Vita's painful contemplation and misery were rudely broken in upon. Just as the shadows of the dreary day were beginning to deepen prematurely the door of her sitting-room was silently thrust open, and Frederick von Berger made his unwelcome appearance.
He stood for one moment contemplating the beautiful drooping figure without the smallest sign of emotion. Then he moved forward over the polished floor, and the sound of his approach acted like an electric current upon the woman at the window. She had been caught at a disadvantage, but, in an instant, all her pride and courage rose superior to every other emotion. She sat up, and the haughty displeasure in her eyes found vent in cold words which must have stung deeply any other personality but that of their present object.
"It would be superfluous to protest at an intrusion where neither honesty, justice, nor a sense of decency exists. All I can hope for is that whatever your business may be you will complete it, and relieve me of your obnoxious presence as quickly as possible."
There was a cold scorn in the simple words which was enhanced threefold by reason of the calm with which they were delivered.
If Frederick von Berger appreciated it he gave no sign. The words might not have been spoken in so far as they deflected for a second the purpose of his coming.
He came close up to the window in which Vita was sitting. His gaze avoided her and was directed towards the gloomy prospect beyond it. His powerful figure was carried erectly, doubtless from the severity of his early military training, but it possessed a litheness quite unusual, a litheness which the angular figure of Von Salzinger completely lacked. The latent strength of the man was indomitable, and under other conditions it would have been something the woman must have admired. Now she only saw the cruelty in his hard eyes, and the absolutely cold set of the features which seemed rendered immobile thereby.
He raised one foot and rested it upon the window-seat, and, bending so that an arm rested upon his knee, he glanced down into the averted face.
"I have come to tell you that your position has somewhat changed since you became my guest here," he said, in level tones. "To my very great regret it has been discovered that you are as deeply concerned in the plot which has cost us the secrets of Borga as those others. I have received a telegram, intended for you, announcing your father's arrival in this country. The manner in which it is written conveys beyond doubt that you are perfectly intimate with all the plans of the conspiracy, and even that one of the people most concerned is your lover. So you see that changes the aspect of the matter so far as you are concerned."
"You have intercepted a message from Mr. Ruxton Farlow?"
Vita's face was no longer averted. All her woman's pride was outraged. To think that this creature's eyes should have read the lines which Ruxton had meant only for hers. She thought nothing of the significance of her own position as a result of that letter. Only was the sacrilege this man had committed apparent to her.
She believed she was dealing merely with a mechanism of Prussian tyranny. She was incapable of regarding this man as anything else. But Frederick von Berger had calculated every word he had uttered. Human nature was a lifelong study with him – even that which he could claim for his own.
"Exactly," he replied. "And the fact has made your position very precarious, very precarious indeed."
The significance of his simple statement would no longer be denied. Vita caught her breath. Her swift, upward glance in his direction had something of the alarm which he desired to witness in it.
He removed his foot from the silken cushion and stood up.
"Princess," he went on, "I came to England with very stringent orders – "
"Who gives Frederick von Berger orders?" cried Vita impulsively. "Not even the Emperor. There is only one person who gives orders to Prince von Berger in Germany – himself. It is useless to deny it. All that you have done here – are doing – is of your own initiative."
But the man continued as though the interruption had not taken place.
"The orders I have received admit of only one course of action – the punishment by death of the traitors to my country, and the complete nullification of the effects of the plot. These things will be carried out regardless of all cost and consequence. There will be no tempering with mercy. Justice, cold justice alone will be meted out – regardless of sex."
"The question of justice I doubt. The matter of sex is a foregone conclusion. There is ample precedent for that."
The bitterness of the woman's words came from her heart. She knew that he was threatening that her life was forfeit, but the fact seemed to leave her untouched since that first swift glance of apprehension.
"The point is not one which I care to debate," the man returned, with his curious, simple directness. "It is not for me to possess an opinion on any matter where authority or the conduct of the State is concerned. I can only assure you that duty will be carried out inexorably. For you the position becomes deplorable. For you to have committed yourself to intrigues which have for their purpose the betrayal of your country is an outrage which calls for no mercy. You will have to face a penalty similar to that which awaits your father. That penalty is – death."
