← catalogue

The Men Who Wrought

by Ridgwell Cullum · English · Gutenberg #36836 · 642,364 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Men Who Wrought
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: The Men Who Wrought

Author: Ridgwell Cullum


        
Release date: July 24, 2011 [eBook #36836]
                Most recently updated: January 7, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36836

Credits: Produced by Andrew Sly, Al Haines and the Online Distributed
        Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
        produced from images generously made available by The
        Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MEN WHO WROUGHT ***




Produced by Andrew Sly, Al Haines and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)











[Frontispiece: He Moved a Step Nearer the Steel Rail.]





THE

MEN WHO WROUGHT


By

RIDGWELL CULLUM

_Author of "The Night Riders," "The Way of the Strong," "The Law
Breakers," etc._




PHILADELPHIA

GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY

PUBLISHERS




Copyright, 1916, by

George W. Jacobs & Company




_All rights reserved_

Printed in U. S. A.




BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  The Golden Woman
  The Law-Breakers
  The Way of the Strong
  The Twins of Suffering Creek
  The Night-Riders
  The One-Way Trail
  The Trail of the Axe
  The Sheriff of Dyke Hole
  The Watchers of the Plains




CONTENTS


      I. The Danger
     II. A Strange Meeting
    III. The Mystery
     IV. Mr. Charles Smith
      V. The Lure
     VI. The Old Mill Cove
    VII. On the Grey North Sea
   VIII. Borga
     IX. The Friendly Deep
      X. The Future
     XI. Back at Dorby Towers
    XII. Kuhlhafen
   XIII. News
    XIV. "Kamerads"
     XV. The Ineradicable Strain
    XVI. Enemy Movements
   XVII. The Crouch of the Tiger
  XVIII. From Beneath the Waters
    XIX. The Tiger Springs
     XX. Bar-Leighton
    XXI. Enemy Movements
   XXII. A Means of Escape
  XXIII. The Wreck at Dorby
   XXIV. Ruxton Arrives at a Great Decision
    XXV. The Sweetness of Life
   XXVI. Ruxton Wins a Trick
  XXVII. The Week-End Begins
 XXVIII. The Week-End
   XXIX. The Close of the Week-End
    XXX. Gazing Upon a New World
   XXXI. After Twelve Months




ILLUSTRATIONS


He moved a step nearer the rail . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

Out of the grey waters rose the submersible

"Go on," he said sharply




THE MEN WHO WROUGHT




CHAPTER I

THE DANGER


"Amongst the many uncertainties which this deplorable, patched-up peace
has brought us, there is, at least, one significant certainty, my boy.
It's the inventor. He's buzzing about our heads like a fly in
summer-time, and he's just about as--sticky."

Sir Andrew Farlow sighed. His sigh was an expression of relief; relief
at the thought that he and his son, dining together at Dorby Towers for
the first time since the dissolution of Parliament had released the
latter from his political duties, had at last reached the end of a long
discussion of the position brought about by the hopelessly patched-up
peace, which, for the moment, had suspended the three years of terrible
hostilities which had hurled the whole of Europe headlong over the
precipice of ruin.

The great ship-owner toyed with the delicate stem of his liquor glass.
There was a smile in his keen blue eyes. But it was a smile without
lightness of heart to support it.

"Yes, I know. They've been busy enough throughout the war--and to some
purpose. Now we have a breathing space they'll spread like a--plague."

Ruxton Farlow sipped his coffee. The weight of the recent discussion
was still oppressing him. His mind was full of the appalling threat
which the whole world knew to be overshadowing the future.

The dinner was drawing to its close. The butler, grown old in Sir
Andrew's service, had finally withdrawn. The great Jacobean dining-hall
of Dorby Towers, with its aged oak beams and beautifully carved
panelling, was lost in the dim shadows cast by the carefully shaded
table lights. Father and son were occupying only the extreme end of the
dining-table, which had, at some far-distant age, served to bear the
burden of the daily meals of half a hundred monks. There were no other
lights in the room, and even the figures of the two diners were only
illuminated by the reflected glow from the spotless damask on the
table, a fashion to which the conservative habits of the household
still ardently clung. It was a fitting setting for such a meeting as
the present.

Sir Andrew Farlow, Baronet, was one of the greatest magnates of
shipping and ship-building in the country, and was also one of the
greatest sufferers by the German submarine warfare during the late war.
His extreme wealth, and the fact of the enormous Government contracts
in his ship-building yards, had left him practically immune from the
consequences of his losses, but the losses to his fleet had been felt
by the man, who was, before all things in the world, a shipmaster.

His son, and only partner, had spent those past three years in the
service of his country. Not in the actual fighting line but in the work
of organization, an important position which his wealth and capacity
had entitled him to.

Sir Andrew pierced and lit a cigar.

"We mustn't ridicule them, though," he said, in his hearty Yorkshire
way. "We've laughed at 'em too often in the past. It's a laugh which
cost our country a couple of thousand millions, and a world-wide
suffering which mankind will never forget." Then his manner lightened.
"Henceforth the inventor must be to us a rare and precious orchid. We
must spend hundreds of thousands of pounds on him, the same as I spend
thousands on my orchid houses. I count myself well repaid if I succeed
in raising one single perfect bloom on some rare plant. That is, if my
rivals have failed with the same plant. The inventor is the orchid of
modern civilization, and the perfect blooms he produces are very, very
precious and--rare."

"You are thinking of those diabolical engines of destruction which were
prepared for this war."

Ruxton helped himself to a cigar.

"On the contrary, I am thinking of the defence, not the offence, of
this old country of ours."

The younger man nodded as he lit his cigar.

"That is it. We must prepare--prepare. We have only a breathing space
for it."

"There must be no more slumbering."

"And no more sacrificing the country to self-seeking demagogues."

"Yes, and no more slavery to Party prejudices, as antique as the
timbers of this house."

"Nor the knaveries of men who seek power through dividing the country
into classes, and setting each at the other's throat."

"Nor must we ever again allow the nation's security, economic or
military, to be hurled into the cockpit of Party politics."

"Gad! It makes me shiver when I think how near--how near----"

"We were to destruction," added Sir Andrew gravely.

It was again a moment of intense thought. Each man was regarding from
his own view-point that intangible threat inspired by the
unsatisfactory termination of the war, which left the Teutonic races in
a position to brew further mischief with which to flood the world.

The pucker of thought, the drawn brows, completed the likeness of Sir
Andrew Farlow to England's national symbolic figure. His broad
shoulders and shortish figure; his round, strong, Yorkshire face, with
its crowning of snow-white, curly hair, and the old-fashioned, crisp
side whiskers made him a typical John Bull, even in his modern evening
dress.

In the case of his son Ruxton it was almost in every respect an
antithesis.

No foreigner would have taken Ruxton Farlow for anything but an
Englishman, just as no Englishman but would have charged him with
possessing foreign blood in his veins. And the Englishman would have
been right.

Sir Andrew Farlow had spent a brief married life of a few months over
one year with one of the most beautiful women amongst the Russian
nobility, and the birth of his son left him a widower.

From his mother young Ruxton had inherited all those characteristics
which foreign Europe assigns to the British born; his great size, his
fair, waving hair and his darkly serious eyes. These things all came
from his Russian mother, who had possessed them herself in a marked
degree. Furthermore he inherited other qualities which could never be
claimed for his Yorkshire father. The boy from his earliest childhood
was an idealist: an idealist of but a single purpose which developed
into a brilliant specimen of the modern product of an old-fashioned
patriotism.

But he brought more to bear upon his patriotism than the mere
passionate devotion to his country. He was a fine product of public
school and university with the backing of a keen, well-balanced brain,
and a natural aptitude for statecraft in relation to the rest of the
world. He saw with eyes wide open to those interests dearest to his
heart, and clearly, without one single smudge of the fog of personal
self-interest.

"It's never out of my thoughts, Dad," Ruxton said at last. "It is with
me at all times. It is the purpose of my life to devote myself to, and
associate myself with, only those who will place their country before
all else in life."

"An ideal difficult to realize in Great Britain," observed his father
drily.

"Do you think that? Do you really think that?"

Sir Andrew stirred impatiently.

"It is not what I think. It is not what any of us think. It is what we
see and hear--and _know_. This war has shown up so many weaknesses in
the armor of our social economy as well as the psychology of our people
that one hardly knows where to hurl one's condemnation the most
forcefully. So many weaknesses and failures stand out crying aloud for
the bitter castigations of national conscience that it is difficult to
point out one worthy feature. Oh, you think that too sweeping," cried
the baronet with flushed rugged cheeks and brow, as his son raised
questioning eyes in his direction. "That is what every other man and
woman in the country would say in their purblind vanity. But it is
true. True of the country. True of us all. There is one thing which
appeals to me as our greatest failure, however. One failure preeminent
over all others that has sunk deep down in my heart, and the scar of
which can never be obliterated. I was brought up in the early Victorian
days when patriotism was no mere head-line in a sensation-loving press.
It was something real. Something big. Something which gripped the sense
of duty and made our men and women yearn for active participation when
danger threatened our Empire, even to the sacrifice of all they held
dear in life. That national spirit was sick to death when this war
broke out. Our press was divided, our politicians were divided, and,
yes, our people were largely indifferent. But for the strength of a few
of our leaders, men who have deserved far better of our country than
our country has ever yielded them, thanks to indifference and Party
politics, the end of this war would have come with even more terrible
consequences to our Empire than all that is signified by the position,
almost approaching _in status quo ante_, in which we now find
ourselves. The ramifications of our lack of national spirit are so
multifarious that it is impossible to go into them as a whole. One or
two, however, are so prodigious, and have been so pronouncedly marked,
that the veriest optimist has not failed to observe. One which stood
out remarkably was the attitude of the reigning Government when war was
declared. Every newspaper cried aloud that our ranks had closed up to
meet the peril. They did close up, as far as the will of the country
was concerned, but our machinery was geared to certain movement, a
machine built through years of partizanship in politics. The result was
pitiful. When the party in power was faced with Labor troubles which
threatened our downfall in the war, they dared not face their task of
drastic remedy because they saw in the dim future the loss of votes
which would return their opponents to power at the next election. Hence
the political crisis, at a time when we could ill afford such crises,
and the formation of a coalition. Ten months were thus lost in drifting
while Labor played, and our soldiers, inadequately armed, went to their
deaths. The press, a divided press, mark you, sought a scapegoat in the
individual, when they, no less than our national machinery, were to
blame for the disaster. Is such a condition conceivable in a fervent
Latin race, or an iron-shod Teuton? No, no. Is it right to blame Labor,
who, for the past decade and more, has been coddled and pampered into
the belief that like any baby in its cradle it has only to cry loud
enough to obtain the alleviating fluid? It at least has cunning enough
to realize that its weight of vote in the country is sufficient to
control the destiny of the demagogues who seek place and power through
its ignorance. Man, but it makes me sweat to think of it. National
spirit? Faugh! Look at the manufacturers. Patriotism? They were full of
newspaper patriotism until those who were executing Government
contracts discovered that their profits were to be limited. The Army?
Our voluntary system? The Army was all right. Oh, yes, the Army was
great. But the system? The system was probably the most painful among
all our national systems. The most hopelessly inadequate. And, from a
national spirit view, was hideously grotesque. But the men who joined
and shed their blood upon those terrible battle-fields abroad were as
the worker in the vineyard who engaged for one penny. They gave their
all, and made up in the execution of their duty for those who sheltered
behind the skirts of their womenkind, and the race of shopkeepers they
left behind. The spirit of our country when the war broke out was a
sordid commercial spirit. 'Business as usual' was the cry. Then our
press, our wonderful divided press, said the country was not awake. It
was slumbering! I tell you it was a lie!" The old man banged his fist
upon the table and set the glasses jumping. "Our country was not
asleep. Every man, woman, and child capable of common understanding
realized our peril from the start. It was the hateful commercial mind
seeking to make gain out of the disaster which had overtaken the world,
that mind that has acquired for us the detestable sobriquet of 'a race
of shopkeepers,' that hindered and deterred us. We were not slumbering.
We were awake. Wide awake! To think that I have lived to see the day
when our women's fair hands should be called upon to distribute the
white feather. Our present-day musicians and our national bards will
tell you that the old songs of England are out of date. They are right.
Our girls and boys look askance at your Marryats, your Dickenses, your
Thackerays, your Stevensons, and all those great masters who found
their strength in our country's greatest ages. When war broke out we
were floundering in the mire of sensualism brought about by the years
of peace and security, and so we bred the cult of the sensualist
writers on sex problems, and all the accompaniment of the other arts to
match."

The white-haired veteran, who had spent his early youth fighting his
country's battles on the Empire's frontiers, and, in later days, had
devoted all his energies to the furthering of Britain's supremacy on
the seas, passed one strong hand over his lined brow. He swallowed like
a man choking back an emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Then the
flush died out of his rugged cheeks, and he smiled at the son he loved,
and who was his one remaining relative. "Forgive me, my boy, but--but
all I've said is true. I don't think many will deny it. Anyway those
who do are lying to their own consciences, or--or are purblind in their
insane egoism."

Ruxton smiled responsively and thrust back his chair.

"There's no forgiveness needed, Dad," he said. "You have quoted but a
few of the hundred signs, of which we all have proof, that when war
broke out patriotism had only the smallest possible part in the life of
this country. From the beginning to the end of this war England has had
to pay out of her coffers, to those of her people whose services she
needed, a price so extortionate that one wonders if it is not all some
hideous nightmare and in truth unreal. But tell me, Dad," he went on
after a pause, "you spoke just now of inventors, and your manner
suggested that there was something--important."

Sir Andrew rose from the table and led the way towards the distant
folding doors.

"Well, I don't know if it will prove to be anything--worth while."

He fumbled at an inner pocket of his dinner coat, and produced a letter
written on thin paper. When they reached the great hall and stood under
the brilliant electrolier he unfolded it and held it out for his son's
perusal.

"I get lots of them," he said almost apologetically, "and few enough
turn out worth while. This one reads a little different. That's all."


"Sir,

"You are a great shipmaster. You owned a fleet of merchant shipping
when war broke out of forty-two coastwise and thirty-five ocean-going
ships. At the end of the war you owned thirteen coastwise and
twenty-one ocean-going traders. I have a means of saving you any such
loss by submarine in the future. May I be permitted to show you my
invention?

"Truly yours,
  "Charles Smith.

"P.S.--Absolute secrecy is necessary. A simple 'yes' addressed by wire
to Veevee, London, will be sufficient."


"The wording of it is so unusual that it--interested me," Sir Andrew
went on, as Ruxton began to read the letter a second time.

Presently the younger man looked up from his reading.

"That's your imagination working, Dad," he said, smiling. Then he
added: "Let it work. Let it run riot. That's what we want in
England--now. I should see this man. I think he is a foreigner--in
spite of his English name."

The John Bull face of the elder man wreathed into a warm smile as he
looked up at his towering son.

"I had decided to," he said quietly.

Ruxton handed him back the letter. Then he moved across to the great
mullioned window and looked out upon the perfect summer night. The moon
was shining at its full and not a cloud was visible anywhere.

"I have some letters to write, my boy," Sir Andrew went on. "If you
want me I shall be in the library. What are you going to do?"

"I think I shall take a stroll along the cliffs. It'll do me good, Dad.
I want to feel our beloved Yorkshire cliffs under my feet again, and
make sure they're--still there."

Ruxton laughed.

"The General Election is on August 21st, isn't it?" his father enquired
presently. "You've got seven weeks in which to recuperate, and get the
cobwebs blown off you."

"I always get rid of bad fancies up here in my native air," Ruxton said
lightly. "I'm glad we haven't a strenuous campaign."

"No. We shall win all right."

"Win?" Ruxton laughed. "The National Party will sweep the polls. Labor
will be opposed to us as Labor will oppose any party. They will always
be with us. But even if the extreme Radicals were to link forces with
them, they couldn't obtain a twenty-five per cent. representation. No,
Dad, whatever the country failed to realize during the first two years
of war, it's been all brought home to it now. The English housewife has
been driven to a sweeping and garnishing of her home. We've driven her
to that, and the National Party is--_going to see she does it
thoroughly_."

The younger man's enthusiasm drew an approving smile from his father.
Also a world of pride in this great, fair-haired idealist shone in his
eyes.

"Sweep and garnish. That's it, boy," he said ardently. "And what a
sweeping, what a garnishing is needed. I wonder. Can it be done?"

"That is what we intend to test. It is to that great effort my
colleagues have pledged their lives. I have pledged mine to another. I
tell you, Dad, that the sweeping and garnishing isn't sufficient. That
is only the moral side of the campaign that lies before us, and without
it the other side can never be achieved. But all my future is to be
given up to the material security side of the problem. It may be only
my dreaming, but I seem to see a terrible threat sweeping up over the
eastern horizon. A threat so appalling for us as to make the late war
almost insignificant. Some day, if you have the patience to listen to a
dreamer, I will tell you of the dread that persistently haunts me.
Meanwhile we have that--breathing space."

Without troubling himself to get a hat Ruxton Farlow passed through the
entrance hall, out into the brilliant, warm summer night, and strode on
towards his destiny.




CHAPTER II

A STRANGE MEETING


The peace of the night knocked vainly at the heart of the man as he
moved along over the grass-grown cart track, which skirted those fields
abutting on the pathway marking the broken line of the lofty Yorkshire
cliffs.

The warmth of the July air left him utterly forgetful of the light
evening clothes in which he was clad, just as the grass-grown track
failed to remind him that the shoes he wore had never been intended for
country rambles. The soft sea breeze fanned his cheeks, and the bracing
air added vigor of body if it left his mental feelings wholly
uninspired.

For the time, at least, Ruxton Farlow was living within himself. His
mental digestion was devouring hungrily of that force which had come to
make his contemporaries realize that here was a man of that unusual
calibre which must ultimately make him a leader of men in whatever walk
of life he chose for that strenuous journey.

The full moon, shedding a ghostly glory on every hand, yielded him the
necessary guidance for his footsteps. It served his purpose, but its
beauty for once left him unimpressed. The diamond-studded sky suggested
no jewel-bedecked cloak of mysterious night as at other times it was
wont to appeal. All romance was dead for the time, as though the
shutter of his mental camera had been closed with a slam for the
development of the plates within which held those living, grim pictures
of the life he felt himself surrounded by on every hand.

He passed the last stile and faced the open sea. That smooth limitless
expanse, sighing and restless, as it gently rocked its bosom like some
aged crone nursing the infant she was too old to bear herself. He flung
himself full length upon a rustling bed of heather. His head was
towards the sea, and craning over the very edge of the dizzy cliff.
There was no thought in his mind of the dangerous proximity. He had
known these cliffs almost from his birth up. They were the friends of
his whole life, and their possible latent treachery was unthinkable to
him. He propped his face between his two hands and sank his elbows deep
into the heather. Then, like some schoolboy, his feet were raised
behind him, and crossed, while his eyes searched that mysterious
horizon lost in the shadows of a perfect night.

It has been said that Ruxton Farlow was an idealist. But let there be
no misapprehension about it. His idealism was practical and full of
sanity. He was no visionary. His mind was ever groping for the material
welfare of his country. The moral welfare, he felt, should be in hands
far more capable in that direction than his life and learning had made
his. It had been his habit of life to feed his mind upon hard and
incontrovertible facts which bore upon the goal of his ideals. He
accepted nothing which was merely backed by academic logic. He demanded
the logic of practice. Theory was impossible to him, unless that theory
was demonstrated in practice. Thus it was he kept his mind alert for
facts--and again facts.

The facts which concerned him at the moment were many, and he found in
them all, when arranged in due order, one stream like some rushing
river which raced on its tempestuous way to the wide sea of disaster
beyond.

The starting-point of his facts was the truth that no modern
combination of force, however superlative its effort, could crush out
of international existence the power of two peoples with aggregate
populations of virile strength of some hundred and odd million souls.
The war had proved that. And the only possible peace resulting from it
had added the conviction that, from a peace point of view, the war had
proved utterly useless and damaging. Besides the enormous expenditure
of treasure and the vast sacrifices of human life, it had given the
world a nominal peace backed by an aggravation of international hatred
and spleen a thousand times greater than had ever been known in history
since the days of bare-limbed savagery.

What then was the outlook? The man stirred with that nervous suggestion
of a disturbed mind. War--war! On every hand war--again. Once again all
the moral development of the human race towards those higher planes of
light, learning, and religious ideals was shadowed by the spectre which
during the last three years had flung men back to the shadows of an
ancient savagery and barbarism.

