ENEMY MOVEMENTS
Busy days crowded upon Ruxton Farlow. The house in Smith Square only
saw him at night-time, or at the political breakfasts which had become
so great a fashion. The affairs of his portfolio moved automatically
with but very little personal attention from him, and so he was left
free to prosecute his own more secret plans, almost without
interruption.
Apart from the affairs at the great Dorby works, his chief effort was a
campaign of proselytism amongst the few of great position in the
nation's affairs whose conviction and prejudice must be overborne. And
no one knew better than he the meaning of such an undertaking in
Britain.
For once, perhaps for the first time in the history of Great Britain,
such an effort had been made possible through the reaction from
ineptitude to the splendid unity and enthusiasm of the great National
Party, of which he was a member. He had struck, at once, before the
simmering down to conflict of influences had set in, and his decision
and judgment had not been without their reward.
So his hours were spent in close communion with such men as Sir Meeston
Harborough and the Marquis of Lordburgh; Sir Joseph Caistor and a few
others who headed the party. Breakfasts and luncheons were his
battle-fields. But week-ends for dilettante golf at Dorby Towers, which
frequently developed into visits to the great yards at Dorby itself,
were no mean factors in the success of his efforts.
It was from a luncheon in Downing Street that he emerged one afternoon
on foot into the great official thoroughfare of Whitehall. It had been
a very small but very successful function from his point of view. It
had followed upon a week-end at Dorby Towers, at which the President of
the Board of Admiralty, Sir Reginald Steele, had given his final
verdict upon the new constructions in process at the Dorby yards. It
had been more than favorable. It had very nearly approached enthusiasm.
And in its expression Sir Reginald had swept away the final doubts of
both the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary.
Even now, as he swung into Whitehall with long vigorous strides, the
Prime Minister's words were still ringing in his ears.
"You have our approval and support, my boy," he had said in his quick,
nervous way. "Go ahead, and when the time comes do not hesitate to look
to us. We shall do everything we can to support your efforts; that is,"
he added, with a whimsical, twinkling smile, "subject, of course, to
the permission of a certain section of the ha'penny press."
There was still a suggestion of summer in the autumn air, but the sky
had lost its brilliancy, and the inevitable grey of smoke was beginning
to settle upon the city. For Ruxton, however, it might have been
spring. The vigor of his gait, his delighted feelings, certainly
belonged to the birth rather than the old age of the summer. He saw
nothing of that which moved and passed about him. His busy thoughts
were alive only with those enthralling concerns which were his. Nothing
seemed able to stir him out of his abstraction until a street arab
selling papers, who had recognized him, with the humorous effrontery of
his class raised a newspaper poster for his inspection, and almost
thrust it under his nose.
"'Ere y'are, governor. Better 'ave one. Kaiser Bill an' old Tirps
scrappin' it out in the Baltic."
There was no avoiding it. The boy's persistence would not be denied.
Ruxton glanced at the contents bill, and a startled look crept into his
eyes.
"HEAVY FIRING IN THE BALTIC
MYSTERY UNSOLVED"
Ruxton purchased a paper and passed on. But his eager eyes scanned the
stop press paragraph as he went. It was a report from Copenhagen. It
stated that heavy gunfire had been heard off the German coast, and
fishermen stated that a German squadron had been seen twenty miles from
land engaged in what appeared to be a heavy bombardment of some object
in the water. It was also stated that seaplanes had been seen to be
dropping bombs on the same object. Another report, from a German
source, stated that a portion of the fleet had been engaged in
long-range target practice. This was denied in a still further account
from the captain of one of the Baltic ferries, who declared that no
target had been visible to those on his vessel, which had suddenly
found itself in the danger zone, with shells dropping in the water
within a radius of a quarter of a mile.
A still later account hinted that the whole thing was an attempt to
sink a foreign submarine discovered in the act of espionage.