"Death!"
The echo came in a whisper. It was a startled whisper, as though Vita's brain were striving to grasp the full significance of the word as applied to herself. Her eyes were no longer on the man's face. They were contemplating the scene beyond the window without observing it.
Then, slowly, a change came over her. Her body seemed to draw itself erect. The scorn that had lain in her eyes a few minutes ago had given place to a curious cold calm. Her shapely lips compressed tightly, and she faced unflinchingly the man who had pronounced the sentence. Her eyes regarded him for some thoughtful moments. It almost seemed as though she were striving to probe beneath that cold mask to the thoughts and emotions which she felt must lie behind it. Then a curious smile grew in them, a smile of renewed contempt that must have been insupportable to a man of any feeling.
"And the alternative? I suppose there is an alternative. A death sentence so pronounced is generally inspired by an all-important alternative. Do you desire me to betray my friends? Do you desire me to hand my father over to execution? Do you desire me to tell you where the secrets you desire to recover are bestowed? Do you desire me to assist you to restore to your country the cruel means with which you hope to crush the heart of humanity some time in the future? Let me hear it all, the whole depth to which you desire to force me to descend. I have always wondered at the possible profundity to which the Prussian mind can descend in its lack of human understanding. Well, Prince, you had better say all you have to say now. For after this I shall claim the privilege of every condemned person to pass out of the world in peace." Then her contemptuous smile deepened. "But perhaps I am to be denied that privilege. Perhaps there is no such privilege in the Prussian code. Perhaps I am to be placed upon the rack, and tortured until I confess. I feel it would only be a fitting outcome of the Kultur to which your countrymen have risen. I am waiting to hear anything further you have to say."
It would have been impossible to tell from the man's attitude the effect of these words. Not a muscle of his features stirred. His regard remained coldly contemplative.
"There is no alternative," he said. "Your crime admits of none. We place no value upon any information you could give us. Our means are perfect for obtaining it ourselves. To prove it I can assure you of things which perhaps you do not know yourself. The plans which your friends stole are even now in the yards at Dorby in Yorkshire. The construction of submersible vessels is going on under Admiralty supervision and protection, a matter carefully arranged by your lover, Ruxton Farlow. Your father is at Dorby, and his private submersible is moored in an inner dock at Farlow, Son and Farlow's yards. These are all facts you may be aware of, but there are others which you certainly are not. One of them is that these constructions are about to be destroyed by explosion, and the plans too. Later on there will be further developments. As for the torture you suggest, that, too, is unnecessary. I have yet to learn of a greater torture which a young, rich, and beautiful woman can endure than the thought of being torn from the arms of the hero whom she has foolishly permitted herself to worship. There can be nothing more painful to her than to contemplate in her last moments the happiness which she is denied being enjoyed by some other woman when her own penalty has been paid. My reasoning is only a man's, but – "
"A devil's!"
Vita's calm had deserted her. Horror and loathing struggled for place in her wide shining eyes.
The man looked on unmoved.
"As you will, Princess," he said, with that curious flicker of the eyelids. "But now, since I have completed the business of my visit, I will relieve you of my obnoxious presence. When the time comes you will be given half an hour to prepare yourself for the execution of your sentence."
He moved away. The shadows of the room swallowed him up. Then, a moment later, Vita heard the door close behind him.
CHAPTER XXI
ENEMY MOVEMENTS
Ruxton's return to town from Dorby was made by special train in the middle of the night. It had been inspired by an irresistible impulse, born of an apprehension which his great love for Vita inspired.
Prince von Hertzwohl had only sheltered one night under the roof of Dorby Towers. Sir Andrew had been urgent that he should remain his guest indefinitely, feeling that the safety of an Englishman's home was the best of all havens for this large, simple-minded Pole. But Vita's father proved something of his daughter's estimate of him. His gratitude and thanks had been sincere and cordial, but he displayed an understanding of the situation which astonished his hosts, and a decision that resisted all appeal.