The savage mind of the Teuton had broken out into a fierce
conflagration of barbarism. Again it would smoulder, like some
slumbering volcano, only to break out again when the arrogance of the
German heart told it that the time was ripe to avenge the indignity of
its earlier failure.

Ruxton Farlow accepted this as his basis of fact, and followed the
river down its turbulent course towards that sea of disaster which he
already saw looming ahead. It required no imagination. The course was a
straight one, straight as the crow flies. For that passion of hatred
which inspired the flood brooked no obstruction to its course. It
clamored for its goal and swept all side issues out of its path. Great
Britain lay in that sea beyond. Great Britain, who, in German eyes,
owned the earth, and incidentally had snatched even those inadequate
colonies from her bosom, which, through long years of diplomatic
trickery, she had contrived to acquire. The Prussian passion for
conquest had been changed through the late war to the passionate
national hatred of the German people against Great Britain. This was
clear. So clear that the light which shone upon it was painful to his
mental vision.

What then was the resulting position of the country he loved? The
lessons of the war were many--so many. Yet preeminently outstanding was
one fact which smothered all others in its significance, and reduced
them all almost to nothingness. His father had dwelt upon the lack of
national spirit when war broke out. That had been remedied. The country
had changed during those three years of suffering and sacrifice. No,
his father had missed the great lesson. Yet it was so simple--so simple.

The man raised his head higher, and folded his arms under him as a
support. He gazed down at the calm summer moonlit sea. So calm, so
peaceful, so--seductive to the straining mind.

He began to realize the yearning of the suicide for the peace beyond
life. How easy to solve all problems. How easy to rid oneself of the
duties, the harassing, cruel duties imposed by the Creator of all life.
The soft murmur of the breaking swell upon the beach below. One plunge
beneath that shimmering surface and--nothing. In that instant there
flashed through his mind a memory of just such another sea. The perfect
summer sea. The great ship, one of the wonders of the age. A stealing
trail of foam across the glass-like surface. An explosion. Then fifteen
hundred souls solve the problem of that--nothing! Ah, that was it. That
was the Danger. He knew. Every thinking human being knew that if
Germany had begun war with a fleet of some three or four hundred
submarines, three weeks would have terminated the war so far as Britain
was concerned.

He moved over on to his side, and his movement was a further expression
of nervous tension. He propped his head upon one hand with his eyes
fixed on the vague horizon beyond which the Teutonic giant was
peacefully slumbering, and his thought was spoken aloud.

"Is he slumbering?" he asked of the sea. "Is he? Will he ever sleep
again? No, I think not. Not at least while there is a chance that his
intelligence behind the machine can render an island home untenable."

"Night claims from the overburdened soul the truth which daylight is
denied."

Ruxton Farlow sat up with a jolt. His dark, searching eyes were turned
from the sea. They were turned in the direction whence the voice, which
had answered him, had proceeded. In the brilliant moonlight he saw the
outline of a figure standing upon the footpath which ran parallel to
the coast-line. The figure was not quite distinct, but it was clearly a
woman's, which corroborated the conviction he had received at the sound
of the voice.

"But for once she has betrayed her--trust," he said, and a feeling of
irritation swept over him that he had permitted himself to respond to
the challenge of this stranger, who was probably something in the
nature of one of life's vagrants, wandering homeless over the deserted
ways of the countryside.

Then he discovered to his further annoyance that his response had
brought forth its logical result. The figure was moving towards him,
and as it drew near he became aware of that delightful feminine rustle
which no man ever yet found unseductive.

The woman made no verbal reply until she was standing before him.
Ruxton was still sitting on the heather, but his eyes were wide with
astonished admiration, and his clean-shaven lips were parted, which
added to his whole expression of incredulous amazement.

The woman standing before him was no vagrant, unless a vagrant could
possess a queenly presence, and an attire which suggested the best
efforts of London or Paris. He stared, stared as might some schoolboy
budding into manhood at the sight of a perfect womanhood. Then, in a
moment, questions raced through his head. Who was she, and where--where
did she come from? What freak of fortune had set her wandering those
cliffs alone--and at night?

She was beautifully tall and crowned with a royal wealth of hair which
remained hatless. Its color was not certain in the moonlight, but
Ruxton felt that it must be red-gold. He could think of no other color
which could match such a presence. Her figure, sharply outlined in the
moonlight, was superb. It suggested all he had ever seen in those
ardent dreams of youth. Her face possessed something of the reflected
glory of the moon lit by eyes whose color was hidden from him, but
which shone like great dull jewels full of a living fire.

All these things he realized in one swift comprehensive glance. But in
another moment his whole attention was absorbed by the rich voice, the
tones of which were like the softest music of some foreign southern
land.

"It is scarcely fair to blame the night," she said, in smiling protest.

All unprepared for the encounter Ruxton had nothing but a stupid
monosyllable to offer.

"No," he said, and a sigh somehow escaped him.

Then, in a moment, the blood was set swiftly pulsating through his
veins.

"May I sit down?" the woman enquired. "I have had a long walk, and am a
little tired," she added in explanation.

But she waited for no permission. And somehow Ruxton felt that her
expression of weariness was far below the mark. She appeared quite
exhausted.

"You are more than a _little_ tired," he said, with urgent solicitude.

Now that her face was nearer to his level he could see that she was
indeed very, very beautiful. Her eyes were large and almost oriental in
their shape. Her cheeks were as delicate as the petals of a lily. The
contour of her whole face was a perfect oval with just sufficient
lengthening to give it character.

She did not deny him. But a smile lit her eyes.

"This is delicious," she said, with a sigh of content, turning her face
towards the sea, and drinking in deep draughts of fresh, salt air.

Ruxton endeavored to gather his faculties, which had been completely
scattered by the thrilling shock of the encounter. He felt himself to
be like a callow youth of seventeen rather than a man of over
thirty-five, a man whose public life had made intercourse with women of
society a matter of every day.

"You have had a long walk?" he enquired wonderingly. "But at night? On
these cliffs? You are ten miles from Dorby, and there is no habitation
between--except Dorby Towers. Beyond this there is a village or two,
but no railway for miles." He had made up his mind that she did not
belong to this district. Her costume was still in his thoughts.

"I did not come from Dorby. Nor from any of those villages. Still, I
have had a long walk. I have been on my feet nearly three hours."

As she offered no further explanation Ruxton urged her.

"Will you not explain--more?"

"Is it needed?"

The woman faced round, and her Eastern eyes were smiling frankly into
his.

Ruxton had no alternative. He desired none. The situation had suddenly
gripped him. He was caught in its toils, and delighted that it was so.
This woman's beauty, her frank unconventionality, were wholly charming.
He asked nothing better than that she should satisfy her whim, and sit
there, beside him, talking--talking of what she pleased so long as he
listened to the rich music in her voice, and could watch the play of
her beautiful, mobile features.

"No," he said deliberately. "There is no need." Then he made a
comprehensive gesture with one hand. "The night is beautiful, it is a
night of romance and adventure. Let us forget there are such things as
conventionality, and just--talk. Let us talk as this silver night
prompts. Let us try and forget that painful thought which daylight
brings us all. As you say, the night is the time of truth, while
daylight demands the subterfuge which conceals it."

But the woman did not respond to his invitation. A little pucker of
sudden distress marred her brows.

"Conventionality. I had forgotten," she said. Then her manner became
suddenly earnest. She leant slightly forward, and her shining eyes
warned Ruxton of the genuineness of their appeal. "Yes, I had truly
forgotten," she went on. "Will you--will you forget for the moment
there is the difference of sex between us? Will you forget that I am a
woman who has wilfully thrust her presence upon a man, a stranger, and
laid herself open to a dreadful interpretation of her actions? Will you
simply regard me as some one who is striving to unravel those tangled
skeins, which, just now, seem to be enveloping a helpless humanity,
and, in her effort, has sought out the only man whom she feels can help
her--Mr. Ruxton Farlow, the man who will one day rise to be a great
ruler in his country?"

"You sought me out?" enquired Ruxton, ignoring the tribute so frankly
spoken.

"That is why I have been on my feet for three hours. Will you do as I
have asked?"

The charm of this beautiful creature was greater than the man knew. The
situation, as she put it, was wholly impossible. Yet her fascination
was such that he was impelled to hold out his hand.

"For the time, at least, we are comrades in a common cause," he said,
smiling. "My hand on it."

The woman laid a white-gloved hand in his, and the thought in the man's
mind was regret at the necessity for gloves.

Ruxton stretched himself out on the heather again. This time he was on
his side, supporting his head upon his hand and facing her. The moon
was shining full down upon her uncovered hair, and illuminating the
perfect features which held the man's gaze.

"And now for the tangled skein," he said with attempted lightness,
while his eyes lit whimsically.

"Ruxton Farlow doesn't need a woman to point the dreadful tangle in
which humanity is involved--just now. He knows more of the threads than
perhaps any man of his country. He was thinking of them when he was run
to earth here upon this scented waste of Nature's riot. He was probably
pulling apart the wretched threads himself, seeking hope in his
endeavor, hope for the future, hope for the future of this land we both
love, and for its people. Doubtless he, as others, has found the task
something more than arduous, and no doubt he has searched the scene
that lies below him, yearning for that peace of mind which oblivion has
yielded in recent days to so many souls which have passed beneath the
shining surface which encircles this iron-bound coast."

Ruxton's eyes devoured the entrancing animation which accompanied the
words. An added amazement had leapt within him. She had fathomed his
secret feelings as his eyes had searched the surface of the shimmering
summer sea. Her understanding was even more uncanny than had been her
sudden apparition. Who was she? he kept reiterating to himself. Who?
And where did she come from?

"I felt all that," he found himself saying.

"I know. I have felt it all, too. But your feeling had no inspiration
in cowardice. It is the mind of the imaginative that sees an
exaggeration in all that offends the sensibilities. It is the mind that
distorts with painful fancy the threat which has not yet fallen. It is
the mind which is inspired by a heart strong with hope, which in its
turn owes its inspiration to a spirit possessed of a great power to do.
Of such spirit are the leaders of men. Their mental agony is theirs
alone, they suffer and do for those others who do not possess power to
do for themselves."

The woman's eyes were turned upon the distant horizon again. Their gaze
was introspective, and she talked as she thought, regardless for the
time of the man beside her.

But he was more mindful. No word of hers was lost upon him. He was
marvelling at her depth of understanding, he was marvelling at her
simplicity of expression. And, through it all, he was noting and
endeavoring to place that suggestion of foreign intonation in her
perfect English accent. More and more was this splendid creature
becoming an enigma. More and more was he becoming absorbed in her, and
more surely was his promise of simple comradeship becoming an
impossibility.

"And the threat--which inspires these phantasms?" he said, as the
musical tones ceased, and the murmur of the sea came up to them in
their eyrie.

"It is a reality."

Ruxton stirred. He sat up once more, and his gaze, for the moment, left
the beautiful profile, and wandered towards the eastern horizon.

"I know," he said simply.

"I have seen," came the impressive rejoinder.

Ruxton's eyes came back to the woman's face.

"Will you tell me?"

His request was made without a shadow of excitement. That was his way
when confronted with a crisis. Now he understood why she had worn
herself to weariness for three hours on her feet. But for all the
interest of the moment his mind was still questioning--Who?

"The telling would be worthless. It would convey simply--words. There
is better than telling."

"But the world is at peace now," Ruxton suggested.

"It was at peace before, when--the telling came from all ends of the
world."

"And no one listened."

"Those who could have helped refused to hear. And those who heard were
powerless."

"So now you come----?"

"To one who, eschewing all that his wealth and position could give him
of life's leisure and delight, has dedicated his whole future to the
land I--have learned to love."

"And what would you have me do?" Ruxton was smiling, but behind his
smile was a brain searching and hungry.

"Do? Ah, that is it." The woman turned swiftly. All her calm had been
caught up in a hot emotion. Her eyes were wide and shining as she leant
towards him and searched his fair face and dark eyes. "There is peace
as you said. But it is only words written upon paper with ink that is
manufactured, and by a pen also manufactured. The whole peace is only
manufactured. There is no peace in the hearts of the leaders of
nations, only hate, which has inspired a passionate yearning for
revenge, a passion which has intensified a thousandfold all effort
towards the destruction of the hated. Need I tell you of the Teuton
feelings? Ruined, blasted as has been that great machine, both military
and industrial, there is still the Teuton mind ready and yearning for
such a revenge as will stagger all conscious life. Well may the
sensitive imagination distort and magnify the threat that cannot yet be
grasped. Well may the straining mind contemplate with ecstasy the
oblivion gained by those poor creatures on the _Lusitania_. But for
those who would learn, and know, and see, there is a better, braver
death to die than the bosom of the ocean can offer. I tell you there is
work for every true Briton, man and woman. Work that can offer little
else than the reward of a conscience that, maybe, is rendered easy in
death. The men who would lead Britain must be men with eyes, and ears,
and mind wide open. The time has gone by when England's politicians may
sit down in luxurious offices and enjoy the liberal salaries this
country so generously dispenses. They must learn first hand of the
dangers which threaten these impregnable shores. Impregnable? That has
been the fetish which has been the ruin of Britain's national spirit.
But I tell you, as surely as the sun will rise to-morrow I can prove to
you that impregnability can never again be applied to these splendid
shores. Remember, these are the days when victories and destruction are
wrought by thought in peace time. The days of simple brute strength
have died for all time. And that is why I have travelled far to seek
Ruxton Farlow."

"You have sought me to tell me all this that I have thought for months.
That I have felt. That in my heart I have known as surely as that night
follows day. You have sought _me_," he added reflectively.

The stranger leant still further towards him, and the man thrilled at
the contiguity. So close was she that her breath fanned his cheek, and
he found himself gazing into the eager, beautiful eyes.

"And have I not done right? Have I not done right to come to you, who
have felt, and thought, and known these things for months--if I can
show you even more than in your worst moments you have ever dreamed of?"

It was an intense moment. Its intensity for the man was well-nigh
overpowering. Was this wonderful creature some brilliant siren luring
him to destruction for very wantonness, or in the interest of others?
Was she just as she represented, just an ardent patriot, to whom chance
had revealed some damaging secret of his country's enemies, or was she
merely a woman endowed with superlative beauty exercising her
attraction in those enemies' interests? These things flashed through
his brain, even as those feelings of sex stirred his blood and made for
denial. For a moment the mental side of him rose dominant.

"You are a foreigner," he challenged, in a voice he hardly recognized
as his own.

"I am a Pole."

The admission came promptly.

"You speak English--perfectly," he persisted in the same voice.

"I am--glad."

"Where were you--during the war?"

"In England."

The questions and answers flew back and forth without a semblance of
hesitation.

"Yes, yes." Then the man mused. "There were thousands of foreigners at
large in England--then."

"But not all were--spies."

The man lowered his eyes. A flush stole up to his brow. It was a flush
of shame.

"I--I beg your pardon," he said. The mind had yielded to the man.

"Why should you? Your country should be first in your thoughts. You
have not hurt me."

Ruxton passed one hand across his broad, fair forehead.

"But you--a Pole. It seems----"

"It seems that I must have some motive other than I have stated. I
have." A bitter laugh accompanied the admission. Quite suddenly she
threw her arms wide in a dramatic gesture. "Look at me," she cried.
"You see a Pole, but before all things you see a woman. Give riot to
your heart, and leave your head for other things. Then you will
understand my motives. I have lived through centuries of horror during
that terrible war. A horror that even you, who know the horrors
committed, will never be able to understand. The innocent women and
children in Belgium and France, and my own country, on your own shores,
on the high seas. O God," she buried her face in her hands. Then, in a
moment, she looked up. "Think--think, if at some future time the Teuton
demons overrun this beautiful land I love. The past, those horrors of
which I have spoken are nothing to that which will be committed here in
England. Now do you understand? Now--will you let me show you what--I
can show you?"

"I think I understand--now."

"And you will grant my request?" The urgency was intense. But in a
moment the woman went on in a changed tone. A soft smile accompanied
her next words. "But no. Don't answer now. It would not be fair to
yourself. It would not be fair to your country. It would even deny all
that I believe of you. Keep your answer. You will give it to me--later.
I will not let you forget. Now I must go."

She rose to her feet, and Ruxton watched her with stirring feelings as
she occupied herself with that truly feminine process of smoothing out
the creases of the costume which had suffered by contact with the
heather.

At last she held out her white-gloved hand, and Ruxton sprang to his
feet. He realized that she was about to vanish out of his life as
swiftly and mysteriously as she had entered it.

"You are going?" he said quickly.

"Yes. But you will be reminded."

The man held the gloved hand a shade longer than was necessary.

"But on these cliffs? Alone?" Somehow her going had become impossible
to him.

But the woman laughed easily.

"It will be only a few moments on these cliffs. It is nothing. Remember
I have been wandering about for three hours--alone."

"But--Good-bye!"

The man made his farewell regretfully. He had been about to ask her
how, with ten miles to Dorby, and a considerable distance to other
villages, she would only be on the cliffs a few moments. But he felt
that her coming and her going were her secret, and he had no right to
pry into it--yet.

"Good-bye."

The woman turned away, but was promptly arrested by a swift question.

"May I not know your name?"

The stranger faced him once more, and her smile lit up her radiant
features till Ruxton felt that never in his life had he seen anything
to equal her beauty.

"My name? Yes--why not? It is Vladimir. Vita Vladimir."

Then, in a moment, the man stood gazing after her, as the brilliant
moonlight outlined the perfect symmetry of her receding figure.




CHAPTER III

THE MYSTERY


Ruxton Farlow's return home was even more preoccupied than had been his
going. An entirely new sensation was stirring within him. Before, his
thoughts had been flowing along the troubled channel of affairs, all of
which bore solely upon the purpose of his life. Now their flow had been
further confused by the addition of an emotion, which, under ordinary
circumstances, might well have leavened the most gloomy forebodings.
Instead, however, it was rather like an artist engaged on painting a
picture of tragic significance who suddenly discovers that another hand
has added some detail, which, while it is still a part of the subject
portrayed, yet renders the whole a masterpiece of incongruity.

The coming of a woman into the affairs of his life seemed to him as
incongruous as it was pleasant, and, in the circumstances, justified.
It was an element all unconsidered before. His association with women
until now had been the simple parrying of the feminine shafts levelled
at him in the process of ordinary social intercourse in the position he
occupied in life. He was by no means a man who took no delight in
women's society. On the contrary. But his purpose in life had always
been too big as yet to permit his dwelling upon those pleasures which
no real manhood can ever ignore.

Women were to him part of the most exalted side of a man's life. His
ideals in that direction were as wholly unworldly as his ideals were
practical in every other direction. From his earliest youth, due to the
death of his mother at his birth, he had never experienced a woman's
influence upon his life, and thus he had been left to the riot of
imagination, which, in very truth, had been his safeguarding against
the operation of the matrimonial market of social London in the midst
of which he had found himself plunged.

Now, under conditions wholly robbed of every convention, he had
suddenly been confronted by a wonderful creature, who, to his vivid
imagination, appealed as the most beautiful of all her beautiful sex.
Furthermore the contact had been brought about through those very
ideals and purposes to which he had devoted his life. And, moreover,
the wonder of it all was that his purpose was apparently her purpose,
and she had sought him because this was so. Herein lay the
extraordinary incongruity of a sex attraction brought about by the
threatened tragedy overshadowing them all.

Vita Vladimir!

It was a name such as he might have discovered anywhere amongst the
foreign colony in Soho. His attraction towards the woman afforded no
glamor to the name. None at all. He told himself frankly it did not fit
her. Furthermore it left him unconvinced that it truly belonged to her.
Yet she said she was a Pole. And somewhere in the back cells of memory
there was a sort of hazy recollection that "Vladimir" had some
connection with Polish history.

However, the question of her name left him cold. Only the vivid picture
of her personality remained in his mind. Her charm, her ardor, her
beauty, and that extraordinary suggestion of mystery, conveyed in her
costume, and the evasion of the details of her coming and going--these
things had caught the imagination and the youth in him, and acted upon
them like champagne.

He strove to thrust aside these things and consider her only through
the purpose on which she had sought him out. She knew, and had seen,
the realities of the threat which he believed to be hanging over his
country. She could, and would, show him these things.

