute air she rested her elbows upon the table and clasped her beautiful shapely hands.
"Is there any other purpose than – the present?" enquired Ruxton, following her example and leaning forward. His smile was one of whimsical protest. He knew that the moment had come when he must once more return to the harness of his office. "I feel rather like a navvy," he proceeded. "After tremendous exertions I have just been lounging away my dinner hour. The whistle has blown, and I must get to work again. You have blown the whistle."
Vita smiled faintly. But her eyes lost none of their seriousness thereby.
"I'm afraid there are liable to be some heavy penalties if – you do not respond to it promptly. Oh, dear, I have so enjoyed myself. I wish there were no Prussians in the world."
"There are fewer than there were."
"Yes, but so long as one remains there are – too many. I have had a communication from my father. It came to-day."
"A letter?"
Vita shook her head.
"We do not communicate by letter. A messenger. A funny little old man who carries samples of buttons made in Austria. He represents a button firm, and sells millions of them over here. He happens to be my father's brother, although no one is allowed to guess the relationship. He is my father's most loyal – friend."
"And he has brought you word of – "
"Von Salzinger."
Ruxton waited for her to continue. He was watching her with eyes that left him utterly incapable of forgetting her wonderful attraction. She was no longer merely a partner in the work he had marked out for himself. She was more. She was the woman of his early youthful dreams come to life, and every word that fell from her lips had for him a significance which appealed to the big soul within him apart from any verbal meaning it might convey.
"You know father is the oddest mixture of simplicity and shrewdness I have ever known. He is utterly without fear, and his trust, to a point, is childlike. But when he is threatened with serious danger he is possessed of all the subtlety, it seems to me, of the whole world. That is perhaps why I do not gravely fear for his personal safety. His message to me illustrates his simplicity, but gives no inkling of that wonderful shrewdness which I know him to possess. Perhaps it is worded purposely so that I should miss its real significance. You see, father knows I am a coward, and does not like to distress me. Perhaps, on the other hand, he only sees in the development the dire result of his protest to Berlin. You see I have had the story of your visit to Borga from him weeks ago. But I see more in it, and I am right. That's why I warned you of 'bad news.'"
"And the news?" Ruxton's imagination had been stirred by the girl's preliminary.
"In brief it is that Captain-General von Salzinger has been relieved of his command at Borga, as a result of his attitude towards you and my father."
"That is what your father assured me would happen. He assured me that in Berlin his power was almost unlimited – as regards Borga. I see little to trouble us in that."
"No-o."
Vita's whole attitude underwent a change. She became reflective, and her warm grey eyes grew cold with the bitterness of memory. After some silent moments she seemed to arrive at a decision.
"To impress you with my point of view I – must make something like a confession," she went on presently.
She was interrupted by the returning waiter, who removed the sweet plates and cleared the table for the coffee. After he had poured it out and departed, Vita went on. All doubt had gone from her manner, and her eyes smiled back into the eager face of the man who had made for himself the discovery of the woman in Eden.
"It is just a little bit difficult to tell you these things," she smiled. "But I must do so, or you will not see the danger as I see it. It is about an early love affair of mine with – Von Salzinger. Oh, don't make any mistake," she cried hastily, at the abrupt, ingenuous change in the man's expression. "I was never in love with him. But he was with me. Ugh! Von Salzinger. A Prussian from head to foot. A typical, soulless Prussian. No, no. This man is ambitious. That is all he cares for in life – himself and his ambition. My father was a great man in the country, and would have been an excellent lever to further his ends. So he strove to – enlist my sympathies. I was very young, and – well, I think most women, even at an early age, like being made love to. I did not so greatly discourage him at first. Then came the War, and I discovered many things about the German people I had never dreamed of. I also discovered the Prussian in Von Salzinger. He strove his utmost to enlist me in the Secret Service, of which, to my horror, I discovered he was a prominent member. Need I tell you what happened? There was a scene – a dreadful scene, which he has probably never forgiven, and – may never forgive. Now here is the complication of which my father is unaware. It is my father who has brought about his downfall. Do you see? He undoubtedly has suspicions of you. Consequently he has suspicions of my father. He is bred to the Secret Service. Where has he gone, and what will he do? What has he told Berlin, and – what understanding has he come to with them? My simple father believes he has settled the matter definitely in the only way his position entitled him to settle it. I think he has set an unusually swift and poisonous snake upon the tracks of all of us. Now you tell me what you think. You can probably judge the position better than I. You can look upon it from a detached point of view."
"Detached?" Ruxton smiled dubiously. But his interrogation seemed to pass Vita by. She sipped her coffee and waited. Her grey eyes were completely veiled beneath her long, dense lashes. Ruxton pushed his empty cup aside. "The danger I see is for your father. Not for you, or for anything over here. That, of course, may come later. The immediate danger is for your father."
Vita sighed.
"You have lightened my fears." She raised her shining eyes. "That sounds terrible, doesn't it? But – I would rather have danger threaten him, personally, than threaten his project – our project. His position is unique, and I doubt even if you can appreciate it. And then he has a means of protecting himself which even Berlin has no understanding of. Father can escape at any moment he considers it necessary. That was all thought out, with many other things, before we approached you. Our visit to Dorby is still all unsuspected. Remember that."
"Yes."
"But, in spite of your view-point, we shall hear from Von Salzinger, if I am not very much mistaken. You see, he knows I am in London. Unless we hear soon that he has been given another appointment in Germany, then I feel certain we shall have him swiftly on our tracks. What can he do – to hurt us?"
There was unmistakable apprehension in the girl's eyes. There was a gravity in her assertion that would not be denied, and even Ruxton realized the soundness of her argument. But he sought to console her, to lessen her fears. He desired more than all things to see her warm smile replace the apprehension she was now displaying.
"He can do nothing here, should he favor us with a visit," he said lightly. "I have taken no chances. Only to-day I have completed negotiations by which our new constructions are definitely placed under the control and protection of our Admiralty. If your father is safe, then I think we can snap our fingers at Captain-General von Salzinger."
"I'm – glad," cried Vita. Then impulsively: "So glad. Perhaps you don't quite understand our feelings. You see," she went on warmly, "our project has been placed before everything else in life. Life and death or imprisonment are secondary – quite secondary – with us. It is this effort to save humanity from the disaster which is being engineered in the Teutonic mind that is all that we care for. If necessary we shall not shrink from yielding up our lives to that cause. I wonder. Can you understand? Yes." She nodded decidedly. "You do understand. That is why we came to you. Now you have reassured me. Germany cannot stop the work going forward. It has become a British national effort." She sighed again, however. "But for all that my news is bad. I am sure of it. Perhaps it is only relatively so. I cannot say. If the work goes on no news can be really bad. Yes, I am relieved, and I am glad I 'phoned you. I wish my father had been here to hear you say that the work would go on. It would have been the greatest moment of his life."