"Dear friends," he had urged, "it cannot be. It is a joy to me, so great, to feel the warm shelter of your perfect English home. I love the parks, the wide moor, the white cliffs. But I love more than all the generosity and kindliness of your friendship. But you do not yet grasp what all this means. These people will have my life, and your locks and bars will be no obstacle to their Secret Service. They will get me here, as they would get me in their own country. Nor can we say what danger I might not expose you to. No, my course is quite simple. I will show you to-night."
Father and son were reluctantly forced to acquiesce.
That night, after dinner, the shrewdness of Vita's father was displayed. He departed to his bedroom, and, an hour later, he reappeared in the smoking-room.
The metamorphosis was perfect. An unkempt individual, lean, dirty, and slouching, entered the room and made its way to the fire. His beard and moustache were gone, and he was clad in the greasy clothes and discolored overalls of a riverside mechanic. The disguise was so perfect that only with the greatest difficulty both father and son were able to recognize him. Later on he left the house, and set out for the town of Dorby. It was his purpose to lose himself amongst the thousands of workers who peopled the waterside, and so, while keeping in touch with Dorby Towers, completely sink his identity. Nor was it until after profound consideration that Ruxton and his father realized the wonderful but simple astuteness of the man's move.
It was the second night following this event that Ruxton's own resolve was arrived at. It was over forty-eight hours since he had dispatched his telegram to Vita telling her of her father's arrival and safety. He should have received a reply in under six hours. No reply, however, had been forthcoming.
At first Ruxton had been patient. There had been much to occupy him of an important nature at the shipyards. He had had little time to think of anything else. The constructions were steadily growing under the energetic hands of his engineers and marine architects. Already the promise of the future was taking definite shape. The work, pressed on at his urging, was proceeding apace. Already the completed outlines of two of the hulls filled twin slipways. His enthusiasm was growing with the rapidity of a man of keen imagination. His dreams were becoming real, tangible. The experiment was full of a promise which weeks ago had no place in his almost despairing regard of the future.
But at night there was less occupation for his mind, and inevitably his thoughts flew at once to the woman who had opened out to him the radiant possibilities of his future. No reply had reached him on that first night, and unease began to make itself felt. He mentioned the matter to his father with marked unconcern. The shrewd Yorkshire eyes which regarded him were blandly uncurious.
"Did you word it for reply?" he enquired, glancing up from the pictorial periodical he was looking at.
Ruxton had not worded it particularly so, he assured him, with a glance of trouble in his dark eyes.
Then the old man went on with his paper.
"I shouldn't worry about it," he said calmly. "It must have been delivered, or it would have been returned to you."
But the assurance was without effect upon the lover. He said no more then, but at dinner the following evening his anxiety would no longer be denied.
The butler had withdrawn. Ruxton had been unusually disinclined to talk during the meal. The keen brain of his father had summed up the reason to a fraction, but, with quiet understanding, he had waited for the unburdening which he knew would soon come.
It came as Ruxton, ignoring the dessert, sat back in his chair and lit a cigar.
"I've ordered a special train for town, Dad; I can't stand the suspense any longer."
"You mean – the answer to your message." Sir Andrew made no attempt to misunderstand him. "But where is the suspense? It was a message of – his arrival, I understand. The answer was optional."
"Optional? Ah, you don't understand." Just for a moment the trouble seemed to pass out of the younger man's eyes. He was contemplating the wonderful love which had come to him. He breathed a deep sigh. "Look here, Dad, what would you have felt like – you know, say just before you married my mother, if you sent her an urgent message by wire and received no reply? Why, in the past twenty-four hours you'd have been driving in a stage coach, or something equally slow, to find out the reason, if I know anything. There are a dozen things I could have done. I could have kept the wires humming incessantly – but for possibilities. Those possibilities have restrained me. But now I can wait no longer. I must see Vita myself and assure myself that nothing is – wrong. Dad, it's the whole world to me. I can't wait any longer. I love her, and I am going to marry her. That's where the suspense lies."
"That's how I supposed," Sir Andrew nodded, his shrewd eyes twinkling. "One has to endure many anxious moments under such circumstances. I have known them myself. You leave at – "
"Three A. M."
The old man nodded.