Suddenly on the impulse of a reasonable incredulity he asked himself if
he were dreaming. The whole thing must be a mere phantasm, the outcome
of all the troubled thought which had occupied him for so long. But she
had told him he would hear from her again, and then that tiny
white-gloved hand. He felt its clasp now, as it had lain in his strong
palm. No, it was no dream. She was real--and she was very, very
beautiful.

By the time he reached the great colonnade which formed the entrance
porch of his home the woman's personality had dominated all his
endeavor to regard the incident from any other point of view. The woman
had absorbed all that was in him, and a curious, deep, thrilling
sensation of delight at the encounter had completely thrust into the
background the purpose which had brought it about. All that which we in
our consideration of the affairs of life are apt to despise, and even
leave out of our reckoning altogether, had asserted itself. It was the
sex instinct, which no power of human mentality can resist.

Ruxton had no wish to meet his father again that night. He wanted
solitude. He wanted to think and dream, as all youth desires to think
and dream, when the floodgates of sex are opened, and it finds itself
caught in the first rush of its tide.

Glancing at his watch he discovered it to be close upon midnight. But
the hour had no significance in his present mood. His father would have
retired, and the library would be empty, so he passed up the oak
stairway with the determination to smoke a final cigar, and let his
thoughts riot over the delectable banquet the evening had provided for
them.

But that particular pleasure was definitely denied him. When he entered
the library the lights were still on, and he beheld his father's curly
white head still bent over the table at which he was wont to attend to
his private correspondence.

The old man looked up as the other walked down the long book-lined room
towards him. His deep-set eyes were smiling as they were ever ready to
smile upon the companion of his wifeless life.

"Finished your ramble?" he enquired pleasantly.

Ruxton returned the smile and flung himself upon a long old settle
before he replied.

"The ramble is finished," he said, preparing to light a cigar.

Their eyes met. The father knew there remained something as yet
unspoken behind the reply. He waited. But Ruxton's decision was not yet
taken.

"Finished your letters yet?" he enquired from behind a cloud of smoke.

The bright blue eyes surveying him twinkled.

"One more," his father said.

"Go ahead then."

Sir Andrew knew by the tone that ultimately the unspoken word was to
come. He glanced down at his papers with a sigh.

"I believe, after all, I shall have to break with some of my
old-fashioned habits. It is an awful thing to contemplate at my time of
life. I think I must be getting old. The burden of private
correspondence begins to weigh. I have always held that a private
secretary for such a purpose is waste of money, and the undesirable
admission of another into one's private life."

Ruxton stretched out his long legs. His bulk almost completely filled
the settle.

"It's hard work for Yorkshire to change its habit. A feature applying
pretty generally to the Briton. I only wonder a man of your vast
fortune has clung to such habits so long. I, who possess but a
twentieth of the fortune you possess, find I cannot do without one."

"But then you are a political man," his father smiled drily.

Ruxton nodded. "And in consequence I am saved much heartburning."

"Yes." Sir Andrew gathered up a sheaf of sealed envelopes and flung
them into his post basket. "Twenty-five letters. Answers to cranks.
Answers to those philanthropists who love to do good with other folks'
money. Answers to beggars, to would-be blackmailers, to public
institutions whose chief asset is a carefully compiled list of likely
subscribers, and then--those whom we have decided to encourage--the
inventors. Here is our friend Charles Smith." He picked up the last
letter remaining to be dealt with. "What am I going to say to him?"

The old man scratched one shaggy eyebrow with the point of his
penholder--one of his signs of doubt and perplexity.

"This secrecy business adds importance to the reply," he added.

Ruxton held out his hand.

"Let's read it again," he said.

His father passed the letter across, and sat watching the concentrated
brows of his son, while the latter re-perused the contents.

The watching man was about to turn back to his desk when his eyes
abruptly widened questioningly. Ruxton had suddenly sat bolt upright,
and a quick flush of suppressed excitement spread over his strong
expressive features.


"Veevee, London!" he exclaimed. "A code address which is obviously a
word made out of initial letters. V. V." Then he looked across at his
startled parent. "I say, Dad, there's mystery here all right--mystery
everywhere to-night. V. V. Those initials fit Vita Vladimir exactly."

"Precisely. Also Vivian Vansittart," smiled his father. "Or any other
high-sounding names beginning with V."

Ruxton passed the letter back with a laugh. Then he flung himself back
on the settle.

"Wait until I have told you what happened to me to-night. Then write to
that man and give him a definite appointment at some time when you can
devote several hours to him--if necessary."

Sir Andrew pushed his high-backed chair well away from the desk and
helped himself to a cigar.

"This is one more than I have any right to to-night, Rux," he said, as
he crossed his stout legs, "but go ahead."

Ruxton seemed in no hurry to begin his story. The truth was he felt
reluctant to let any one share his secret. Furthermore he was doubtful,
in the light of cold words, if that which he had to tell would carry
the conviction which possessed him. It seemed impossible; and then the
personality of Vita. No. But he felt that the story must be told, if
only in justification of his demand for Mr. Charles Smith.

"Look here, Dad," he began at last. "I know you regard me as a bit of a
dreamer, but on more than one occasion you have been pleased to say you
consider my judgment pretty sound. Perhaps it is. I don't know. Maybe
to-night I have been unduly affected by feelings which don't usually
carry me away; but, even so, I think I have retained sufficient of our
Yorkshire phlegm to get a right estimate of things, and the things
which have happened to-night I am convinced are connected with the V.
V. in that letter. I was on the cliffs, lying on the heather, looking
out to sea, when a woman came along who had been endeavoring to hunt me
out for three hours. She was the most beautiful creature I have ever
seen. She does not belong to Dorby, or the neighborhood. She was
dressed to perfection, and was hatless, and her name was Vita Vladimir.
I tell you these details because they are all significant, and I want
you to understand that first."

"Go on," his father nodded.

"Go on?" Ruxton gave a short laugh. "It's easier to say than to
do--adequately. Anyway this is the whole story."

Both men's cigars had been entirely consumed by the time Ruxton Farlow
had finished his long recital. He told his story of his meeting with
Vita Vladimir with all the simple force which was part of the Russian
nature in him. And, in spite of his fears to the contrary, none of its
dramatic significance was lost in the telling.

His father read in the story all his son wanted him to read. But he
read deeper even than that, and the depth of his reading was a trespass
upon the ground which Ruxton fondly believed he had kept to himself.
The shrewd Yorkshire mind probed deep to the vivid impression this Vita
Vladimir had made upon his only son, and as yet he was not sure that he
shared the boy's enthusiasm. However, long years of understanding had
convinced him of Ruxton's clarity of judgment in vital matters, and his
earnest recital of the woman's warning and promises carried the
conviction that, in spite of the boy's attraction, his judgment in this
matter had remained unimpaired. He accepted the facts, but, to himself,
deplored the means by which they had been conveyed.

"It is quite remarkable, boy, quite remarkable," was his only comment
at the conclusion of the story. Then he held the man Smith's letter in
his hand and glanced at the postscript.

But Ruxton was not satisfied with such comment. He was anxious that his
hard-headed father should see eye to eye with him.

"But what do you think of it?" he demanded, with suppressed feeling.

The great ship-owner took some moments formulating his reply.

"One's impression from your telling is the honesty of the woman," he
said deliberately at last. "There are three possibilities in the
matter. First that she is honest. Second that she--belongs to our
enemies. Third that she is a--crank. But the second and third I think
can be dismissed. Why should our enemies make such an extraordinary
proposal to you, or to anybody, short of a man important enough to be
done away with? The suggestion of 'crank' is quite dispensable, in view
of the significance of the story as it bears on all the possibilities
of the future we have discussed. Accepting her honesty, I should say
that the answer to this letter will be received by her
for--transmission. Well?"

"Then answer that letter in the affirmative, and see this Charles
Smith, Dad," cried Ruxton, rising and pacing the floor. "I am going to
probe this matter to the bottom." Then he came to a halt before the
desk, and gazed down into his father's serious eyes. "There is mystery
abroad, Dad. There is more than mystery. There is something tangible. A
great and threatening danger which must be nullified. We don't know
what it is yet. We can only surmise, but surmise is futile. We must go
and find out, as she said. We must learn these things first hand. I
shall go."

"That is what I felt you had--decided." The old man sighed. "I can't
disguise my regret, my boy, but it is--in the light of your life's
purpose--your duty to go. I will do my part. I will see this--Charles
Smith."


The General Election had come and gone like a hurricane of emotion
sweeping the country from one end to the other. Passionate opinion had
been stirred, it had been brought to a feverish surface and had been
hurled from lip to lip in that spirit of contention, than which no more
bitter feeling can be roused in the affairs of modern life. For once,
however, Britain was far less divided than usual. Even prejudice, that
blind, unreasoning, unthinking prejudice which usually characterizes
the voter, who claims for himself "good citizenship," had somehow been
shaken to its foundations. It was an almost awakened Britain which
marched on the polls and registered its adhesion and support to the men
who, out of the muckhole of demagoguery, had risen superior even to
themselves and yielded to the real needs of the country.

And the voice of the new Britain had been heard like a clarion across
the Empire, so that, at the close of the polls, the world knew that, as
Ruxton Farlow had said, the British housewife had determined upon that
sweeping and garnishing so sadly needed, and that once and for all she
had decided to bolt and bar the back door through which for so long she
had been assailed by her enemies.

Ruxton Farlow was on his way to his little old Georgian house in Smith
Square, Westminster. He was returning from Downing Street, where he had
been summoned hastily and urgently by the new Prime Minister. He had
found that electrical individual busily engaged in superintending the
removal of his effects, aided by his equally energetic secretary, from
one house in Downing Street to that Mecca of all political aspirations,
"No. 10."

Ruxton had avoided the vehicles and packing-cases at the door and was
conducted to the great little man's library. And on his entry the
secretary had been promptly dismissed. The interview was brief. It was
so brief that Ruxton, who understood and preferred such methods, was
not a little disconcerted. There had been a hearty hand-shake, a few
swiftly spoken compliments and a quick assurance, and once more the big
man found himself picking his way amongst the debris on the doorsteps.

But this time he had scarcely seen the obstructions he had to avoid. He
dodged them almost mechanically. His heart was beating high with a
quiet exultation, for he had left the presence of the wonderful little
man, who seemed to live his whole life on the edge of his nervous
system, with the assurance of a junior Cabinet rank in the new Ministry.

But the first rush of his tumultuous feelings quickly subsided, as was
his way, and he remembered that which was at once his duty and desire.
So he turned into a post-office and despatched a code wire to his
father in Yorkshire that he might be the first person in the world to
learn of his early triumph. Yes, he wanted his to be the first
congratulations. He smiled to himself as he left the post-office. The
entire press had been devoting itself to forecasting the personnel of
the new Cabinet, but not in one single instance had his name been
included in the lists.

It was with a sense bordering on perfect delight that he turned into
the calm backwater of Smith Square. And for once the dingy atmosphere
took on a reflected glory from his feelings. The square church, with
its four squat towers, handsome enough in its architecture but drab of
hue, might have been some structure of Gothic splendor. Even the
impoverished trees which surrounded it had something of the verdant
splendor of spring in them on this late summer afternoon. The sparrows
and the pigeons failed even to bring home to him the greyness of life
in a London square. For the moment those mental anxieties which had
haunted him ever since the Great War were powerless to depress his
outlook. Life was very good--very good indeed.

He crossed the square and let himself into his house with a latch-key.
He crossed the panelled hall and flung his hat and cane upon a table
and hurried up the stairway to his study. He had been interrupted in
his correspondence by the Prime Minister's summons, and now he was
anxious to be done with it, and be free to contemplate the new
situation in the light of those many purposes he had in view.

As he sat down at his desk the door in the oak panelling at the far end
of the room was thrust open and his secretary appeared. In a few
moments these two were absorbed in their work with a thoroughness which
was characteristic of Ruxton. Thus for two hours and more the memory of
his promotion was completely thrust into the background.

The butler had just brought him in a tray of afternoon tea, and the two
men took the opportunity to abandon their work for a few minutes'
leisure.

Ruxton leant back in his chair and lit a cigar, while the secretary lit
a cigarette and poured out the tea.

"Our labors have borne fruit, Heathcote," said Ruxton, seizing the
moment to impart his good news. "We are raised from the rank and file.
Our future lies on the front benches."

"The Cabinet?"

"Yes, the Cabinet."

Nor could Ruxton quite control the delight surging through him.

"Now we begin to see the development of all those long-laid plans we
have so ceaselessly worked upon, Heathcote," he went on. "Now we are
getting nearer to the position which will enable us to bring about
something of that security for this old country for which we both so
ardently long. Now--Heathcote--now!"

There was a passionate triumph underlying the idealist's words which
found ample reflection in the dark eyes of the keen-faced secretary.

The Honorable Harold Heathcote, a younger son in an old English family,
had been Ruxton's secretary from the beginning of his political career;
he was a brilliant youngster who had determined upon a political career
for himself, and had, with considerable shrewdness, pinned his faith to
the banner which, from the beginning of his career, Ruxton Farlow had
unfurled for himself. These two men were working for a common purpose.

"I knew it would come, Mr. Farlow," said Heathcote with cordial
enthusiasm. "And there'll be more to follow, or I have no understanding
of the times. I am glad. Very glad."

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Heathcote rose to
answer it. When he returned he handed two telegrams to his chief.

"Telegrams," he said laconically, and returned to his seat and to his
tea.

Ruxton ran a paper knife through the envelopes. The first message was
from his father. It was brief, cordial, but urgent.


"Heartiest congratulations. Immensely delighted. Must see you at once.
Inventor turned out most important as well as mysterious.--Farlow."


Ruxton read the message over two or three times. Then he deliberately
tore it up into small pieces and dropped it in the waste-paper basket.

He opened the second message with a preoccupied air. He was
thinking--thinking deeply. But in a moment all his preoccupation
vanished as he glanced over its contents. He hungrily devoured the
words written on the tinted paper.


"Am delighted at your promotion. I anticipated it. My most heartfelt
good wishes. Do not let this success make you forget our meeting. Dare
I hope that you may find your way to 17, Streamside Mansions,
Kensington?--Vita Vladimir."


It was some moments before Ruxton's eyes left that message. A world of
unsuspected emotion was stirring within him. He had not forgotten. He
was never likely to forget. But in the midst of his emotion some freak
of mind had caught and held the significance of this mysterious
creature's congratulations. How--how had she learned of--his promotion,
when no one but himself and the Prime Minister knew of it?

Suddenly he bestirred himself. He carefully refolded Vita's message,
and placed it in his pocket. Then he turned to Heathcote.

"I shall have to go to Dorby to-night. My father wants me. It is rather
important. Fortunately things here will not require me just now. But
you must notify me of anything important happening. Meanwhile give
orders to have my things got ready, and look me out a train. I must run
out to send a wire."

"Can't I send it for you?"

"No-o. I think not, thanks."




CHAPTER IV

MR. CHARLES SMITH


A profound silence reigned in the library at Dorby Towers.

The pungent aroma of cigars weighed upon the atmosphere in spite of the
wide proportions of the apartment. Considerable light was shed from the
antique sconces upon the walls, as also by the silver candelabra upon
the long refectory table which ran down the centre of the room. But
withal it was powerless to dispel the dark suggestion of the old
bookcases which lined the walls of the room.

Two men were occupying one side of the table, and Ruxton Farlow sat
alone at the other. The eyes of all three were focussed intently upon
the object lying upon the table, which was a ten-foot model of a
strange-looking water craft.

The first to break the spell of the burden of silence was Sir Andrew
Farlow, who, with a bearded stranger, occupied the side of the table
opposite his son. But his was no attempt at speech. He merely leant
forward with an elbow on the polished oak, and his fingers softly
stroking his square chin and tightly compressed lips. He was humming
softly, an expression of an intently occupied mind. The fixity of his
gaze suggested a desire to bore a way to the heart of the secrets the
strange model contained.

The bearded stranger was watching him closely while his eyes appeared
to be focussed upon the object of interest, and presently, as though
the psychological moment had arrived, he, too, leant forward, and, with
an arm stretched out, terminating in a long, lean, tenacious-looking
hand, he pressed a button on the side of the model. Instantly the whole
interior of it was lit electrically, and the light shone through a
series of exquisitely finished glass-covered port-holes extending down
the vessel's entire sides.

He spoke no word, but sat back in his chair and went on smoking, while
he closely watched for any sign of impression which the two interested
spectators displayed.

The moments slipped by. The patient stranger sat on with his long lean
legs crossed, and a benevolent smile in his large eyes. After a while
Ruxton sat back in his chair. Then Sir Andrew abandoned his inspection,
and turned to the man beside him.

It seemed to be the cue awaited, for the stranger promptly leant
forward again and released a spring by the movement of a switch.
Instantly the model split in half, and, opening much in the fashion of
a pea-pod, displayed the longitudinal sections of its interior.

Simultaneously the two men whose lives had been hitherto given up to
ship construction rose to their feet, and pored over the wonderful and
delicate mechanism and design the interior revealed.

Then it was that Sir Andrew verbally broke the silence.

"Will you explain, Mr. Smith?"

The inventor removed his cigar.

"You know--marine mechanism?" he enquired.

Sir Andrew nodded.

"Yes, unless there is a new principle here."

"It is the perfected submarine principle which was used towards the end
of the war. There is no fresh detail in that direction."

"We have a complete knowledge of that principle," said Ruxton. "We have
been constructing for the Admiralty throughout the war."

"Good."

There was a distinct "T" at the end of the word as Mr. Smith spoke it.

Ruxton shot a quick glance in his direction. The man's whole
personality was an unusual one. He was very tall, and very thin. His
intellectual head, quite nobly formed, was crowned by a shock of
snow-white hair closely hogged, as might be a horse's mane. His
features were almost as lean as his body. But the conformation of a
magnificent forehead and the gently luminous eyes, beneath eyebrows
almost as bushy as a well-grown moustache, made one forget the fact.
Then, too, the carefully groomed, closely cut snow-white beard and
moustache helped to disguise it still more. It was the face of a man of
great mentality and lofty emotions, a face of simplicity and
kindliness. It was, in fact, a face which demanded a second scrutiny,
and one which inspired trust and liking.

To the rest must be added certain details which seemed a trifle
extraordinary in view of his profession. If his tailor did not trade in
Bond Street then he certainly must have served his apprenticeship in
those select purlieus. Perfect cut and excellence of material marked
every detail of his costume, which was of the "morning" order.

"Then there is little enough to explain, except for the architectural
side of the matter," Mr. Smith went on, with a peculiarly
back-of-the-throat tone in his speech, which also possessed a shadow of
foreign accent. "I am not offering you a submarine principle. That is
established now all over the world. I please to call my invention a
submersible merchantman. You will observe the holds for merchandise.
You will see the engine-rooms," he went on, rising and pointing out
each detail as he enumerated it. "There are the stateroom decks, with
the accompaniment of saloon and kitchens, and baths, and--and all the
necessities of passenger traffic. Everything is there on a lesser scale
such as you will find on a surface liner. Its speed and engine power
will compare favorably with any liner afloat up to ten thousand tons.
Thus it has the speed of a surface craft on the surface, with the added
advantages of a submarine. In addition to these I have a light, in the
course of production, which will serve to render the submarine immune
from the dangers of submersion. I call it the 'U-rays.'"

"The U-rays?" Ruxton's enquiry came like a shot.

"Just so."

Mr. Smith replied quite unhesitatingly, and Ruxton's obvious suspicion
was disarmed.

"This vessel," the inventor went on, quite undisturbed, "solves the
last problem of sea traffic under--all conditions."

The light of enthusiasm was shining in the man's luminous eyes as he
made his final pronouncement. It was as though the thought had filled
him with a profound hope of the fulfillment of some ardent desire. It
suggested to the more imaginative Ruxton that he cared more for the
purpose of his invention than for its commercial aspect to himself.

"You speak, of course, of--war," Ruxton said.

The large eyes of the stranger widened with horror and passion.

"I speak of--international murder!" he cried fiercely.

Sir Andrew turned from the model at the tone of the reply. Ruxton would
have pursued the subject, but Mr. Smith gave him no opportunity.

"Your pardon, gentlemen," he said with a sudden, exquisite smile of
childlike simplicity. "Memories are painful. I have much that I
remember, and--but let us keep to the business in hand."

"Memories are painful to us all--here in England," said Ruxton gently.
"But--this is a beautiful model. Perfect in every detail."