It was this final paragraph which held Ruxton's attention and
permanently altered the whole trend of his thoughts. The affairs
discussed at the recent luncheon had been abruptly thrust out of his
mind. His final triumph over prejudice and official conservatism seemed
to have lost its meaning for the moment. The whole centre of his
interest had been completely transferred. He was gazing out across the
sea, a grey, dark, troubled autumn sea. A fierce and awe-inspiring
picture filled his focus. A squadron of battleships; the hawk-like
swooping of great seaplanes; a small, almost indistinct object bobbing
amongst the waves. He remembered his escape from Borga. Something of
such a scene had been acted there, only in that case the battleships
had been absent, and in their place had been guns trained, with every
spot on the narrow water carefully measured out. Was this such an
adventure as his? He could not tell. But----
At that moment he hailed a passing taxi, and, giving the man an address
in Kensington, he jumped in.
He folded up his paper and thrust it into a side pocket, and, with the
sudden change of environment, his thoughts underwent a third
development.
Somewhere in the west, there, he knew that a woman was waiting
impatiently for his news. He had 'phoned her of his coming, and hinted
at his success. Her reply had set every pulse in his body hammering out
a reciprocal emotion.
"Of course you have succeeded," she had replied. "The rapidity with
which you have done so only the more surely points my original
conviction. You cannot fail. I shall be in Kensington until a late
hour."
The invitation had been irresistible to a man of Ruxton's temperament.
He snatched at it with an almost boyish impulse, determined to lose no
moment of communion with this wonderful creature whose attractions had
so overwhelmed the youth that was in him. He knew that whatever the
future might hold for him there could be nothing comparable with the
wonderful stirring which the bare thought of her created in him.
As he drove along her image was before his smiling dark eyes. The grey
glory of her deeply fringed eyes had a power to thrill him as nothing
else in life could. Her beautiful, oval face, so full of a power to
express every emotion, suggested to him the mirror-like surface of a
sunlit lake reflecting the wonders of a perfect life. The radiance of
her smile alone seemed to him worth living for.
The heart of the man had been unloosed from the bondage of early
restraint. Now it was a-riot, claiming in its freedom an excess of
interest for its years of deprivation. He had no power nor desire to
check it. It was as though a new life had opened out before eyes which
had all too long confronted the sober grey of mere existence, a life
which had been hidden behind a dark curtain raised at last only to
dazzle and amaze.
Mrs. Jenkins, a hard-faced lady with a sniff, who had undoubtedly seen
"worse" days, had performed her duty as only a superior British
char-lady-turned-cook-housekeeper could have possibly performed it. She
had regarded Ruxton Farlow on the door-step of Vita's flat for a few
speculative moments. Then she sniffed.
"Name of Farlow, ain't it? She's in."
Then, shuffling down the passage, she thrust her head through the
doorway of the sitting-room and sniffed again.
"It's 'im, miss," she announced, and beat a strategical retreat to the
back regions of the flat, with the virtuous conviction that she had
performed her duty in a manner which might well have been an example to
a superior parlor-maid, or even a well-trained footman.
There seemed to be no necessity for greeting between Vita and Ruxton
Farlow. For the man it was as if Vita had become a part of his life, as
though she were always with him, ready to support him at every turn,
ready to lead him on towards those great ideals which were his.
Just now the commonplaces of social intercourse had no meaning for
Vita. She drew an armchair from its inevitable place beside the cold
fireplace, and faced it towards the window, flinging the meagre cushion
aside, so useless to a man's comfort.
"Take that chair," she said, with a warm smile of welcome. "You may
smoke, too; I'd like you to. And there is refreshment on the table
beside you." Then she seated herself upon a low chair in the vicinity.
"Now tell me," she added, as Ruxton flung himself into the doubtful
armchair with a contented sigh.
"Tell you?" he returned, with a smile in his dark eyes.
Then for some moments he was silent, contemplating the perfect oval of
her face, the masses of her red-gold hair; the wonderful grace of the
exquisitely clad body. But under his gaze her warm grey eyes were
hidden. She felt the ardor of the man's regard, nor did it leave her
unmoved.