"I've not met her yet, boy," he said kindly, "though," he added slyly, "I seem as if I did know her. You see, you've spoken of her a lot. Well, if she's half the woman you have told me she is, I congratulate you heartily. Somehow, boy, I feel sure she is. Yes, it is as well to go – with possibilities hanging over us all."
He rose from the table and held out his hand as Ruxton followed his example.
"The very best of luck, boy, and – will you give her my love? You can leave the work here in my hands."
The two men clasped hands with a vigor such as belonged to two strong natures, and then, as they moved off to the library, they fell to discussing those "possibilities" to which Ruxton had alluded.
Ruxton's anxiety was no mere impatience of a hotheaded lover. He had not permitted his imagination to distort things out of a real proportion. He knew that their Teutonic enemies were able to lay hands upon Vita if they decided upon such a course. And all too late he had realized that his message had been an indiscretion. Once having arrived at this realization, the rest followed in painful sequence. If his message, though carefully worded, had fallen into enemy hands, the possibilities such an event opened up were illimitable.
It was between ten and eleven in the morning that he presented himself at the flat in Kensington.
On his way up the stairs he received his first shock. It was no less than an encounter with Mrs. Jenkins on her way down them, garbed in her long outdoor ulster, such as all women of her class seem to possess, bearing under one arm an ominous-looking bundle.
He stopped her, or rather she provoked attention herself by a dry cough and a prolonged, moist sniff.
"You goin' up to 'er flat?" she demanded; "'cos if you are she ain't in."
There was a sort of defiant displeasure in her words that, to Ruxton, might have been just her natural form of address, or might not have been.
He paused, glanced down at her bundle, and finally regarded her severely.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
"Don't see it's your bizness. Any'ow I'm goin' to do a bit o' shoppin'."
Then Ruxton adopted a high hand.
"Well, just come back up-stairs a minute. Your shopping will keep. I want to speak to you on a matter of importance. Come along."
He moved on up the stairs, and Mrs. Jenkins, used to obeying somebody at all times, followed him protestingly.
"I don't see I got no right any'ow. But wot with her bein' away, and stoppin' away, and me 'avin' no food to eat, as you might say, an' my wages overdue, an' the bills unpaid, I don't know, I'm sure. Maybe you got my wages with you, bein' a friend of 'ers?"
But Ruxton offered no explanation until they reached the flat and the door of it was securely shut behind them. Then he turned upon her with a forcefulness that reduced her to the necessary condition for giving all the information he needed with the least superfluous verbiage.
"Look here, Mrs. Jenkins, I just want a few straight answers to a few plain questions. Remember, the matters I'm going to question you on are of vital importance – very vital importance. I just want plain truth and nothing else."
"Truth! You'll say I'm lyin' next. Wot d'yer want to know? My motter is allus tell the truth an' shame the devil."
"Yes, yes, that's all right. Where's your mistress?"
The woman sniffed, while she eyed him distrustfully.
"Dunno. Ain't see 'er since you was 'ere last."
"When did you expect her?"
"Why, next day, o' course. She allus come 'ere every day 'less she sed. 'Sides, my wages was due next day, an' there's the 'ousekeepin' money. I ain't got neither. I writ 'er to 'er home, but ain't 'ad no answer. I got to eat, an' I ain't got nothin' t' eat in the place, so I was just goin' to slip round with a pair o' blankets an' get a loan. Y' see I didn't know wot to do, an' I tho't – " She broke off with a fresh sniff.
Ruxton produced some money and handed her two sovereigns.
"There, that'll keep you going. Now all I want from you are these facts. You haven't seen her since I was here, and you expected her next day. You wrote to her and received no reply. The last time you saw her she was leaving for her – home. That so?"
The woman nodded and sniffed.
"Yes, sir." The gold had impressed her.
"Very well. Now I want you to keep on here as if nothing had happened. You shall have your money regularly. Look after your mistress's things carefully, and if any one calls here, any visitors, men, or – or strangers, let me know. There, that card will give you my address. If I'm not there my secretary will take any message for me. I'm afraid some accident must have happened to your mistress. I am going to find out with the help of the – police. Do you understand? Whatever you do, don't talk."
By the time he had finished the poor woman was thoroughly alarmed, and showed it.