"It was made in my own shops," returned the inventor simply.

"And you say this," indicating the model, "has been tested on a
constructed vessel?"

"I have travelled more than ten thousand miles in just such a vessel. I
have travelled on the surface at twenty-four knots, and under the
surface at fifteen. I have carried mixed cargoes, and I have carried
certain passengers. All these things I have done for experiment, so
that the principle should be perfected. You can judge for yourselves. A
vessel of this type awaits your pleasure at any hour. A vessel of two
thousand tons."

"Two thousand?" The incredulous ejaculation escaped Sir Andrew before
he was aware of it.

"It is nothing," exclaimed Mr. Smith, turning quickly. "A vessel of ten
thousand tons can just as easily be constructed."

The sweeping assertion spoken with so simple a confidence had the
effect of silence upon his audience. It was overwhelming even to these
men who had witnessed the extraordinary development of invention during
the war.

After awhile Ruxton broke the silence.

"In your original communication to us you assured us of a means of
avoiding the losses we endured during the war from submarine attack.
This I understand is the--means. Will you point its uses? I see it in
my own way, but I should like to hear another mind on the subject."

Mr. Smith folded his arms and settled himself in his chair. Ruxton was
not seeking information on the subject of the boat. His imagination
told him all he wanted to know in that direction. It was the man he
wanted to study. It was the man he was not certain of. He was convinced
that this man was a foreigner, for all his British name. He desired to
fathom the purpose lying behind this stranger's actions.

"A great Admiral just before the war," said the inventor, "declared
that the future of naval warfare lay under the water, and not on the
surface, as we have always believed. He was right. But he did not go as
far as he might have gone. The _whole future of shipping_ lies as much
under water as on the surface. I tell you, gentlemen, that this boat,
here, will afford untold blessings to humanity. To an island country it
affords--existence. Think. This country, Britain, is not
self-supporting. Is it not so? It could not keep its people alive for
more than months. It depends upon supplies from all ends of the earth.
All roads upon the high seas lead to Britain. And every helpless
surface vessel, carrying life to the island people at home, is a target
for the long-distance submarine. If an enemy possesses a great fleet of
submarines he does not need to declare a war area about these shores.
Every high sea is a war area where he can ply his wanton trade. With
the submarine as perfect as it is to-day, Britain, great as she is in
naval armaments, can never face another war successfully. _That thought
is in the mind of all men already_." The man paused deliberately. Then
with a curious foreign gesture of the hands he went on. "But there is
already established an axiom. Submarine cannot fight submarine--under
the surface." He shrugged. "It is so simple. How can an enemy attack my
submersible? The moment a submarine appears, the submersible submerges
and the enemy is helpless. An aerial warship will become a spectacle
for the amused curiosity to the ocean traveller. In peace time storms
will have small enough terror, and on the calm summer seas we shall
speed along at ever-increasing mileage. I tell you, gentlemen, the days
of wholly surface boats are gone. The days of clumsy blockades are
over, just as are the starvation purposes of contraband of war. With
the submersible how is it possible to prevent imports to a country
which possesses a seaboard? That is the proposition I put to the world
in support of my submersible."

Father and son sat silently listening to the easy, brief manner of the
man's explanation. Nor was it till he spoke of the futility of a war
submarine's efforts against his submersible did any note of passion and
triumph find its way into the man's manner. At that point, however, a
definite uplifting made itself apparent. His triumph was in the new
depth vibrating in his musical voice. There was a light in his eyes
such as is to be found in the triumphant gaze of the victor.

Ruxton beheld these things with greater understanding than his father.
Moreover, he interpreted them with that sympathetic understanding of
one who possesses great ideals of his own. Whoever this man might be,
wherever he came from, one thing was beyond all question in his mind.
Here was no mere huckster seeking to trade his wares for the sole
purpose of gain. Gain might be his object, but somehow he felt that it
was not wholly so, not even paramount in his consideration. It seemed
to him that the man had spoken the truth when he had said that his
efforts were directed in the service of humanity.

But for all his understanding he had no intention of accepting his own
reading without proof from the only direction in which proof could come.

"And what is the commercial aspect of the matter--between us?" he
enquired in his most businesslike tone.

Mr. Smith looked up in a startled way from the deep reverie into which
his own words had plunged him.

"Commercial?" he echoed a little helplessly.

"Yes." Ruxton smiled. "The--price."

Mr. Smith nodded readily and smiled back. But his reply carried no
conviction.

"Yes, yes," he said hurriedly. "I was thinking. Of course--yes. The
price."

His infantile manner brought a smile to the shrewd face of Sir Andrew.
Ruxton only waited.

"I--had forgotten," Mr. Smith went on. Then, with his curious tenacious
hands clasped about one knee, a hopeless sort of distress slowly filled
his eyes. "It--it is difficult," he stumbled. Then quite suddenly a
world of relief seemed to come to him. "Would it not be better to leave
terms until you have seen, and proved for yourselves, of what my
constructed vessel is capable? You see, any price I could name now
would sound--er--excessive."

The manner of this strange creature was so delightfully naive that even
the keen Yorkshire features of Sir Andrew were reduced to a smile of
enjoyment.

"That's the way I like to hear an inventor talk, Mr. Smith," he cried
heartily. "Most of 'em want large sums in options on the bare model and
registered patents. If your invention--the constructed vessel is
capable of what you claim for it, it is worth--millions."

But the millionaire's encouragement seemed to have an adverse effect
upon the inventor. Trouble crept again into his eyes, and he passed one
thin hand across his splendid forehead.

"If it serves to save innocent lives in the future, sir, it has done
all that I ask of it," he said at last. "Its value to me then could
never be reckoned in millions. There would not be enough cyphers in the
mind of man to express that value."

To Ruxton the riddle of this man was growing in obscurity. For all his
understanding Mr. Smith's attitude demanded explanation which as yet he
was unable to give it.

But something in the nature of solution to the riddle was nearer than
he had supposed. It came in the man's words which were added in further
reply to his father.

"I have no fear but my invention will do these things," he said with
strong conviction. "But," he added almost sombrely, "I have other
fears."

"Others?"

The commercial mind of Sir Andrew was sharply suspicious.

"Yes."

Again came that troubled movement of the hand across the forehead. The
man hesitated in a painful, embarrassed way. Then, with a perfectly
helpless gesture, he blurted out something of that which Ruxton had
been waiting for.

"Yes, yes," he cried, his eyes full of a passionate light. "I have
fears, other fears. Nor are they idle. Nor are they to be belittled. I
came here in secret. No one but my two confidential men, who brought
this model, know of my coming. No one knows my whereabouts at all, but
you, and those two men whom I can trust--even with my life. Fears. My
God, if you only knew. I tell you there are people in the world, if
they knew of my visit to you, if they saw that model lying on your
table, who would not rest until my life was forfeited, and the utility
of my invention to this country was destroyed forever."

The man stood up. His great height was drawn up to its uttermost. He
was breathing hard, but the light in his eyes was not of the fear of
which he spoke. They were burning with a strained defiance of that
threat he knew to be hanging over him.

The others rose from their chairs simultaneously. Both were startled.
But Sir Andrew far more than his son. Startlingly as the revelation had
come, to Ruxton it _was_ revelation. And now it was he who took the
initiative. He leant across the table.

"I think I understand something that has been puzzling me all the
evening, Mr.--Smith," he said. "And now that I understand it I am
satisfied. You have come to us to-day at great danger to yourself. You
are risking everything in the world that we shall have the benefit of
your invention. The last thought in your mind is the commercial aspect
of this affair. Your real object in coming is your secret for the
present. I might even hazard a guess at it. But it is your secret, and
one we have no desire to probe. You desire a pledge from us. That is
obvious. And for myself I give it freely. Your secret is safe with
me--safe as the grave. I shall avail myself of your offer of a trip in
your submersible, and, if you will permit me, I shall make my own time
for it in the near future. Will you allow me that privilege?"

The inventor impulsively held out his hand, and his relief was obvious
and intense. It was almost as if he had feared the result of his
revelation.

"Your wishes are entirely mine," he said, as Ruxton wrung his hand. "It
was this necessity for secrecy which has troubled me. I did not think
you would accept it. And--I feared the shattering of all my hopes." He
turned to Sir Andrew, who stood watching the scene wonderingly.

"And you, sir?" he asked, with extended hand. "Have I your word?"

"Absolutely, sir."

The bluff tone, and the grip of the Yorkshire hand, had its prompt
effect.

"I need no more."

The man proceeded to close up his model.

"And for communicating with you?" demanded Ruxton.

Mr. Smith looked up.

"The same address. Veevee, London. It will always find me."

"Thank you."


Two hours later Ruxton and his father were alone in the library. The
inventor had gone, and his precious model had been carefully removed by
the two men who had conveyed it to Dorby Towers. For those two hours
Sir Andrew and his son had thrashed threadbare the situation created by
the stranger's coming. And, incredible as it seemed, in the minds of
both men was a steady conviction that the work of that evening was to
mark an epoch in the history of their country.

The possibilities were of a staggering nature. Neither could probe the
future under this new aspect. If this new principle of ocean traffic
were to---- But it was "if." If the man were honest. If the invention
were right. If--if, and again--if. That was it. And so they had talked
it out.

Now it was time to seek that rest which Ruxton sorely needed. His had
been a strenuous day, and he knew he must return to town to-morrow. He
rose and stretched himself.

"Well, Dad, it's bed for me," he said, in the midst of a yawn.

His father looked up from his final cigar, which was poised in his hand.

"Yes. You must be tired, boy. There's one thing, though, about that
man, that's occurred to me," he added, his mind still dwelling on the
subject of their long discussion. "Did you notice his speech? He didn't
sound to me English, and yet there--was no real accent."

Ruxton laughed.

"I wondered if that had escaped you." Then his eyes grew serious. "No,
he isn't an Englishman. He isn't even Dutch. That I am sure of. But his
nationality--no, I cannot say."

"No. It's a difficult matter with these foreigners."

"Yes. But if I can't locate his nationality I am certain of a very
important fact."

"And that is?"

"He belongs to--Germany."




CHAPTER V

THE LURE


That Ruxton Farlow was a creature of destiny rather than a man who
wrought only through the force of his own self-guidance was
extraordinarily apparent. The purpose of his life filled his whole
being. It was all of him, a dim light in the mist and fog of the
future, ever encouraging onwards, yet yielding to him no vision of the
path by which it might be the more easily reached. It was his lot to
flounder on, frequently stumbling and yawning as the conformation and
obscurities of the road compelled, but every step, every stumble, every
bruise and buffet, added to the sum of progress achieved and pointed
the unyielding nature which inspired his set purpose of reaching that
ray of light beyond.

The coming into his life of the woman who called herself Vita Vladimir
was an incident in his progress of far greater significance that even
he had dreamed. Whither it inclined his footsteps he knew not. All he
knew was that, almost in a moment, she had become definitely linked up
with his future through a bond, the meaning of which even he had no
full understanding of. All he knew was that she had some great bearing
upon the ultimate, and that it was his desire to follow blindly the
track she had opened up before him.

Nor had he any delusion as to his desire. There was not the smallest
doubt but that her attraction had influenced his decision. He had
listened to her words with a brain inspired by the warmth of the
manhood within him, which her extraordinary beauty had stirred as it
had never been stirred before.

It was in answer to this feeling that he left Yorkshire at the earliest
opportunity, and hastened back to town. He merely gave himself time to
change and hold a brief consultation with his secretary. Then he set
out in search of the rather obscure little flat in Kensington.

His mind was perfectly clear as to the object of this visit. Just as he
perfectly understood that even without that object it would have been
his desire to make it. He wished to give this woman an answer to her
request. He wished to fathom the manner by which she had learned of his
promotion. And, apart from these things, he desired ardently to see her
again. The recollection of that moonlit figure was a sharp negative on
the photographic plates of memory, and he was anxious to study the
original in the full light of day. Her undoubted beauty, and the
romance of their first meeting, had left behind them an irresistible
attraction; nor had he any desire to resist it.

His position in the world as the only son and partner of the greatest
among the ship-owners of Britain, his political career, and his
position as under-secretary in the Foreign Office of the late Ministry,
had brought him into contact with the social world of London. But,
hitherto, women had had small enough place in his life. The
hunting-field and the coverts, with golf and rowing, had entirely
claimed his leisure, which would have been considered something very
like wasted had it been spent in Society's drawing-rooms. He was a big,
strong, outdoor man, and possessed a great deal of that curious
diffidence which is more apt to attack men of his bulk than those of
lesser stature.

All these things had served to make him difficult as a prize worth
striving for in the matrimonial market, and, doubtless, he had been
thus saved to the work which he believed lay before him. He had never
been a man of marked celibate tendencies. It was simply the fact that
the sex question had always been dominated by the simple, hard-working,
outdoor life he lived. Those who knew him had always taken a delight in
prophesying that one day some woman would get hold of him, he would get
it badly, and it would be a thousand to one chance she would be the
wrong woman, and he would make a complete mess of things.

Now as he sat, filling to overflowing a small drawing-room chair, in
Vita Vladimir's flat in Kensington, listening to the musical tones of
the wonderful Polish beauty facing him on a wholly inefficient window
seat, with his dark eyes, shining and intent, fixed upon her mobile
features, it looked as though at least one part of his friends'
prophecy was within measurable distance of being fulfilled.

The woman was talking rapidly, and the light and shade of emotion
passing over her expressive face were quite irresistible.

"Your coming was more than I dared to hope," she said. "And yet--I knew
you would. I mean underneath my fears. You know I feel I ought to tell
you so many things that I have purposely hidden, and yet I know it
would be a mistake to do so until--I have shown you all that which I
promised. It makes me feel mean. It makes me feel almost as if I were
not acting honestly. And yet I know I am. But I think I can tell you
one thing which may astonish you. Our meeting on the cliffs was the
result of nearly two months' preparation and consideration. It was even
in the nature of a plot, in which I was to be the instrument of
communication. Furthermore it took me nearly two weeks of waiting and
watching before I could decide that the right moment had arrived. You
see, so secretly had we to move that I dared not chance a thing. The
risk for all concerned was so great. Mr. Farlow, will you believe me
when I say that yours is not the only life at stake in this adventure?
Even now I dare not give you the details. You must still take me on
trust, as you were kind enough to do--that night."

Ruxton nodded soberly, though his eyes were feasting upon the woman's
superlative beauty as she reclined against the window casing in an all
unconscious pose of considerable grace.

"I think I understand better than you imagine since I have seen--Mr.
Charles Smith and his invention."

The woman's deeply-fringed grey eyes were widely alert.

"You have--associated us?"

"Veevee, London."

The woman nodded. There was no attempt at denial.

"I see," she said, and the grey eyes became interestedly speculative.

Ruxton glanced about him. He was swiftly taking in the details of the
plainly furnished, extremely modern little drawing-room. It was the
preliminary to the next step in this strange adventure. He saw about
him no single suggestion of the personality of the woman who claimed it
as her home. It might have belonged to anybody, from a superior
business woman, who used it as a nightly refuge from the cares and
worries of a commercial life, to a foreign visitor to London, desiring
a convenient headquarters. It was to his mind a typical "furnished
flat" as designated in the house agent's catalogue.

His eyes came back to the woman herself, and a deep, restrained
admiration grew in their depths.

All that he had believed of her in the deceptive moonlight was more
than confirmed in the warm light of day. He had no thought for her
costume. In his man's way he realized a perfect harmony between that
and the wonderful face and head that adorned it. He was aware only of
the deep sleepy grey eyes so exquisitely fringed. The smooth,
delicately tinted cheeks, and the mouth so ripe and full of the
suggestion of youth. Above all was that wonderful glory of red-gold
hair massed on the head with all the art of the hair-dresser, which
transformed it into a crown which any queen might well have envied.

"I want to say something that may sound rough, even brutal," Ruxton
said abruptly after the prolonged pause. "But then there are times in
life when the suaveness of diplomatic methods becomes wholly
misplaced--even an insult to the person towards whom they are directed.
You will permit me to assure you that what I have to say is the outcome
of the interest you have roused in me by all you have confided." He
paused again thoughtfully. He was endeavoring to shut out of his mind
the picture of the woman's personality which made what he was about to
say seem so harsh and unnecessary. He nerved himself for the effort and
proceeded.

"Let me say at once, that against all my--what shall I say--better
sense? That will do. Against all my better sense I accepted and
believed your story to me on the cliffs. Had I acted as my sense
prompted I should have thrust it aside and ignored it, regarding you
merely as one of my country's enemies, seeking, for some inexplicable
reason, to leave me at the mercy of your confederates.

"However, for once instinct served me well. I committed no such
injustice. Then on my return home I discovered a link, as I thought,
between you and another matter which has since proved to be of
considerable importance. I refer to Veevee, London. That link you do
not deny. The combination suggests more fully the importance and
_truth_ of what you told me."

"The combination of the two things was part of the--preparation."

Vita Vladimir smiled. Her smile was like a sunbeam of early morning,
and Ruxton was compelled to respond.

"That is how I now supposed. You must forgive me for what else I have
to say. The natural result of a mind left groping is the dominance of
imagination. 'Fact' is the only thing which can pin imagination down.
At the present moment I am lacking in facts. I have only been told, and
so my imagination has been turned loose. The result has been one or two
things which I am going to put to you, and you can answer them or not.
But my future action will be undoubtedly governed by your attitude.
First, then, this is not your actual home. Second, your name is not
Vita Vladimir. Third, you were kind enough to send me congratulation on
my promotion to Cabinet rank when only the Prime Minister, and his most
intimate colleagues, were aware of it. Even the ubiquitous press had
failed to steal the information."

Ruxton's challenge came as it was intended to come, shortly, sharply,
even with a suggestion of brutality in it. He had outraged his own
feelings in doing so. He knew in his heart he had no doubt of this
wonderful creature, but his mind, that simple, keen, straightforward
organ, trained in the hypocritical world of diplomacy, dictated its
will upon him. He had been asked to believe something very like a
fairy-tale, and the lips which had formulated the request were the most
perfect it had ever been his lot to behold. However, the dictates of
his heart, the warm young manhood in him were still subservient to the
trained mind. The day might come when rebellion would overthrow such
sway, but, for the moment, it held.

The woman took no umbrage. There was a quickening of the rise and fall
of her beautifully rounded bosom, but that was the only sign of emotion
permitted to escape her.

"Your observation is--quick," she said, with a slightly heightened
color. "And what if these things are--true? Are they so very
significant?"

Ruxton shrugged. Something of the warmth had passed out of his eyes.
But he displayed not the smallest impatience.

Then the woman smiled. Her smile grew into a deep musical laugh.

"I am foolish. I am not clever enough for the work entrusted to me,"
she cried, spreading out her hands in a deprecating manner. "Here am I
striving to win your perfect confidence by methods which might well
characterize the most absurdly cumbersome and blundering child. I am
deputed to urge you to an enterprise that entails risks--untold; maybe
I am striving to send you to your--death. And this work is vital to the
world, and, more than all, to your country. We are both striving in the
cause of humanity, partners bound by no other tie, and yet in my
endeavor I am raising doubt in your mind. Doubt of me, doubt of my
purpose, even doubt of my honor. That is so like a woman--isn't it?"

The smile which the self-denunciation raised upon the man's face no
longer lacked warmth.

"The clever knave is rarely at a loss for explanation," he said drily.
"The lack of explanation often carries conviction."

The woman's slumberous eyes only smiled the more deeply.

"I have explanations for all these things, and I would give them," she
said promptly. "And those explanations might astonish you--a little.
But at present I have only admission to make, which may have a
disastrous effect upon my hopes. This is not my home. It is only a sort
of--office. My name is not Vita Vladimir, except in part. And as for my
wire to you, the moment the personnel of the new Cabinet was decided
upon by Sir Meeston Harborough and his colleagues, the news was
conveyed by the usual underground methods--abroad. That is all."

"And you are in touch with--abroad?"

"It is quite simple," the woman went on, with a shrug. "No political
movement, no movement of any significance goes on here but it is known
in foreign official circles even before the press get it here. Remember
the war. My father, who is interested in this matter I am engaged upon,
is in touch with those official circles, and so I received the news
within a few hours of the time Sir Meeston knew it himself."

The interest of this woman was very great. Its influence was growing on
the man even more quickly than he knew. Her ready admission, her
obviously true explanation of how she received the news which inspired
her message of congratulation, these things had immediate effect. To a
lesser mind than that of this youthful statesman, these things might
well have inspired added doubt, but to Ruxton they told him all he
wanted to know with definite assurance. He was convinced of her
absolute sincerity, as he was convinced of--other things.

The woman was waiting anxiously for the attitude which was to follow
her explanations. Her anxiety did not display itself in her eyes, which
were as calm as though matters of vital importance were beyond even her
appreciation. Nevertheless, her blood was tingling with an apprehension
which left the silence which had fallen almost insupportable.

But Ruxton was thinking swiftly. For the moment all thought of the
woman herself had been brushed aside. He was gazing at that dim misty
light ahead, which was his goal, and he seemed to see the shadowy
obstacles looming up which perhaps meant a life and death struggle in
their surmounting. There was no pathway to the right or left. He must
go on. It was the only road, a dangerous, deadly road, and it was the
road this woman had offered him. He had probed deeply, far deeper than
had seemed possible at first, and his probing had helped him to his
decision.

He rose from his seat and stood towering and large in that small room.
The sleepy eyes of the woman were raised expectantly to his face, and,
deep down in their depths, a light of admiration, which had only his
manhood for its object, was growing with each passing moment. She too
rose from her seat at the window, and they stood facing each other
perfect in their splendid youth.

"Well?"

The woman could no longer restrain her impatience. Her interrogation
broke from her almost unconsciously.

"I came here to--accept your invitation to visit that--to see those
things first hand, which is the duty of our country's political
leaders," he said, with a smile which thrilled the expectant woman.

"And you will--accept?"

Ruxton nodded. His fine head, with its fair hair, was inclined in
acquiescence.

"Thank God!"

The woman's exclamation was one of unrestrained thankfulness and
relief. Had Ruxton needed any added proof of her honesty and sincerity,
it was in that wonderful expression of fervid thankfulness which
accompanied her words. But he had needed none, and it was the result of
a coalition of heart and brain.

"I shall communicate with your father and appoint a time when I can
start with him--on his submersible."

The woman's eyes were wide.

"My father!" she exclaimed.

"Surely--Mr. Charles Smith."

The laugh which followed Ruxton's announcement was full of delighted
admiration.

"And we took so much trouble. We planned so carefully. We came to you
because we believed you to be the only man approachable on such a
subject. We did not realize we were approaching an intellect capable of
fathoming and turning inside out our closely kept secrets."

"Intellect?" Ruxton laughed as he held out his hand in "good-bye." "It
is not necessarily intellect which recognizes strong family likenesses.
But I regret to say that your father, brilliant as he may be as an
inventor, does not do you justice in the matter of his personal
appearance. However, I shall send him a message addressed Veevee,
London, which you will doubtless see, and I pray that Providence may
bless our feeble efforts. From all I can imagine the immediate future
will contain many uncertainties for me, so I do not know if we shall
ever meet again. But I want to tell you that I thank you from the
bottom of my heart for coming to me. If things are as bad as you think,
then you have done our country an inestimable service--you and your
father."

But his words had a different effect from that which might have been
expected. A shudder of pain seemed suddenly to affect the woman and a
great distress shadowed her beautiful eyes.

"Please don't," she cried. "If you knew all that is in here," she went
on, pressing her hands upon her bosom, "you would understand all this
thing means. Mr. Farlow, you have never felt terror as a woman can feel
it. How could you? You, a man, so big, and strong, and fearless. Even
your imagination, riot as it may, could never know the haunt which the
sinking of the _Lusitania_ has created in my woman's mind. Those poor
helpless souls. Think of them, and think of some future, distant day
when---- Oh, God! No, no! The service you speak of is no service. It
is--Duty."

Ruxton was deeply affected by the evident sincerity of her distress. He
had nothing to add. But Vita Vladimir brushed her moment of weakness
aside, and gazed up at him with luminous, searching eyes.

"I had almost forgotten," she cried. "I am afraid I am but a poor
plotter. The delight that you have accepted has put so much out of my
poor brain." Then her eyes grew wide with awe and dread. "I told you
that other lives than yours hang upon this matter. So--it is necessary
for inviolable secrecy. Need you tell even your--father of your going?
Need any one know? Your servants? Any one at all? It is a big thing to
ask, but--life is very dear to us all, and---- No, no, what am I
talking about? I must not beg. I must demand. For as sure as the sun
rises to-morrow you will be silenced forever if word of this leaks out.
We shall all be."

The woman's manner was far more impressive than her words. But Ruxton
treated the matter almost lightly.

"Don't worry. I have given my promise to go. I am wilfully thrusting my
neck into the noose waiting for it. I shall not take unnecessary
chances. No one, not even my father, shall hear of this thing from me.
So--good-bye until I return from--Germany."

Vita's relief found expression in a grave sort of smile.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "But--but you are not going to--Germany."




CHAPTER VI

THE OLD MILL COVE


He had known the mill all his life; at least he believed he had. He had
gazed upon that awesome black ruin, keeping watch and ward over the
wicked little cove below it, like some sentinel on guard over a
dangerous criminal, with wide, childish eyes, and a mind full of
terrified speculation. He had known it later, when, with boyish
bravado, he had flouted the horrific stories of a superstitious
countryside, and explored its barren, ruined recesses. He had known it
still later, when, with manhood's eyes opening to a dim appreciation of
all those things which have gone before in the great effort of life, he
had seen in it a picturesque example of the endless struggle which has
gone on since the dawn of life.

So he thought he knew it all.

Now the limitations of his knowledge were forcing themselves upon him.
Now he was realizing that there were secrets by the score in those
every-day things which a lifetime of contact may never reveal. The
strangeness of it all set him marvelling. The limitations of human
understanding seemed extraordinarily narrow.

He gazed down into the gaping cavity beneath his feet, and, by the dim
rays of a lighted lantern, counted the worn stone steps until the
darkness below swallowed up their outline.

Ruxton Farlow straightened himself up and glanced about him at the bare
stone walls, from the joints of which the cement had long since fallen.
He looked up at the worm-eaten, oaken rafters which had stood the wear
of centuries. The flooring which they supported had long since fallen
into decay, and he only wondered how much longer those sturdy oaken
beams would continue to support the colossal weight of the millstones
now resting from their grinding labors.

Through the rents which time and weather had wrought he saw the warm
glow of daylight above, for all was ruin in the great old mill, ruin
within and without. As it was with the walls of stone, and the great
tower of woodwork above them, so it was with the outbuildings beyond
the doorway, within which he stood. The walls remained, heavily
buttressed by the hardy hands of a race of men who had understood so
well the necessity for fortifying their homes against all
eventualities, but the timbers of the roofs had long since fallen
victims to the inclemencies of the seasons and the ruthless
"North-easters" which, probably, since the time when the iron shores of
Britain first emerged from beneath the waters, had beaten their
relentless wings against the barrier which held up their freedom.

Ruxton set his lantern on the ground and moved away to the wide
doorway, which no longer possessed the remotest sign of the old wooden
doors which had probably been at one time heavy enough to resist a
siege. Here he drew a letter from his pocket and read it carefully over
by the light of the sunset.


"Dear Mr. Farlow:

"I never knew your wonderful coast could be so interesting, even
absorbing. I feel I owe you personal thanks for a delightful time,
simply because you live--where you live. I have discovered a most
wonderful spot. I say discovered, but probably you have known it from
the days when you were first able to toddle about by yourself. However,
I must tell you of it. It is an old, old, ruined mill, regarded by the
folks on your coast as an evil place which is haunted by the spirits of
the smugglers who once upon a time used it as the headquarters for
their nefarious trade. But the incredible part of it is we unearthed a
secret in it which has remained hidden for generations, possibly
centuries. Now listen carefully and I will tell you of this secret. In
the middle of the stone chamber under the mill there is the entrance to
a passage which communicates with that villainous cove over which the
evil eye of the old mill forever gazes. Six inches beneath the surface
of the debris on the floor there is a slate slab, and, on raising this,
you will discover a stone staircase which goes down, down,--follow it,
and you shall see what you shall see. I have since discovered that this
is the _only means of reaching the beach of the cove--unless you
possess wings_. But I began this note with the intention of only
telling you how much I am looking forward to seeing you again on
Thursday evening at eight o'clock. I do hope you are taking full
advantage of your vacation from parliamentary work, and are storing up
plenty of good health upon your wonderful, wonderful moors.

"Yours very sincerely,
  "Vita Vladimir."


Ruxton refolded the letter and put it away. He understood it was the
final summons to that great adventure which was to tell him of the
threat overshadowing his beloved country.

He had obeyed it readily, eagerly, and now that the reality of the
whole thing was developing he paused to consider the motives urging him.

He was going to witness things first hand. He was glad. His
understanding of duty assured him that it was the only means by which
he could hope to convince others, when the time came. But was this his
sole motive? Was this the motive which had inspired that feeling of
exaltation when he first read the perfumed note, so carefully written
lest it should fall into wrong hands? He knew it was not.

His eyes were raised to the glistening sea away beyond the cove. He was
gazing straight out through the narrow opening of the cove where the
precipitous cliffs rose sheer out of the blue waters and marked the
entrance which the country-folk sensationally loved to call "Hell's
Gate." His mind was searching and probing the feelings which inspired
him, and he knew that the beckoning hand of the woman was exercising a
greater power than any sense of duty. He did not blind himself. He had
no desire to. Those dark Slavonic eyes of his were wide and bright, and
the half smile of them was full of an eager warmth. The idealist mind
behind them was widely open to its own imagery. He saw through those
Hell's Gates the perfect, palpitating figure which had poured out its
burden of soul to him on the edge of those very cliffs; and she
was--beckoning.

The youth of him had been engulfed in the soul of the woman. Nor, as
yet, did he realize the extent of the power she was exercising. All he
knew was that he had neither the power nor desire to resist the
summons, and herein lay the distinguishing mark of those whom Destiny
claims.

After a few moments he glanced at his watch. And at once the alertness
of the man was displayed. It was twenty minutes to eight, and shortly
after eight it would be low tide. The appointment had been made with
regard to that, and that while he approached from the land, she would
come by water. Therefore he must not delay.

Dismissing every other consideration he turned back to the mysterious
stairway he had unearthed and began its descent, aided by the light of
the lantern he had discovered secreted upon the top step, ready for his
use.

His progress was rapid and easy. The vaulted, declining passage beneath
the mill was high and wide, and constructed of masonry calculated to
withstand the erosion of ages. It was moist and slimy, and the steps
were at times slippery, but these things were no deterrents.

The stairway, however, seemed endless in the dim lantern light, and by
the time he had completed the journey he had counted upwards of one
hundred steps. At the bottom he paused and looked back up the way he
had come, but, in the blackness of the tunnel, his light revealed
little more than the first few steps.

Without further pause he turned to ascertain the nature of the place
upon which the stairway had debouched. It was a wide and lofty cavern
of Nature's fashioning, except that the walls and the natural
obstructions of the flooring had been rendered smooth and clear by the
hand of man. It was easy to estimate the purposes of this subterranean
abode. There was less imagination in the legends of the old mill than
he had supposed. If the books of his childish reading had any
foundation in their local color this was certainly the den of some
old-time smugglers.

He passed rapidly along the declining passage, and the end of it came
as he expected to find it. It was a cave which opened in the face of
the cliff overlooking the cove, but so ingeniously hidden by Nature
that its presence could never have been even guessed at by any chance
visit from the sea.

He stood at the opening and gazed out upon the already twilit cove. But
he could not see the sea from where he stood; only along the face of
the cliff to his right, down which, zigzagging and winding, a sort of
rough-hewn stairway communicated with the beach below. In front of him
a great projection of rock, as though riven from the main cliff at some
far-off time by the colossal forces of Nature, hid the entire entrance
of the cavern. And so narrow was the space intervening that he could
touch it with an outstretching of his arm. It was a remarkable
hiding-place. Nor did he marvel that he had never heard of it before.
But the rapidly deepening twilight of the cove warned him of the
approach of the hour of his appointment. So he blew out his lantern and
began the descent to the beach nearly fifty feet below.

Within five minutes he was standing in the centre of a patch of golden
sand with the still ebbing water of the cove lapping gently at his feet.

A curious change had come over him. All interest inspired by the
journey through the cavern was entirely gone. Even, for the time, he
had no longer any thought of the purpose for which he was there. His
mind was absorbed in the curious weird of the place, and the dreadful
feeling of overwhelming might bearing in and down upon him.

The appalling grey barrenness, the height of the frowning ramparts
which surrounded him on all sides, except the narrow opening to the
sea. The absolute inaccessibility of those frowning walls, and the
melancholy scream of the thousands of gulls which haunted the place. It
was tremendous. It was terrible. But added to all these things was a
discovery which he made almost upon the instant. With the instinct of
personal security his eyes sought the high-water mark upon the beach.
There was none. It was high up on the cliff sides at no point less that
ten feet above the highest point of the beach. Herein lay the terror of
the cove which lived in the minds of the dwellers upon the moors. Here
was its real terror. A rising tide, and the secret of the smuggler's
cavern undiscovered, and--death! He smiled as he thought of the name
given to the entrance to the cove. Hell's Gate! It was surely----

"Ahoy!"

The cry echoed about the grey walls in haunting fashion. Ruxton was
startled out of his reverie. In a moment his repulsion at what he
beheld was forgotten. He remembered only his purpose, and his searching
eyes gazed out over the water.

"Ahoy!" he replied, when the last echo of the summons had died out.

He could see no boat. He could discover no human being. And--it was a
man's voice that had hailed him.

For some moments a profound silence prevailed. Even the gulls ceased
their mournful cries at the intrusion of a human voice upon their
solitude.

Ruxton searched in every direction. Was this another surprise of this
extraordinarily mysterious place? Was this----? Quite suddenly his gaze
became riveted upon a spit of low, weed-covered rock, stretching out
into the calm water like a breakwater. There was a sound of clambering
feet, and as his acute hearing caught it, a sort of instinct thrust his
hand into his coat pocket where an automatic pistol lay. Then he
laughed at himself and withdrew his hand sharply. The figure of a man
scrambled up on to the breakwater.

They stood eyeing each other for several thoughtful moments. Then
without attempting to draw nearer the stranger called to him.

"Mr. Farlow, sir. This way, if you please."

Without hesitation Ruxton crossed over to him and scrambled on to the
rocks.

"You are from----?" he demanded.

The question was put sharply, but without suspicion.

"The lady's waiting for you out there," replied the man simply. "We
haven't much time, sir. You can't come in here on a rising tide, and
you can't get out of it either. It's hell's own place for small craft,
or any craft for that matter on a rising tide." He threw an anxious
glance at the water.

Ruxton was gazing down at the little boat lying the other side of the
natural breakwater. It was a petrol launch of some kind, but small and
light as a cockle-shell. There was another man in the stern, and he
observed that both he and the man beside him were in some sort of
uniform.

"I didn't see you come in," he went on curiously.

"We've been lying here half an hour, sir. Our orders were to wait till
just before the tide turned. We've got about half an hour, sir," the
man added significantly.

"Where's the vessel?" enquired Ruxton.

"Just outside, sir."

"I didn't see her."

"She's lying submerged."

"And Miss Vladimir is--aboard?"

"The lady is, sir," replied the man, with a shadow of a smile in his
deep-set blue eyes.

The stranger stood aside, a direct invitation to Ruxton to climb down
into the boat. But the latter made no move to do so.

Then the man pushed his peaked cap back from his forehead and displayed
a shock of sandy grey hair which matched his closely trimmed whiskers.

"You'll excuse me, sir," he said, a trifle urgently, "but we've got to
get out smart. Once the tide turns it races in here like an avalanche.
We'll never make Hell's Gates if we aren't smart, and we don't want to
get caught up in Hell itself."

The man's urgency had the desired effect. Ruxton stooped down and
lowered himself into the bow of the boat.

"That's right, sir, it'll trim the boat," the man approved, as he
dropped lightly in amidships. In a moment the clutch was let in and the
little craft backed out of its narrow harbor.

It was a moment of crisis. Ruxton Farlow had practically committed
himself to the power of these strangers. Not quite though. For he had
taken the bow seat, and his loaded automatic was in his pocket still.
However, the position was not without considerable risk. He had
expected to meet Vita. Instead he had been met by two men in uniform.
They were both in middle life, and burly specimens of the seafaring
profession.

He had calculated the chances carefully before taking his final
decision. Moreover he had closely appraised the men in charge of the
boat. They were British. Of that he was certain. Nor were they men
without education. On the whole he did not see that the balance lay
very much in their favor if any treachery were contemplated.

"You are British," he said to the man in front of him, as the boat
swung round head on to the gates of the cove and began to gather speed.

"Yes, sir. Served my time in the Navy--and had a billet elsewhere ever
since."

"Since the war?"

"No, sir. Before the war."

"Where?"

The man faced round with a smile, while his comrade drove the little
boat at a headlong pace through the racing waters.

"Where a good many of our Navy's cast-offs go, sir. In Germany."




CHAPTER VII

ON THE GREY NORTH SEA


Brief as was the interval between leaving the treacherous cove and the
moment when Ruxton Farlow found himself surrounded by the tasteful
luxury of the saloon of the long, low, strange-looking craft waiting
just outside to receive him, it was not without many thrilling
experiences.

To a man of less imagination the very few minutes in the petrol launch
would have meant little more than a rather exciting experience. But for
Ruxton they possessed a far deeper significance. Nor was the least the
feeling that he had slammed-to the doors of the life behind him, bolted
and barred and locked them, and--flung away the key.

That was the man. Sensitive to every mood that assailed him, yet urged
on by an indomitable purpose, he had no more power to raise a hand to
stay the tide of life upon which he was floating than he had to check
the racing current which bore him beyond the threatening shoals of the
Old Mill Cove.

What a mill-race the latter was! The man in charge of the launch had by
no means exaggerated it. The little craft, urged by its powerful motor,
surged through the water till the sea washed over its prow, and Ruxton
was forced to shelter beneath the decked-in peak, whence he could
observe the man amidships, who never once desisted from his efforts on
the well pump.

Then, just beyond the jaws of the cove, they entered a stretch of
tumultuous popple where the ebb met the opposing currents along the
coast. Here the boat was tossed about like the proverbial feather, and
to navigate it into the smooth water beyond demanded all the consummate
seamanship of those responsible for its safety.

Then, out of the heart of the grey waters, came the abrupt rising of
the submersible. There was a tremendous swirling and upheaval less than
fifty yards away, and the grey-green monster of the deep reared its
forlorn-looking deck, with its conning-tower, its sealed hatchways, and
its desolate deck rails, above the surface, and lay there, long and low
and as evil-looking as only a mind filled with memories of the late war
could have pictured it.

Two minutes later Ruxton had left the little launch, had stepped aboard
the submersible and passed down the "companion" to the saloon beneath
the flush deck, once more to be greeted by the woman who seemed to have
become so much a part of the new life opening out before him.

Her greeting was cordial.

"I knew you would come," she said, as she left her hand for a moment in
his. Then her grey eyes, so full of warmth, shadowed for a moment. "And
now that you have come I--could almost wish that I had had nothing to
do with it. You see, I haven't the courage of my convictions. I know
they are right, but--I am afraid."

[Illustration: Out of the Heart of the Waters Rose the Submersible.]


When he answered her the influence of the woman was greater than Ruxton
knew.

"You need not be," he said simply. "We are not fighting for ourselves,
so--why fear?"

The woman had no verbal reply. She regarded for one moment the strong
face of the man, and the meaning of that regard was known only to
herself. Had Ruxton possessed more vanity it is possible he might have
read it aright, but vanity with him was so small a quantity as to be
almost negligible.

Again the woman held out her hand.

"The tide will not wait. I must hurry ashore." Then she smiled. "I must
go, too, while the courage your words have momentarily inspired
remains. My father will join you immediately. Good-bye and good----"

"You do not travel with us?"

Ruxton's enquiry was frankly disappointed. The other shook her
beautiful head.

"No woman may venture where you are going. No woman has ever set foot
there. I know it all, as you will understand later, but--no, I return
with the launch. The tide will just serve us. Good-bye and good luck."

Ruxton was left listening to the sound of her footsteps mounting the
companionway. Then, as he heard the door of the conning-tower above
close with a slam, he turned about and sought one of the luxurious
sofas with which the saloon was furnished.

As he sat he swayed gently to the motion of the vessel, and for the
first time became aware of the automatic change to artificial light in
the room. He knew at once that the vessel was returning once more to
those depths whence he had witnessed it emerge. He gazed about him
speculatively. The lights were carefully placed and diffused to prevent
the trying nature of a constant artificial glare.