"My, sir, I do 'ope nothin' 'as 'appened serious-like. She was allus a venturesome one, as you might say, goin' about, an' I allus was a-tellin' of 'er – "
"Yes, yes; that's all right. The thing is, I've got to find out. Now, you see and do as I have said, and your mistress will thank you. Nor shall I forget. Remember, if any one calls for her, get their names and remember their faces, and – don't talk."
He hurried away, and passed down the uninviting stairs at a run. Two minutes later he was in a taxi, driving at a breakneck speed for Smith Square.
Arrived there, he ordered his own car, and, while awaiting its arrival, gave a string of instructions to Heathcote. Within another twenty minutes he was in his car, threading his way through the London traffic with the reckless inconsequence only to be found in an ex-naval chauffeur urged by an equally reckless employer.
A nightmare of apprehension pursued Ruxton over the switchback Oxford road. With a mind clear and incisive he had thought at almost electric speed, and planned the course to be pursued. In his brief twenty minutes with his secretary he had carefully detailed all his requirements. Now he could only lie back in his car, while the sailorman, driving him, obeyed the reckless instincts which have made him and his comrades a byword for devotion. Ruxton demanded speed, and the keen-eyed chauffeur gave it him. Heavy car as it was, it danced over the greater part of the journey with the fantastic and dangerous irresponsibility of a runaway. But the man at the wheel knew his machine. The pride and joy of his life was that he was the driver of eighty horse-power. This was the first time he had ever been permitted to test the accuracy of the maker's claims.
But to Ruxton the speed was a snail gait, and it seemed to him, on that brief journey to Wednesford, that he lived through centuries of despairing anxiety and doubts. Had these devils got at Vita? The burden of his cry was based on all the experiences of the late war. Yet what could they do? What would they dare do, here in England? He tried to reassure himself. But it was a vain attempt. He knew, only too well, the ruthless audacity of these people. Then he blamed himself that he had not insisted that Vita should have abandoned her home in Buckinghamshire when she first told him of Von Salzinger's visit. Was not that sufficient warning for any sane mind? Did it not clearly prove that Vita was watched? And, if she were watched, did it not point the purpose in the Teutonic mind to act if it suited it? Of course it did. He was to blame, seriously to blame – if anything had happened to her. He remembered Vassilitz and the inspiration his doings had awakened in him. He must have been mad not to think further – mad or incompetent.
So his feverish imagination ran on and tortured him as no other anxiety could have tortured him. And then came the relief of further action.
He reached Wednesford all too soon for his sailorman, who would have infinitely preferred continuing his reckless journey to Land's End and then – back again. However, he removed his foot from the accelerator and drew up at the police-station of the little old market town in a perfectly decorous fashion. The local chief was awaiting the car, and Ruxton was conducted promptly to that officer's private room.
The chief superintendent was a florid-faced, bulldog-looking man of about forty, vigorous, alert, but possessing no outward sign of particular mentality. He was all deference for his visitor.
"I received the telephone message, sir," he said at once, "and acted upon it. I sent a plain-clothes man out to Redwithy with instructions to ascertain if Madame Vladimir was at her residence, and, if not, to ascertain if possible something of her recent movements. The man should return now at any moment." He pulled out his watch and made a rough calculation. "Yes, he is quite due now. Would you care to give me more intimate particulars?"
To find himself dealing with a Cabinet Minister in matters of his own department was a little overwhelming to Chief Superintendent Reach, but he saw in it a possibility of advancement, and was ready to surpass himself in his efforts. But Ruxton saw no advantage in laying the inner details of the matter before the local police. If any such official aid were needed it would be better demanded of Scotland Yard.
"For the moment nothing more is needed than the simple local information," he replied. "On that depends all future movements. I will tell you this, however. Apart from my personal interest in the matter, there is certain political significance in it of a very important nature. More than that I cannot say until your man – "
The whistle of the tube on the officer's desk interrupted him.
"That's our man, sir," beamed Superintendent Reach, more than satisfied at the opportuneness of the interruption. "Excuse me, sir," he added, and listened at the tube.
"Ah, yes. Send him up here at once," he called through it. Then glancing over at his visitor, he observed ungrammatically, "It's him, sir."