He became aware of the splendid appointments of the saloon, which was a
fine example of the marine architect's handicraft. The apartment itself
was some twenty feet wide, and he judged it to occupy most of the
vessel's beam. It was probably a similar length. The carpet on which
his feet rested was a rich Turkey. Nor were the rest of the furnishings
essentially of the character of a ship's cabin. True, there was a
centre dining-table bolted to the deck, and the accompanying swinging
chairs, but there was a full grand piano of German make. There were
several comfortably upholstered lounges. There was exquisite plastic
panelling of warm, harmonious tints on the upper parts of the walls and
the ceilings, while the lower walls were clad in polished carved
mahogany. He sought for the source of the daylight which had filled the
room when he first entered, and discovered a great skylight overhead
which was now covered by a metal shield on the outside, which, he
concluded, must close over it automatically with the process of
submerging.

But his further observations were cut short by the abrupt opening of a
door in the mahogany panelling and the entrance of--Mr. Charles Smith.
He came swiftly across the room, his steps giving out no sound upon the
soft carpet.

"Mr. Farlow," he cried, holding out one tenacious hand in greeting,
"you have done me a great honor, sir. You have done me an inestimable
service in coming. I can--only thank you."

But Ruxton was less attentive to his words than to the man. There was a
change in him. A subtle change. He was no longer the enthusiastic
inventor, almost slavishly striving to enlist sympathy for his
invention. There was something about him which suggested command--even
an atmosphere of the autocrat. Perhaps it was that here he was in his
own natural element--the element which he had himself created.
Perhaps----

But he left it at that. It was useless to speculate further. He still
experienced the sense of trust and liking which had been inspired at
their first meeting by the noble forehead and the gentle, luminous
eyes, so like, yet so unlike, those other eyes which so largely filled
his thoughts.

He willingly responded to the extended hand. And the man seemed to
expect no reply, for he went on at once----

"I was in my laboratory when you came aboard. Now I am entirely at your
service."

"Good." Ruxton nodded. "I feel there must be a lot of talk between
us--without delay."

The inventor looked at his watch. Then he pointed at the lounge from
which Ruxton had risen, and seated himself in one of the swivel chairs
at the dining-table.

"We have nearly two hours before supper is served. May I send for some
refreshment for you?"

Ruxton dropped into the seat behind him.

"Thanks, no," he declined, "I dined early--purposely. All I am anxious
for now is--explanation."

The manner in which his eyelids cut flatly across the upper part of the
pupils of his dark eyes gave his gaze a keenly penetrating quality. He
wanted explanation, full and exhaustive explanation. Warnings, and mere
intangible suggestions, no longer carried weight. He must know the
whole thing which the future had to reveal to him.

The white-haired man seemed lost in thought. Again Ruxton noted a
change. The lean face and gentle eyes yielded to something very like an
expression of dejection. It was almost as if the man shrank from the
explanations demanded of him, while yet he knew they must be made.

At length he raised his eyes and regarded his guest with an almost
pathetic smile.

"Explain? Ah, yes. I must explain everything now." He sighed.
"Where--where shall I begin?" He crossed his long legs and strove to
settle himself more comfortably in his chair, while Ruxton waited
without a sign.

"It is hard to explain--all," he said, after a brief pause. "But I know
it must be. Mr. Farlow, can you imagine what it means when a man who
has always regarded his honor and his country's honor before all things
in the world suddenly finds himself called upon to confess that his
country's honor has been outraged by his country, and his own honor has
been outraged by himself? If you can, then perhaps you will understand
my position when explanation is demanded of me."

Ruxton averted the steady regard of his eyes. He did not desire to
witness this man's pain.

"I think I know," he said. Then quite abruptly he changed from the
English language to German, which he spoke with the perfect accent of a
man educated in Frankfurt. "But it may save you much if you begin by
telling me your real name. The name you are known by in--Germany."

A pair of simple, startled eyes gazed back into his.

"Has--Vita--told you?" he demanded.

Ruxton shook his head.

"Then how did you know?"

"Does it matter? I desire to make it easier for you."

For a few moments neither spoke. The artificial light in the room had
merged once more into daylight. There was again the sound of the
opening and shutting of iron doors on deck above them. There were also
the harsh tones of orders being given.

Ruxton knew that it was the return of the launch which had conveyed
this man's daughter ashore, and that it was being taken on board and
stowed within the parent craft. Presently the sounds died away. Once
more the light in the saloon became artificial, and the silent throb of
engines made themselves felt. The journey had begun.

"Well?"

Ruxton had now given himself entirely to the use of the German language.

The inventor cleared his throat

"My name is Stanislaus. Stanislaus, Prince von Hertzwohl."

Ruxton Farlow did not move a muscle. There was not the quiver of an
eyelid, nor one detail of change of expression. Yet he was not unmoved
at the mention of the man's real name. Although he had half expected
it, it came with something very like a shock.

Stanislaus von Hertzwohl! Did he not know it? Did not the whole wide
world know it? Was it not the one name, out of all the great German
names associated with the war, which was anathematized more surely even
than that of the Kaiser himself?

Stanislaus von Hertzwohl! The man who had perfected the German
submarine. The man who had made possible the hideous slaughter of
innocent victims upon the high seas. The man at whose door was laid the
responsibility for that inhuman massacre--the sinking of the
_Lusitania_. The man whom the world believed was the father of every
diabolical engine of slaughter devised to combat his country's enemies.

"Of course, I know the name," he said simply. "Everybody knows it."

His reply seemed to fire the powder train of the Prince's passionate
emotion.

"Ach!" he cried, with a desperately helpless gesture of expressive
hands. "That is it. Everybody! Everybody knows it! They know the name,
but they do not know the truth."

Then, in a moment, the fire of his emotion seemed to die out.

"Mr. Farlow, I want you to know that truth," he went on calmly. "Will
you listen to it now? Will you listen to it with an open mind, or--or
have you already sat in judgment, and, with the rest of an unthinking,
unreasoning world, condemned me?"

Ruxton's thoughts were pacing rapidly with his feelings. They had
travelled swiftly back to that moonlit night upon the Yorkshire cliffs.
To him had come the woman again, so fair, so radiant in her perfect
womanhood, so passionate in her horror of the tragedy of the world war.
These things had been beyond all doubt in their sincerity and truth.
She was this man's daughter. She was loyally supporting her father now.
Then his mind passed on to the scene in the library at Dorby Towers. It
had been his work for years to deal with people whose superficial
presentment was only calculated to cloak real purpose. He had read
these two people out of his experience.

"Judgment is only for those who possess all the facts," he observed
quietly. "Will you continue?"

The decision of his attitude seemed to inspire the white-haired man so
patiently awaiting his reply. He crossed his legs, and, drawing up one
well-shod foot, nursed its ankle in his clasped hands. He was leaning
forward full of an anxious, nervous expression of attitude. It almost
seemed as if his guest's judgment were to him a last straw of hope. The
noble forehead was a-dew with moisture. His bushy eyebrows were sharply
drawn in a great effort of concentration. His eyes, so widely simple,
usually so expressive of childhood's innocence, were now full of a
suffering that was almost overwhelming.

"If I had been guilty of a fraction of that of which the world accuses
me could I have dared, or cared, to approach you with my latest
invention, and--the other proposals? Keep that question in your mind
while I talk. It is so easy to condemn, and, having condemned, reversal
of judgment is well-nigh impossible. If I am guilty it is only of a
patriot's devotion to the country to which _I believed_ I owed
allegiance. That, and an even greater devotion to the problems of
making possible those things which seemed impossible. In not one of the
problems of invention have I ever possessed a motive other than that
which has inspired every engineer engaged upon naval armaments in every
other country. Never in my life have I devised any weapon for the army
other than the monster siege mortar. The liquid fire, the gases, the
dozen and one contrivances for slaughter have found their inception in
other brains than mine. I state these facts simply. You must trust
them, or dismiss them, as you will. I am a marine inventor solely,
except for that one weapon which was legitimate enough--the siege
mortar. You, who understand the nature of marine invention, must
assuredly realize that one man's brain, one man's lifetime are all too
brief and limited to permit a division of his powers with any hope of
success."

He paused as though offering opportunity for comment, but none was
forthcoming. So he went on, his body slightly swaying to and fro, his
eyes assuming a passionate fire that gave to his whole aspect an
atmosphere of vigorous protest.

"I am a Pole," he went on presently. "I am a Pole, born in German
Poland. My parents were poor, but we claim direct descent from the
ancient royal house. Now let me make my own thoughts and feelings clear
to you. I was brought up under German methods, German education. I was
taught, as every child within the German Empire is taught, to believe
that Germany is above and before all the nations of the world, and
that, in the brief life of this earth, nothing else but German national
interests matter to its people. Now mark the obvious result of such a
training. I make no apology. I, beginning life in my father's little
engineering shop, finding myself with an abnormal capacity for
invention, seeking to make for myself and family a competence--what do
I do? I place whatever ability I may possess at the service of Germany.
I devote myself to discovery in the one direction in which official
Germany has looked since the war of 1870.

"The next step comes quickly. It came so quickly that it well-nigh
overbalanced my whole sense of proportion. The problem that appealed to
me was the enormous strength of fortresses being built by our neighbors
against our borders. We were doing the same against theirs. It was
almost a simple problem. I said that if our fortresses were stronger
than theirs, and we possessed a secret weapon which could destroy
theirs, then our empire was safe from invasion for all time. So it came
about that I took plans of my great siege mortars to the authorities.
They were considered, and the guns were ultimately made. On experiment
they proved an instantaneous success, and I was at once given rank and
wealth, and ordered to work on the development of the gun-power of the
Navy. It was this that converted me to marine engineering. From then
onwards my career became one series of triumphs--from Germany's point
of view. Till now, as you know, I have been rewarded with the revival
of an old Polish title, to which by birth I am entitled, and am
placed--as perhaps you do not know--in supreme command of Germany's
naval construction."

There was no atmosphere of triumph in the man's manner. There was no
victorious inspiration in the tones of his voice. With each word which
announced the progress of his triumph an almost painful dejection
seemed to settle more and more heavily upon him.

Still Ruxton refrained from comment. He knew that the vital things had
yet to be told. Nor had he any desire to break up the man's train of
thought. There still remained the tragedy of triumph which this man's
life concealed.

The man's voice came again in level tones which had lost all light and
shade. He spoke like one utterly weary in mind, heart, and body.

"If I had only known," he said, with a dreary shake of his snow-white
head. "But," he added with a shrug, "I did not know. I was blinded by
success, and a passionate devotion to my work." He drew a deep breath.
"But I knew later. Oh, yes. I knew. The greatest triumph and the
greatest disaster of my life was when I converted the paltry little
coast defence submarines into the ocean-going pirates they afterwards
became. But it was not until Germany declared a submarine blockade of
these shores that I knew what I had done. Up to that time I had been
a--German patriot. From that moment I became a simple, heart-broken
human being. My legitimate engines of war had been turned against the
innocent lives of a defenceless people, and when the massacre of
fifteen hundred souls took place with the sinking of the _Lusitania_ I
think for the time I became demented."

He was breathing hard. His face had become almost stony in its
expression. It was the face of a man who for the time is beyond all
further feeling. Quite abruptly, however, he released his hold upon his
foot, and ran his long fingers through his shock of white hair.

"Ach! How willingly would I have undone all I had done. I tried to
resign on various pleas. Health!" He laughed, a hollow, mocking laugh.
"As well try to struggle free from the strangling rope of the hangman
with hands tied. To my horror I found that I belonged body and soul to
Germany, and my rank and wealth was the price the country had paid for
my brains. Oh, yes, I was no honored patriot serving my country. I was
its bond slave, the slave of Prussian militarism. And to the end of my
days that slave I must remain.

"Need I tell you of all the suffering I have since endured? No, I think
not. No repentant murderer could have suffered more for his crimes than
I have done. I have striven, by every possible argument, to assure
myself that mine was not the blame, but no conviction has resulted. The
world cannot blame more cruelly than I do myself, and yet--I am
innocent of all intent.

"Throughout all the struggle I have had with my own soul no glimmer of
light reached me until my daughter came to my rescue. And I think it
was her woman's wit, supported by her own brave heart, which has saved
me. She, in her great pity and love of humanity, started a fresh
thought in the poor brain with which Providence endowed me. It surely
was only a woman's mind could have conceived so simple a solution to my
trouble. It was all done in one brief sentence. She said, 'The brain
that can invent to destroy can invent to save.' And from that moment
hope came to me."

He leant forward urgently. The veins at his temples stood out with the
mental effort of the moment.

"Need I detail the result. I came to you as the only possible person to
help on the work. You were selected after careful thought. I have
warned you of the threat hanging over your country. Now I will show you
the engines of destruction which I have been forced to perfect to
complete the execution of that threat. But I have already shown you my
submersible. You are now on board the constructed vessel, the
development and adoption of which is the only antidote to the devilish
plans of the country to which I belong, plans which are staggering in
their possibilities. They are so simple, yet so vast and terrible when
made against England. Listen: Germany has abandoned all other naval
construction in favor of my new boat--the Submersible Dreadnought. Do
you realize the type? It is a heavily armored vessel with the gun-power
of the surface dreadnought, and its speed, but with all the attributes
of the submarine. A fleet of nominally three hundred is being
constructed. It will be larger by far. In a few years it will be
possible to ring your country round with these lurking machines, each
of which will be capable of engaging successfully any surface war
vessel ever built, while its submarine attributes will render it
practically immune from any combination of force opposed to it. Do you
see? Never again will England, when at war with Germany, be able to
transport her armies abroad. Never again will she be able to feed her
millions of people through overseas channels. Henceforth she will be
driven to peace under any conditions and her mastery of the seas will
pass from her forever."

Ruxton stirred in his seat. He shifted his position. The man's words
had sunk deeply.

"The submersible mercantile marine is certainly the obvious retort," he
said reflectively. Then he added as an afterthought, "Temporarily."

"Yes. Temporarily."

Neither spoke again for some moments. Both were thinking ahead, much
further on than the immediate future.

"And after the submersible dreadnought?" Ruxton's question was not
addressed to the inventor, but it was answered by him.

"Who can tell? One of these two countries must go under."

"Yes."

Again came a prolonged silence. Again Ruxton shifted his position. Then
at last he spoke.

"And you will show me these things. The risk will be stupendous--for
you."

Prince Stanislaus laughed without a shadow of mirth.

"For me it is just a matter of life and death. Life has few attractions
for me now. For you? My power is sufficient to safeguard you. Shall I
show you how?"

Ruxton nodded. His penetrating gaze was again fixed upon the almost
cadaverous features with their snow-white crown and noble forehead.

"Yes," he said.

Prince Stanislaus began at once. And talk went on between them for many
minutes. For the most part Ruxton listened, as was his way, and only
occasionally interpolated a shrewd, incisive question. His dark,
penetrating eyes were watchful and studying. And no change of
expression in the other was lost upon him.

Slowly within him there grew a wide admiration for the mentality and
courage in this strangely simple creature. He read him down to the
remotest depths of his honest soul. Wherever Prince Stanislaus's
devotion to his life's work had led him, there was no shadow of doubt
left in the Englishman's mind as to his present sincerity and honesty
of purpose.

When the last detail of the plan had been explained Ruxton stood up.

"The judgment of the world is rarely inspired by justice," he said. "I
thank you, and will gladly place myself under your guidance. Since the
opportunity of discovering the secrets of Kiel and Cuxhaven has been
vouchsafed to me I should be far less than the patriot I desire to be
did I shirk the risks. My duty is quite plain."

The relief and satisfaction his words inspired in the other were
obvious.

"I thank you," he said earnestly. "You have helped me to that peace
which I have long sought and I had come to believe could never again be
mine in this life. But----"

"But?"

The man was smiling.

"But we do not go to either Kiel or Cuxhaven."

Ruxton was startled.

"Where then?" he demanded shortly.

"To the Baltic. Mr. Farlow, you have no idea of the subtlety of the
people with whom we are dealing. All eyes of the world are on Cuxhaven
and Kiel. Every vulture of the foreign secret services is hovering over
those places, and the forges and foundries are working to deceive them.
But the real work and preparations I speak of are not being made in
Germany at all. We go to the Baltic, to the island of Borga, which is
off the coast of Sweden. And there we shall find under German
administration a naval 'Krupps,' and the greatest arsenal in the whole
world."




CHAPTER VIII

BORGA


A grey, northern day devoid of all sunshine; a forbidding, rock-bound
coast lost in a depressing mist; a flat, oily sea, as threatening to
the mariner as the mounting hillocks of storm-swept water; a dull sense
of hopelessness prevailing upon the still air. All these things marked
the approach to Borga; for Nature was in a repellent mood, a thing of
repugnance, of distrust and fear.

A long, low craft was approaching the gaping jaws which marked the
entrance to the heart of the island, somewhere away in the distance,
lost in the grey mists which seemed to envelop the whole land.

The deck was narrow, and guarded by a simple surrounding of low rails.
Amidships was a curious construction which was at once the support of
the periscope, the conning-tower, and the entrance to the interior of
the vessel. Dotted about the deck were several sealed hatchways, and
the sheen of glassed skylights. The whole thing was colored to match
the surrounding grey-green waters.

Two uniformed figures were standing for'ard in the bows. One of them
was beating the air with twin flags, one in each hand. The other stood
by contemplating the book in his hand, and at intervals scanning the
repellent shore through a pair of binoculars.

Presently the signaller spoke.

"One, six, four, seven, nine, three, two," he said, reciting the
combination of numerals in German with the certainty of familiarity.

"One, six, four, seven, nine, three, two, it is," replied the observer,
in a similar, ill-spoken tongue. "That's 'proceed,'" he added,
referring to his book.

Forthwith the signaller produced a pocket telephone connected with the
conning-tower by a long insulated "flex," and spoke over it. A moment
later the throb of engines made itself felt, and, in response, the
spume broke on the vessel's cut-water, and left a frothing wake astern.

The vessel passed the mist-hooded granite headlands. It left them
behind, and itself became engulfed in the grey threat lying between the
overshadowing heights towering upwards nearly five hundred feet towards
the leaden sky.

The two men on deck gave no heed to their immediate surroundings. They
were men of the sea, hard and unimaginative. They were concerned only
with the safety of the vessel under them. They would drive her into the
very gates of Hell, if such were their orders. But they would avoid,
with all their skill, the pitfalls by the way. They knew that the
secrets of this gloomy abode were many, as many perhaps as those of the
very Hades they would have been willing enough to face. They knew, too,
that those secrets, just as the secrets of the other place, were
calculated to destroy them if they diverged one iota from the laws
which governed the place. So they worked exactly, and took no chances.

The channel quickly began to narrow. The vast cliffs drew in upon them
in their overpowering might. The barren shores were visible to the
naked eye, and the white line of heavy surf boomed and boomed again in
its incessant attack upon the grim walls. Higher up small patches of
pine trees clung desperately to insecure root-holds, like the intrepid
Alpini seeking to scale impossible heights.

A few minutes passed and a boat, a small petrol-driven vessel, like
some cockle-shell amidst its tremendous surroundings, shot out from the
shore and raced towards them. It had a high, protected prow, and its
great speed threw up a pair of huge white wings of water till it had
something of the appearance of an enraged swan charging to the attack
of an enemy. Again the signaller spoke over his telephone, and the
vessel slowed down, and finally hove-to.

The patrol boat drew alongside. Two men, amidships, in oilskins, held a
brief conversation with those on board the intruder. Then their vessel
passed ahead, and the bigger craft was left to amble leisurely along in
its wake.

The cliffs had closed down till less than half a mile of water divided
them. The narrow strip of leaden sky above looked pinched between them.
For a mile and more ahead there was no change. The narrow passage, with
its racing tide, was full of hidden dangers, not the least amongst
which being a crowded mine-field which lined either side of the channel.

As the journey proceeded the gloom increased. Added to the natural
mists the atmosphere took on a yellow tint, which suggested an
overhanging pall of smoke. There was no joy in the aspect anywhere.

The end of the passage came at last, and the pilot boat dropped astern.
Its work was finished, and it raced back to its watching-post.

Now a complete change came over the scene. But it was scarcely a change
for the better. It was only that Nature, having done her worst, left
the rest in the safe hands of human ingenuity.

The frowning cliffs abandoned their threat. They ended as abruptly as
they had arisen out of the sea. They fell back on either hand, carrying
the shore with them, and merged into a mist-crowned hinterland of dark
woods and wide ravines, with a wide-stretching foreshore, upon which
was built a great city, entirely surrounding what had developed into a
miniature, landlocked sea.

Nature had certainly left her incomplete effort in capable hands.
Whatever beauty a brilliant sunshine, accompanied by a smart breeze,
might have discovered upon the inhospitable shores of Borga in their
pristine state, man's hand had contrived to destroy it. The whole
prospect was sordid, uncouth, and suggested something of a nether world
of lugubrious fancy. All that could be said for it was the suggestion
of feverish industry on every hand. The buildings looked all
unfinished, yet they were in full work under a great strain of
pressure. Borga had been built in a hurry, and all connected with it
suggested only haste and industry.

There were no public buildings of classic model. There were no roads
and avenues beautified by Nature's decorations. Just alleys and
thoroughfares there were, and only sufficiently paved for the needs of
the work in hand. The quays and docks were solid--only. The great
machine shops, staring-eyed and baldly angular, suggested only the
barest necessity. And though their hundreds of floors sheltered
thousands of human workers, and acres of elaborate machinery, not even
a cornice, or coping, or variation of brickwork had been permitted to
make sightly a structure purely for utilitarian purposes. The slipways
at the water's edge, and the gaunt steel skeletons they contained, were
merely slipways, without other pretensions. A thousand smokestacks
belched out of their fetid bowels an endless flow of yellow, sulphurous
smoke upon an already overladen atmosphere. They stood up like the
teeth of a broken comb, and added to the sordidness of the picture.

A faint relief might have been found for the primitive mind in the
numberless blast furnaces to be detected on almost every hand by their
shooting tongues of flame. Like all else in Borga they never ceased
from their efforts. Theirs it was to give birth to an everlasting
stream of molten metal with which to fill the crudely-wrought sand
moulds for the containing of pig-iron. The rolling mills, too, might
have been not without effect. Those cavernous worlds of incessant
clamor rolled the hours and days away, and took no count but of the
output from their soulless wombs. The homes of the deep-noted steam
hammers, and the fierce puddling furnaces, where men, bare to the skin
except for a loin-cloth, with greased bodies, endure under showers of
flying sparks and a heat which no other living creature would face.
These sights were perhaps not without inspiration. But the sordidness
of it all, its crudity, its suggestion of hideous life were on every
hand; in the shrieking locomotives, with their tails of laden,
protesting trucks; in the beer-drinking booths; in the vast heaps of
rubbish and waste lying about in every direction; even to the almost
bestial type of man whose brain and muscle made such a waste of
industry possible.

What Nature had left unfinished, man had surely completed for her.
Borga was repellent. Its life was ugly. But ugliest of all was its
purpose.

Essen had been the greatest arsenal of all time. But since the birth
and maturity of Borga it had become as a village compared to a capital
city. Borga was the mechanical soul of an empire. It was the iron heart
of an armored giant, upon which had been wantonly lavished all the
mentality and spiritual force of a nation bankrupt in every other human
feeling.

The incoming vessel moved swiftly. Ahead lay a grey breakwater which
formed one wall of a small harbor. An open channel clear of all
shipping indicated its purpose. It was obviously the official
landing-place. However, if the channel remained clear it was lined on
either side by a swarm of naval craft, much of which was still in the
hands of artificers; for here, no less than ashore, the din of
construction was going on and the busy hive remained true to its
purpose.

The men on deck remained indifferent to their surroundings. Familiarity
left them free to give undivided attention to their work. So the boat
glided silently in between the pierheads, and, in five minutes, was
lying against the landing-stage with a gangway run aboard.

Two men emerged from the conning-tower and stepped ashore, where a
small group of uniformed officers were waiting to receive them. Prince
Stanislaus von Hertzwohl led the way, followed by a younger man, whose
face was full of a keen intelligence, while his dark eyes were those of
a dreamer. Both were dressed in the uniform of German naval officers, a
uniform which particularly seemed to suit the younger man's fair hair.

But the Prince in Borga was a different man from the inventor
displaying his models. Here he was an autocrat--an all-powerful, high
officer in the work of the place. Therefore, with a cold acknowledgment
of the salute of the junior officers, he passed them by and stepped up
to a man of elevated military rank, who, in the haughty aloofness of
his position, was standing well apart from the others.

The Prince addressed him with a cold sort of familiarity.

"Ha, Von Salzinger," he cried, "but you are a troublesome people here.
You give us no peace. We are called to straighten out the muddles of
Borga when our time can be ill spared from our workshops. Let me
present my nephew, who is responsible for this damnation light. Herr
Leder von Bersac--the military governor of Borga, Captain-General von
Salzinger."

The two men acknowledged the presentation, and their eyes met in a
steady, keen regard. Then the Prince went on--

"What is it, this light? Have your engineers no thoughts in their heads
but beer, or is it that they, like the asses, have grown long ears?
Come, we will go at once. You can dismiss your ceremonial," he went on,
indicating the group of officers. "I have no time for that. I am an
engineer, as is my nephew. Besides, I must leave here within the hour.
I must be in Berlin within two days and return to my works first.
So----"

"Certainly, Excellency," replied the Captain-General, unbending before
the man whom he believed through his genius to be the most powerful
influence in the country at the moment. "But I think the fault is not
with us--this time. No doubt Herr von Bersac will be able to set the
matter right. But an hour is short."

"Ach, so," cried the Prince, with irritation. "Then do not delay. Lead
us to the--place."

Herr von Bersac, watching the scene with his dreamy eyes, noted the
attitude of the two men towards each other. His uncle's manner was
something of a surprise to him. Nor could he help but realize the
other's almost slavish deference, as, in response to the older man's
order, he hastily moved off shorewards.

The Governor was a typical Teuton. The broad, square back of his head
surmounted a thick, fleshy neck. His blue eyes were deeply set in puffy
sockets. His cheeks were full, and the chin, below his bristling
moustache, was square and strong. His whole appearance, in his
brilliant uniform, was of cubist inspiration, and, in spite of his high
rank, and the suggestion of grey about the temples of his close-cropped
head, he could not have been more than midway between thirty and forty.
These things Herr von Bersac noted with almost unnecessary interest in
spite of his abstracted air.

But Herr von Bersac had not had a monopoly of observation. While the
Prince had been talking the military governor's small, quick eyes had
not been idle. He had taken the nephew's measure to the last inch of
his great height. Such observation was his habit as well as his duty.
His position in the world's greatest secret arsenal demanded that every
visitor must be regarded as a possible enemy until a due examination of
his credentials proved him otherwise.

The Prince talked as they made their way to an execrable road by
crossing a narrow-gauge railway. They skirted piles of debris almost as
high as some of the adjoining buildings. And the general impression
left was one of carelessness for anything but the work going on.

"This place is the worst constructed in the world," he declared, as he
stubbed a toe against a pile of broken concrete. "There is no system in
it. Where is the system for which we Germans are noted? It is gone,
with many other things, since the war. We think so hard for the
downfall of our enemies that we have no time for all that system which
has made our people the greatest in the world. Ach! I hate Borga. I
hate it more every time I make my visit."

Von Salzinger laughed in his heavy way.

"Ah, Excellency," he said, "the war has taught us many things. We
thought we knew it all. Through that very system which was so great we
wasted much money and many years, for our enemies achieved almost all
which we had in less than two years. Now we work against time. Our
object now is no longer system, but--result."

"I am glad," observed the Prince with some acerbity. "You will
understand then why I can give you only an hour."

"Yes, Excellency," deferred the other.

He had no desire to add to his visitor's obvious ill-humor. And there
were other reasons for his attitude than the mere fear of his power. He
desired this man's personal favor. When war broke out in 1914, before
the Prince had risen to his present power, he, Von Salzinger, had been
brought into contact with his daughter Valita von Hertzwohl in the work
of the Secret Service. It had fallen to his lot to endeavor to utilize
her in his country's service. That his efforts had failed was not his
only disaster, for, failing to enlist her cooperation, he had achieved
her displeasure with himself. And her displeasure had disturbed him
more than the other. He had fallen a victim to her charms in a manner
which made her displeasure something of a tragedy to his vanity. But he
was as vain as he was persevering, and with him effort was a continuous
process, and not spasmodic.

The Prince hurried him through the wilderness of industry, and the
haughty military governor lost much of his dignity in the scurry, and
in his effort to pay deferential attention to his visitor's incessant
complaint. An overwhelming clanging of machinery, intensified by the
dull thunderous boom of adjacent steam hammers, and the machine-gun
rattle of the riveting hammers, made talk almost impossible.

Herr von Bersac no longer displayed the least interest in his
companions. Since he had dropped behind them, and was safe from Von
Salzinger's observation, the dreaming had passed out of his dark eyes.
They were alight with a keen interest, an interest almost excited, as
the wonders of the place revealed themselves to him. But the works and
their busy life had less effect than other things. His whole mind
seemed to be absorbed in the direction of the water, and the numberless
naval craft lying at their moorings. And out of all these his searching
eyes selected one type, a type he could not miss, a type which seemed
to be prevailing.

One of them lay so near inshore that he could observe its every detail
of outward construction. It was a curious, ugly vessel of strangely
vicious type. He recognized it at once as of the submersible pattern of
the vessel he had arrived at Borga in. But it was so huge. It was
heavily armored, as it lay there in light draught, high out of water,
and on its deck, in place of the simple conning-tower and surmounting
periscope, there was a central armored turret, while, fore and aft of
this, two other turrets bristled, each with a pair of 12-inch guns. He
had no time for a closer inspection as he was hurried along, but he
made a mental note that the vessel was a submarine dreadnought, and
that there were nearly fifty other such vessels lying about at their
moorings.

He seemed fearful of concentrating his observation too long in any one
direction. A furtive backward glance from the Governor promptly
diverted his attention. It almost seemed that he had no desire to
invite Captain-General von Salzinger's regard. No doubt he felt that,
though his uncle's nephew, he was still only admitted to Borga on
sufferance.

Finally they approached a high-walled enclosure with closed gates, and
a line of sentries guarding its entrance. Immediately he became
absorbed in the German characters of the large printed notice on the
gates. The notice was to the effect that all entrance to this place
without a Governor's permit was "verboten."

He became alert and watchful. Doubtless being the engineer responsible
for the success of the new U-rays lamp he felt that he must no longer
permit his interest to wander. He watched the square figure of the
military governor as he took the sentry's salute. He observed the
junior officer who promptly threw open one of the massive gates. Then
his whole attention became absorbed in what he beheld as, with his
companion, he passed within the enclosure.

It was a large dock. And moored at each of its three sides was a
submarine dreadnought of even greater dimensions than the one he had
seen mounting 12-inch guns.

The Prince turned to him.

"This, my Leder, is the place where we deal with the things, the secret
of which the world will never know, but the effects of which one day
our enemies will learn to dread."

He laughed with the satisfaction of anticipated triumph. Then, as Leder
von Bersac grunted out some unintelligible acquiescence, he turned to
the military governor with a shrug.

"Ach, what will you?" he cried, in apparent disgust. "He has no
delight, no appreciation for these things. He will think all day. He
will work in his light-rooms till he is nearly blind. All for the
destruction of our enemies. But joy? He does not know it. If you tell
him his work has slain a million of the enemy he will say he can make
it kill more. Himmel! Such joy!"

Ludwig von Salzinger surveyed this enthusiastic product with curious
eyes. But he offered no comment, and the Prince hurried towards the
gangway, and led the way aboard the nearest vessel.

At the steel doorway of the armored conning-tower he paused. His whole
manner abruptly changed to one of definite command.

"If there should be a defect we will have the light unshipped, and take
it back with us, Leder," he said decidedly. "You cannot work in the
pandemonium of Borga. It is only fit for the Captain-General's
artillerymen, who have ears of leather and brains of mud." Then he
turned upon Von Salzinger in a manner that permitted no doubt of his
purpose. "You doubtless have more pressing duties, Herr
Captain-General. Please do not consider us. Our work is technical, and
will have but little interest for you. Besides, my dear Leder may have
to examine those secrets of the U-rays which even your chief engineer
is not admitted to. I thank you for conducting us hither. You will
leave word for our safe departure at the gates."

His dismissal came as a shock to Von Salzinger. But more than anything
his vanity was shocked. To feel that this man had the power to dismiss
him, here in Borga, as he, Von Salzinger, might dismiss one of his
junior officers, was infinitely galling. But even more intensely
galling was the thought that this boor of a nephew could calmly move
about in Borga, penetrate its most secret workshops, and probe the
secrets which lay therein, while he--he, the military governor--was
ordered about his business.

There was no help for it. Prince von Hertzwohl had given the order, and
he must obey as though the order had issued from the lips of the All
High War Lord. He bowed a short, square, resentful bow and stood aside
to allow Von Bersac to enter the conning-tower. But the glance which
followed the tall athletic form of the engineer was no friendly one.

He must obey orders. Well, so must everybody who entered Borga--unless
they were of higher rank than the military governor. This young man
could at least be put to the indignity of the inquisitorial process of
his officials. And he knew how unpleasant their efforts could be made.
He promised himself this trifling satisfaction, at least--when the
Prince chanced to be out of the way. It was certainly his duty that
this young man should go through the customary process which all
visitors at Borga were submitted to.

He left the deck of the dreadnought as the Prince and his _protege_
vanished down the steel companionway, and passed out of the docks. Nor
did he neglect to give the necessary orders for his visitors'
departure. After that, however, he went straight to his headquarters.

Meanwhile the Prince, without the least hesitation, led his companion
along the steel passages, past the maze of machinery which formed the
bowels of the dreadnought. At the extreme peak of the vessel was
situated the light-room of the U-rays, where they found four engineers
at work.

The men saluted and stood by when they realized the identity of their
visitors, and the work of examining the mechanism of the wonderful new
submarine light at once began.

Von Bersac took small enough part in it. The Prince at once became the
engineer. The skill and deftness, and the knowledge he displayed were
incomparable. He talked the whole time he was examining, finding fault
here, praising there, and all his talk was addressed to his nephew as
though he were the final authority. Von Bersac remained the
unenthusiastic creature he had appeared before Von Salzinger, and kept
to his attitude of disjointed grunts. But his eyes were alert and
apparently comprehending, and when, in imitation of the other, he
examined any detail, there was a disarming conviction about all his
movements. Finally they tested the light, and, after a number of tests,
the Prince threw up his hands in a gesture of almost ludicrous despair.

"Ach, Leder," he cried, "it is not the fault of these good fellows. It
is yours--yours and mine. It is a month's delay at least, is it not so?"

Von Bersac silently acquiesced.

"A month of most valuable time," the Prince went on. "See here," he
cried, and went off into a world of technicalities beyond even the
comprehension of the skilled engineers present. "It is to be
regretted," he finished up despairingly. "It must be taken down, and
sent back to us. But these, these,"--he laid his hands on two portions
of the delicate mechanism enclosed in polished brass cylinders, through
which the insulated cables passed--"we will take these with us. They
can be trusted in no other hands." He turned to the chief engineer.
"Take these out without delay. Herr von Bersac will wait for them, and
convey them to my ship. There will be no difficulty. Sever the cables
here, and here," he added, indicating spots which the engineer chalked
where he was to cut them. "Do not let any one handle them when they are
down, Leder. Bring them yourself."

The tall figure of the Prince departed, and Leder von Bersac remained
while the engineers carried out the work.

It was quite simple. There was no difficulty. The Prince had made
certain of this before he left his nephew to wait for the two
cylinders. But the men worked with great care, for they knew that in
those two simple brass casings lay the vital secrets which were to
transform the submarine dreadnoughts from lumbering, groping sea
monsters into live, active, vicious creatures of offense.


It was just within the hour when Leder von Bersac passed out of the
dockyard gates bearing the two brass cylinders in his arms, and
received the salutes of the sentries. He remembered the method with
which the Captain-General had received them, and responded in similar
fashion.

He passed on hurriedly in the direction of the landing-stage. Twenty
yards from the dock gates an expression of doubt crept into his eyes,
as he caught sight of a military officer hurrying towards him from the
direction of what looked like a miniature fortress.

However, he gave no sign. He continued his way. He could already see
the grey wall of the harbor ahead. But the man was rapidly overhauling
him, and, in Von Bersac's mind, a calculation was going on as to
whether he could reach his uncle's vessel before the officer came up
with him.

This calculation, however, did not prove to his satisfaction. He knew
he would be intercepted before he reached his destination. And the
thought strangely disturbed him.

Just as he was about to step on to the landing-stage the officer
reached his side and saluted.

He spoke at once, and though his manner was perfectly deferential, it
was quite decided.

"Will Herr von Bersac favor the Captain-General with a visit at his
headquarters before leaving? The Captain-General requests that he will
make it convenient--at once. It is the formal matter of registering his
visit to Borga."

The dark eyes of the tall engineer dwelt for a moment upon the immobile
features of the man before him. He saw the authority of the military
governor in the whole swaggering pose of the man, and, for a moment,
his firm lips tightened. Then, as though by a great effort, overcoming
his reluctance for the waste of words, he displayed an almost
unexpected urbanity.

"It will give me very great pleasure to wait upon the
Captain-General--at once," he replied. "It will be necessary, however,
for me to deposit these in our vessel--in safety--before I do so." He
indicated the cylinders. "You will understand when I assure you they
are the most vital portions of our U-rays light. Perhaps you will favor
me with your company as far as the vessel?"

The officer's pose underwent a slight change. His manner became even
less deferential.

"My orders are--at once," he objected.

Von Bersac's manner remained the same, but his dark eyes looked
straight into the other's.

"Quite so. Doubtless my uncle, Prince von Hertzwohl, will exonerate you
for the brief delay. He is on the boat at this moment."

The words were well calculated. The engineer had thought rapidly and
made his decision with lightning celerity. He knew that he must reach
the vessel lying less than one hundred yards away.

He had his reward, and a slight sigh of relief escaped him. The
military insolence had left the other's manner. The mention of the
Prince's name had created a modified atmosphere. After all he was a
mere Prussian officer accustomed all his life to yielding to authority.
He, like every one else in Borga, knew that even the military governor
must yield to the authority of the Prince. Therefore he yielded.

"It will give me the greatest pleasure to--accompany you," he said.




CHAPTER IX

THE FRIENDLY DEEP


Prince Von Hertzwohl looked up from his bureau. He was sitting in his
stateroom, which was of some considerable size, and opened out of the
saloon. His ears had caught the sound of a hasty entrance of the
latter. His luminous eyes were alert and questioning. The man was
completely changed from the simple inventor who had told the story of
his submersible to Sir Andrew Farlow and his son. There was a restless,
nervous tension about him, altogether at variance with his customary
calm.

He leapt from his seat. His thin, bent figure moved almost electrically
towards the door. The next moment he had entered the saloon. The other
side of the room, and just within the entrance doorway, stood Ruxton
Farlow, still clad in his German naval uniform, and still bearing in
his arms the two brass cylinders. There was an urgent look in his eyes,
and, at the sight of it, the Prince's question came sharply.

"What is it?" he demanded, with the imperiousness of a man accustomed
to high command.

"Von Salzinger," replied Ruxton quickly. A laugh followed his
pronouncement. It was the laugh of a man who is alive to the danger of
a situation.

"Yes?" The Prince's further enquiry was surcharged with eagerness, and
in broad contrast.

"He demands my presence. I have to conform to regulations and register
my visit to Borga at--headquarters. He has sent an officer to conduct
me to him--at once. The officer is awaiting me on the landing-stage.
The situation has possibilities."

Ruxton's outward calm was not shared by his companion. The Prince
displayed his realization of the necessities of the moment. His eyes
were bright and concentrated. Ruxton watched the emaciated features
with their crowning, upright white hair. There was an ominous sparkle
beneath the bushy brows.

"I saw it in Von Salzinger's eyes when I sent him off," the Prince said
at last. "That is why I left you. Had his order come in my presence,
while ashore, it would have been awkward. That is also why I left you
to bring those cylinders, and with instructions to bring them straight
here. I knew you would make this vessel _with me on board_." He pressed
an electric bell in the panelling.

A moment later a uniformed officer appeared. He stood awaiting the
Prince's commands. The latter seemed absorbed in thought. Quite
abruptly he broke the silence with a series of sharp orders.