A moment later a brisk plain-clothes man entered the room.
"Well?" demanded his chief sharply.
"The lady's been away about three days, sir," he said, with the stolidity of a policeman giving evidence. "Couldn't tell me when she'd be back. Hadn't left any instructions about the heating apparatus for the new peach-house she is having built. The butler believed the firm who were constructing the house were to put in the plant. He said she left after tea with her maid and luggage for a journey in a motor. Not her own car. He thought it must have been one she hired from Wednesford. I have been round the garages, but no one from Redwithy has hired a car. That's why I am a bit late, sir."
The chief turned to Ruxton, who was eagerly intent upon the man's information.
"I sent him" – indicating the plain-clothes man – "as a heating expert from a well-known horticultural firm."
Ruxton nodded.
"You saw the butler – a foreigner?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you gather an – impression from him?"
"He seemed straightforward and quite ready to talk, sir. I'm sure he knew nothing more, and seemed to believe what he said."
"There's nothing else?"
"No, sir, I think not. The place seemed all reg'lar. You see, sir, I've often 'ad to keep an eye on it when the lady's been away holiday-makin', and during the war. You see, she's a foreigner. So I know it pretty well, though it don't know me. One thing that struck me he was speaking truth was there was a tidy bunch of letters on a hall table. Might have been an accumulation."
"Letters – ah." Ruxton turned to the chief. "I think you'd better come with me and look into things. Those letters. There should be an important telegram there – if – "
He rose from his chair with a sickening fear at his heart. The chief dismissed his subordinate and waited for Ruxton to complete his remark. But as no completion was forthcoming he attempted one himself.
"If there's been no trickery, sir."
"If she went away of her own free will – that's what we've got to find out. Come along."
Half an hour later Ruxton was addressing himself to the black-haired, sallow-faced Vassilitz, who was urbanity itself in the face of the chief of the Wednesford police.
His story was exactly the same as he had told to the plain-clothes man, and no amount of cross-examination could elicit the smallest shadow of contradiction.
Madame was frequently in the habit of going away suddenly and remaining away indefinite periods. But usually she used her own car, and rarely took her maid. Sometimes she said when she would be back; sometimes not. On this occasion she did not. No, she was unaccompanied except for her maid, Francella, Vassilitz's own sister. And she, Francella, had given him no information. Madame was very secret in her movements. Doubtless madame would return in due course, as she had always done. He hoped no accident had happened. He was devoted to madame, whom he had known all his life.
Even the matter of letters in no way disconcerted him. They were all there on the hall table. But he appealed to the chief of police for authority to show them.
The chief assumed the responsibility, and they were produced.
They were examined carefully, and all but one telegram were duly handed back to the butler. The telegram was sequestered by the officer, but remained unopened.
There was nothing more to be gained from Vassilitz, and the car rolled away. And as they went, Ruxton, in an agony of painful conviction, gazed sombrely back at the beautiful old Elizabethan structure in its perfect setting, which was the home of the woman he loved.
He was aroused from his despairing contemplation by the voice of the officer beside him.
"There's trickery afoot, sir," he said emphatically, "and I'll lay a month's salary that black-haired Vassilitz is in it."
Ruxton turned sharply.
"What makes you so convinced?" he enquired thickly.
"Why, the letters. Every one of 'em has been opened. So has this telegram. Didn't you twig it, sir?"
Ruxton confessed his oversight, and the officer beamed pleasant satisfaction.
"That's where experience comes in, sir," he went on. "There never was a system of opening letters that couldn't be detected by those who know. I've made a study of it. Those letters have all been opened – all of 'em. What about this telegram, sir?"
"If it's mine, then the Princess has not left of her own free will. I'm afraid it's mine."
"Princess, sir?"
"Yes. She's the Princess von Hertzwohl!"
The officer's face had become a study. He was impressed more deeply than ever.
"Er – shall I open it, sir?" he hesitated.
Ruxton nodded.
"You may as well."
The man tore it open and glanced at the contents. A flush spread over his already florid cheeks.
"It's yours, sir," he said. Then he added in a low tone: "I'm – I'm sorry, sir."