"Send a man ashore at once, Captain Ludovic. There is an officer
waiting there with certain orders from the Captain-General. Convey to
him my compliments, and ask him to step aboard as I wish him to convey
an important message to the military governor. For yourself, you will
stand-by. The moment he enters the tower you will have the moorings
cast off. Just keep the boat held to the quay fore and aft by light
lines which can be released at a moment. When the officer reappears you
will, the instant he has passed ashore, clear the gangway, cast off the
light moorings, and full power ahead out of the harbor. I do not know
the effect of my message on the military governor, but I expect he will
endeavor to stop me. This must not be permitted. You understand?"

"Yes, Excellency." The man offered no further comment.

"For the present that is all."

The man saluted and retired.

"Is that man a German, or a----?" Ruxton began as the man disappeared.

"He is a Pole." Then the Prince clasped his fingers and bent them back,
cracking the joints. It was an expression of intense excitement. He
laughed. "He hates Prussians, and Von Salzinger is a Prussian."

"The matter is going to be serious?" Ruxton's eyes searched the smiling
face of the Prince.

"I cannot tell--yet. Von Salzinger has given an order that is about to
be disobeyed. Von Salzinger is a powerful force in Borga. Even I have
no right to disobey the military governor's regulations here, nor to
defy openly his orders. Von Salzinger may do anything. Remember, he is
a Prussian. One thing is certain, he does not get you before his
inquisitors. No, I cannot tell what he will do. Ah, here comes our
visitor. Give me the cylinders."

The Prince possessed himself of the cylinders and was closely
contemplating them when the youthful Prussian officer appeared in the
doorway. He was so intent upon his study of them, tenderly handling
their shining cases with his long fingers, that he did not appear to
observe the officer's entrance, and, in gently modulated voice,
continued to address his pretended nephew.

"You have, my dear Leder, committed the great fault which belongs to
your age. Practice and Principle must ever go hand in hand. I do not
know yet, of course, but I fear you have let Principle get his nose in
front of Practice. It may mean much serious delay. We will take these,
and have them more fully tested, and then----"

He broke off and looked up as an impatient clearing of the throat
announced the presence of the officer. In a moment the cylinders were
deposited on the table, and the big eyes were beaming simple kindliness
upon the visitor.

"You have an order from the Captain-General, is it not so?" he enquired
blandly.

The young Prussian pulled himself up with due regard for his office.
Just for a moment his conceit had been a little overborne by the
presence of the Prince.

"Yes, Excellency," he said, with a sharp return to his military habit.
"It is an imperative order that I conduct, without delay, Herr Leder
von Bersac----"

"Ach, so!" exclaimed the Prince, his eyes suddenly flashing and his
whole manner absorbing all his recent blandness in a quick-rising heat.
"Does the Captain-General think he can give his orders to men under the
command of Prince von Hertzwohl? Your Captain-General has yet to learn.
And those who serve under him also. My nephew, Herr Leder von Bersac,
is under the command of his uncle, and no one else. Your
Captain-General knows that as well as I. The regulations of Borga are
no concern of mine. But when I visit this pestilential place its
manners are. Convey to your Captain-General that the manners of Borga
had best be improved. I shall not visit here again until I have seen
that they are. You can go back, and tell him that I leave at once, and
that Herr Leder von Bersac has no time to comply with any order issued
by the military governor of Borga."

The tide of the Prince's anger was too swift for the youthful
Prussian's armor of official effrontery. He came near to withering
before it. It was only the understanding of Von Salzinger's supreme
command in Borga that helped him to weather the storm. He waited one
moment to see if anything further was to be said, then, under the stern
eyes of the Prince, he saluted and departed, darting up the
companionway with hurried steps, and made his way ashore to the
telephone station on the landing-stage.

Had he paused to glance about him he might have been surprised that the
Prince's threat had been so promptly put into execution. As it was he
did not notice even that the gangway followed him ashore, almost
immediately in his wake. But these things, however they might have
surprised him, were no real concern of his. It was for him to report
promptly to the Captain-General, and make matters as safe as he could
for himself.

By the time he reached the telephone station the vessel was gliding
silently from the landing-stage.


The throb of the powerful engines told Ruxton Farlow all he wished to
know. He sighed quietly, and it was the outward expression of the
relaxing of his feelings.

He was smiling into the face of the man before him.

"Well?" he said.

But the Prince had become curiously abstracted. His eyes were on the
cylinders in an unseeing contemplation. Ruxton watched him thoughtfully
after his monosyllabic interrogatory. He was filled with not a little
wonder at the alertness of this man's mentality in a moment of crisis.
It was an almost confounding realization in the midst of his early
impressions of him. For himself he could not see ahead with any degree
of certainty. The Prince had committed himself to a dangerous course in
defying the German Government's representative in the place, which was
the most treasured secret in the Teuton heart. He judged that certain
pursuit would follow, or at least armed interference. Even with a power
such as the Prince's, at whatever cost, Von Salzinger must enforce
obedience to his order, or----

The Prince broke in upon his reflections.

"It is good to defy a--Prussian. It did me much good. But Borga is his
nursery. He is its nurse. He must act. I wonder---- Ach, if he should
try to stop us I will see him in the deepest pit of hell."

He threw up his hands with his final explosion and in an action of
almost schoolboyish delight. Then he smiled into the Englishman's face,
half questioningly, half eagerly.

"Between us and the open sea lie a hundred batteries of heavy,
compressed-air guns. One shell from any of those guns could send us to
the bottom, if it caught us at the surface. Then there is the mined
channel. We are without a pilot. If we submerge the mines are thicker
still. For myself and my vessel I do not care. For you?"

Ruxton shrugged.

"If I am caught and questioned I shall be shot. And you, too, for
bringing me here. A gambler's chance is always attractive, even to a
man who never gambles."

"Then we amuse ourselves at the expense of our friend Von Salzinger.
When you are safe in England I will forestall him in Berlin. I have no
fear when you are--safe. Let us go on deck."

Five minutes later they were standing on the deck of the submersible.
They were standing at the rail, with the conning-tower intervening
between them and the shore. They were the only souls visible on the
deck. The captain of the vessel was in the turret, but the crew were
all below.

Ruxton observed this at once, as he also observed that the skylights
were all sealed ready for submersion.

"Your captain is ready for any emergency," he said, indicating these
preparations.

But the Prince was searching the harbor side of the shore with a pair
of powerful glasses.

Receiving no reply Ruxton permitted his attention to wander over the
rapidly passing panorama. They were travelling very fast, and a great
white wake was thrown up behind them. The moored shipping dropped
astern of them at an almost incredible speed. Ahead he could see the
frowning narrows coming towards them shrouded in their gloomy hood of
mist, like the cowled skulls of skeleton sentinels. But even such a
threat was preferable to the intolerable, sulphurous atmosphere they
were leaving behind.

"There is no movement from the shore," said the Prince presently,
lowering his glasses. Then he passed into the conning-tower to confer
with his chief officer.

In a few moments he returned.

"He thinks it is the narrows where we shall be held up. He says the
Captain-General would not believe a Pole would face that mine-field.
Perhaps it is that he is right--Ludovic, I mean. We will wait." Then he
rubbed his hands with absurd glee. "It is interesting."

Ruxton was forced to smile. A delightful sensation of excitement was
growing within him again. He had told himself that it was life or
death, but the full significance of his assurance had been powerless to
possess him. He had often dreamed of Death. He had imagined it in
almost every form. Nor, in his dreams, had it ever succeeded in
terrifying him any more than the thought of it did now.

No, the whole situation had contrived an impersonal atmosphere for
himself. He was looking on, watching a great contest between the brain
of this man, his courage and soul, against the military rule and power
of the Captain-General Von Salzinger.

A low chuckling laugh broke upon his reflections.

"It is an illustration," said the Prince, his eyes now steadily fixed
upon the jaws of the narrows ahead.

"The test is even greater than I could have hoped. We are an unarmed
submersible merchantman. Such as we have talked of. Here we are, under
the enemy's batteries--at war. We are carrying butter, hey? Butter to
your shores, in war time, in face of a blockade. Your countrymen are
starving for--butter. We must reach them, and so save your country from
destruction--with butter."

"Make it copper, Prince," smiled Ruxton.

"Ha! Yes, copper. It is very necessary in war time." The Prince smiled
in appreciation. Then he pointed ahead. "But see, Ludovic is right."

He was indicating a dark object moving towards them on the water out of
the gloomy shadows of the rocky sentries of the narrows.

"It is a patrol. Under normal conditions it would gladly pilot us
through the mine-field. Now it has no such friendly desire."

His regard became less smiling, and he relapsed into silence. The dead
flat water was thrown up into two great wings as the patrol boat
pressed on towards them.

The excitement was more and more taking possession of the Englishman.
His faith in the Polish prince was invincible.

"Shall you hear what he has to say?" he enquired presently, his
breathing quickened in spite of an outward calm.

The Prince did not turn to answer, but his slight laugh was full of
quiet confidence.

"Why waste time--valuable time?" he retorted whimsically. "We are in a
hurry to reach the open sea. No, I do not listen to the
Captain-General's commands to me. He is my subordinate." Then he added
with the ingenuous subtlety of a schoolboy, "If I listened to the order
to stop, and refused to obey, I should commit myself in the eyes of
Berlin. No. Come below. It is time."

The patrol boat was less than four hundred yards away, and travelling
at a great pace. It was almost within hailing distance. Ruxton could
even count the occupants at that distance. He was certain there were
six at least. The other patrol boat had contained only two officers
besides the engineer. The difference was significant.

He followed his host into the conning-tower and the steel door was
closed with a slam behind them. It automatically sealed itself.

The Prince's voice at the foot of the steel companion-ladder, leading
up to the chief officer's post, rang out sharply.

"Submerge!"

Then he turned to his companion.

"We will go below. We will go forward, where Ludovic will join us in a
moment. I will show you that which I hope may interest you. We have
seen the last of Von Salzinger and his command--for some time."

The nervous energy of the Prince led Ruxton at a rapid rate. They
passed down the companion, and, instead of entering the saloon, turned
for'ard, down an alleyway which took them past the moving steel bowels
of the vessel. The low purr of the great Diesel engines fell pleasantly
upon the Englishman's ears. There was no hiss of steam. There was none
of the clanging of high-pressure mechanism. Just a steady, powerful
throb which vibrated throughout the length of the vessel's hull, and
told him of the enormous mechanical effort going on.

They left the engine-rooms behind and passed by the kitchens, to which
very careful and elaborate attention had been given. They left the
quarters of the crew, beautifully kept and equipped, and without a sign
or suggestion of that inferiority of appointment which is to be found
on all commercial vessels. They passed a number of carefully disguised
bulkheads, and finally came to a doorway in a steel bulkhead which
seemed to mark the limit of the forward end of the vessel. The Prince
withdrew a key from his waistcoat pocket. He opened the door, and both
of them passed within.

Once the door was closed he slid his fingers up the steel wall in the
darkness and pressed a switch. In a moment the room was flooded with
light, and Ruxton blinked under its power as he gazed about him.

The Prince was standing in front of him gazing half smilingly at the
expression of his face. He was seeking that surprise which to his
simple nature meant much satisfaction.

Nor was he disappointed. The moment Ruxton recovered under the dazzling
glare he realized that that which he now beheld he had witnessed in the
vessel at Borga, whence he had brought the cylinders. This was the
U-rays room of the private submersible. It was--yes, it was the U-rays
in active operation.

A question promptly sprang to his lips.

"But the light is perfect," he said. "There is nothing wrong with it
here?"

He moved across the narrow triangular room to its apex, where a great
disc of magnifying glass, like a porthole, came in direct contact with
the water outside. He stood for a moment peering out through it. The
water beyond was lit with a ruddy glow that left it extraordinarily
translucent. It was powerful, and seemingly the power of the rays
extended a considerable distance. But though the water was thus lit it
was not rendered transparent. For some silent moments he gazed out,
then a shadow moved across the field of light--and he understood.

He turned to the silent inventor.

"That was a fish which crossed our bows," he said, in suppressed tones
which indicated something of his feelings. "I think--yes, I understand.
This light will reveal any solid body ahead, any obstruction--mines,
rocks, any danger to progress."

The Prince beamed his satisfaction.

"The submersible need no longer be a blind lumbering monster," he said.
"The mine-field we are shortly going to pass through is not the danger
you may have anticipated. The moment we have passed the patrol boat we
shall rise till our periscope is above water. Then we shall move
slowly. The helmsman will remain in the conning-tower, but he will be
controlled from here by---- Ah, here is Captain Ludovic."

The steel door was thrust open and the chief officer entered the room.

"The mines begin about sixty fathoms on, Excellency," he said, with a
brevity and utter lack of anything approaching the servility one might
have anticipated in his relation to so powerful a master as the Prince.
But Ruxton understood. The Prince's simple nature demanded nothing of
that from those intimately associated with him. Hence, perhaps, the
devotion of those who served him. "If you will forgive, Excellency, I
will take _sole_ charge here."

The Prince turned to his guest with a laugh of genial humor.

"Come, my friend, we will leave the excellent Ludovic to his work. We
are dismissed." Then he turned to the captain, who had taken his place
at the forward porthole, and had adjusted the telephone receivers over
his ears. He raised his voice so that the man could hear. "Once clear
of the last batteries, Ludovic, we travel on the surface," he said.

"Yes, Excellency." The man made no attempt to turn from his watch upon
the ruddy field ahead.




CHAPTER X

THE FUTURE


On the way back to the saloon a further truth began to dawn upon
Ruxton. Nor did he lose a moment in challenging his host when they
reached the luxurious apartment.

"You have brought those cylinders away. May I ask why?" he enquired.

The Prince had seated himself, and was in the act of lighting a cigar.
He desisted, and held his case out towards his guest. Ruxton helped
himself and waited.

The other stared thoughtfully at the cigar which remained poised in his
lean fingers. Then he raised his brilliant eyes, and the Englishman
realized that the moment of lightness, of almost schoolboyish delight
at the sense of danger had entirely passed. The eyes shone
passionately, and reminded him sharply of the expressive eyes of the
woman who had appealed for humanity with him on the brink of the
Yorkshire cliffs.

"Why? Because I have convinced you of my submersible. Because for that
reason I have determined to deprive the German Government of the use of
my U-rays for an indefinite period. Perhaps forever. Listen, there is
only one man knows that I have an installation of that light on my ship
besides ourselves, and that man is--Ludovic. I have installed it with
my own hands. The installation on the submersible dreadnought which you
saw was the first effort in that direction, and the Government believe
it to be purely experimental. Well, the experiment has--failed. That is
all." He shrugged.

"But you will be forced to try again."

"And it will fail--again. Ach, so! I would rather unship my plant, and
fling my models to the bottom of the sea, where they may help to light
up the world of crabs, than that my Government should acquire one
single added threat against humanity."

The next few moments were silently occupied in lighting their cigars.
Ruxton had no words with which to answer him. He was thinking deeply,
comparing this man's attitude towards the country which claimed him
with his own feelings for his island home. He wondered what his
attitude would have been had their positions been reversed; if he, as
an Englishman, had been such a power, through his discoveries, for
aiding his country. To his shame he was forced to the conclusion that
this white-haired Pole was a greater man than he could ever hope to be.

The difference between them lay in the difference between a perfervid
patriotism, and the Prince's overwhelming love of humanity inspired by
the abyss of horror into which a blind devotion to his country had
flung him. This man had passed the great dividing line where the
uplifted spirit renounces the claims of earthly passion in favor of the
call of the voice of the soul. The cause of humanity now dominated
every other emotion. Somehow his own fervor of patriotism suffered
severely by the comparison, and so he found himself with no words in
which to answer.

The old man rose from his chair and passed into his private stateroom.
A few moments later he returned with two rolls of papers, neatly
secured by tapes and seals.

He had closed the door. He was about to cross over to his guest. But in
a moment he was held rigid where he stood. A dull boom roared out
somewhere overhead and vibrated down the entire length of the vessel.

His eyes were wide and attentive. But there was no fear in them. Ruxton
started up from the lounge on which he had been sitting. A thrilling
excitement shone in his eyes.

"Is it a--mine?" he cried sharply.

The Prince shook his head.

"There would be nothing of us left at this moment," he said. "Wait! You
can feel the steady throb of the engines. No, it was a gun. It was a
bursting shell from one of the silent guns. They can see our periscope,
and are firing across us--to heave to. Hark! There goes another."

Again came a terrific detonation. But the vessel ploughed on.

"Presently they will fire to hit our periscope and make us rise to the
surface. Von Salzinger has gone further than I had dared to hope."

"Hope?"

"He will pay for this with his position."

"But if they hit our periscope?"

The Prince shrugged.

"It will make no difference. We shall not rise till it suits us. We
have the light. Already we must be nearly through the mine-field. Once
we are through the mines Ludovic could make the journey seawards
blindfold."

The Prince crossed over to his chair, and laid the sealed rolls on the
table beside him. He did not speak. He was obviously listening.

Presently another sharp explosion sounded overhead, and his eyes lit.

"Ah, I thought Von Salzinger would not resist it. You see, he is a
Prussian." He smiled, but his eyes had lost their humor. "That was
shrapnel," he went on. "Its bursting is unmistakable. But he will not
hit the periscope."

Again silence fell between them, and both smoked on with every sense
alert. There was another explosion overhead. Then another and another.
Still the vibrations of the engines continued. The two waited some time
for the next explosion, but it was delayed. At last the Prince rose
from his seat and passed out of the room. He was away for some moments.
During his absence Ruxton never stirred a muscle. His cigar had gone
out. He was still listening acutely.

Finally the Prince returned, and Ruxton's eyes put their question
plainly.

"We have completely passed the mine-field. We are also completely
submerged," said the Prince. "We need no longer concern ourselves with
Von Salzinger."

Ruxton drew a deep breath. He relit his cigar, while the other seemed
to dismiss the subject from his mind entirely. The excitement of the
escape had passed, and with the passing of it, it had robbed him of all
lightness. His large eyes darkened, and a frowning of his bushy brows
gave him an appearance of depression.

Ruxton, watching him, wondered what next was to be the display of this
extraordinary creature. Nor had he long to wait.

"You have seen at--Borga?" he demanded.

"More--than I was prepared for, in spite of all you and the Princess
had told me."

"Yes. Tell me. Tell me about it."

Ruxton drew his feet up on the lounge. His dark eyes were on the
white-whiskered face of his host, but they had become deeply
introspective.

"I wonder how many years we have before it--comes."

"Perhaps--ten."

"Ten? Yes, I suppose so." The Englishman's eyes were full of a deep
pondering. "And then war. War upon Britain alone. The rest of the world
cajoled into quiescence through self-interest, and the memory of the
horrors of the late war. Yes, a sudden and swift descent upon our
overseas commerce. The wholesale wrecking, and terrorizing by
slaughter. Every ship bound for our shores must be captured or sunk.
This must occur simultaneously in all parts of the world. Then the
complete ringing round of these islands, and a naval warfare against us
with this new type of battle-ship, the submersible dreadnought. From a
naval point of view, with our own submarine vessels, doubtless it is
calculated that we might hold our own. But meanwhile our islands would
be starved, and our country brought to its knees. All our defences
against submarine attack in the past would be rendered useless by the
U-rays light. It is certainly a picture to intimidate the stoutest
heart. And then? What lies behind this? I can see it in your eyes
that--there is more behind it all."

The Prince leant forward with that swiftness of action which indicates
a tumultuous stream of thought surging to find expression.

"Ach, that is so. That is all so. But you are right. There is
more--much more," he cried, his lean hands tenaciously grasping the
polished arms of his chair. "You have all talked world domination. You
have all vaguely known that that was Germany's object in the last war,
and in which she failed. No one knows better than Germany why she
failed. It does not need the Englishman to remind her. Since then she
has changed her whole plans, and now they are more far-reaching than
ever. She has abandoned Napoleonic for the ancient Roman methods.
Germany, once she has wrested sea power from Britain, will live in a
state of war with the whole world. The procedure will be an attack
upon, and annexation of, every small state in turn. And each small
state so acquired will pay its own bill. She will consolidate each
territory as she possesses it, and so long as her war methods continue
they will be bled white. So she will build up in every corner of the
earth, and in the process she will prosper exceedingly, as did the
great Roman Empire. And throughout this reign of terror, while the
outward seeming of civilization will increase a hundredfold, all
spiritual life, and the culture of the human soul, will go back s

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/36836