"There ought to be a lot to tell you--there is a lot," he said
presently, in a half-abstracted manner. "And yet----"
"Begin at the beginning," she helped him, and his eyes were caught in
the upward glance of the wonderful grey, so eager, so clear, and yet so
full of simple purpose.
"The beginning?" Ruxton smiled. "It makes it the harder." He shook his
head. "No man can tell a woman the beginning. There is no beginning. It
just comes along without his knowing it, and, in a moment, he is caught
in mid-tide and borne along."
Vita's eyes were gazing up into the strong face in some doubt. She was
demanding the story of his success. Something she beheld in the man's
dark eyes made her lower her own, and she found herself powerless to
urge him further. An absurdly chaotic feeling had suddenly taken
possession of her, and amidst that chaos was a great and wonderful
dread that had nothing fearful or terrifying in it. Yet the dread was
there, a dread which urged her to flee from his presence, and hide
herself somewhere, whither he could not follow. But opposed to such
feeling was a fascination which held her waiting, waiting upon his
words.
Her attitude conveyed something of the emotions his words had inspired,
but Ruxton was incapable of interpreting them. He was absorbed in the
triumph of his own feelings. His success in affairs of that day had
intoxicated him. And their outcome was a wild desire to go further and
crown them with the achievement of the passion of love which had set
fire to his soul. He yearned for the love of this woman, and such was
the impetuous tide let loose that there, and now, he must stake his
whole future happiness on one single throw. Caution had no place when
his passionate heart was stirred. Caution, and all its concomitants,
were for the business of life. In the emotional side of him they had no
place, they could never have place.
"I may be mad, I may be dreaming," he cried, suddenly springing to his
feet and confronting the woman he loved with eyes grown darker with the
sudden intensity of his feelings. "I may be mad to risk forever losing
a companionship which has become so great a part of my life, so vital
to my whole existence. I may be dreaming to believe, or hope, that my
longings can ever reach fulfillment. But I cannot help it. It is not in
me to act otherwise. The soul-mate of a man either belongs to him, or
is denied to him, as the great controlling forces ordain. For
thirty-five years I have walked through life alone. I have seen no
woman whose companionship I desired, or could desire, during all that
time. Never once in all that time have the soul-fires in me been
stirred. Never once have I longed for the warm heart of a woman to beat
in unison with mine. Then came a night--a mentally black and dreary
night--when the work seemed desolate, and existence a condition almost
intolerable in the future. The darkest thoughts of my life passed
through my hot brain that night; darker even than the thoughts during
the darkest days of the great war. That moment was the one that
preceded dawn--my dawn.
"Ah, Vita," he went on, with deeper, more vibrant meaning. "That dawn
came like the miracle of every other dawn. But, unlike the dawn which
heralds mere sunrise, it heralded an eternity of beautiful dreams
untouched by the bitternesses and contentions of the human day. It came
with a voice out of the moonlit darkness. The voice of a woman, who,
within a space of time almost negligible, had changed the despairing
blackness of night to a--wonderful dawn."
Ruxton turned from her and began to pace the narrow length of the room.
It was an unstudied expression of the fierce fire which had leapt up in
his passionate, Slavonic heart. Vita's eyes followed his movements,
fascinated yet unseeing in the tumult which he had roused within her.
For her his words, his sudden outburst, had reduced to concrete form
all that gamut of feeling which had been hers from the moment of their
first encounter. All unacknowledged, the latent power of this man's
personality had absorbed her every feeling. He was the one out of all
the world. His handsome head, his superb body, so strong, so perfectly
poised, but above all that wonderful idealism which saw so clearly
through the fog of sordid influences which clogged all real progress.
Almost breathless she waited while he went on.
He paused in his walk and abruptly flung out his arms.
"I can see her now, a figure of perfect beauty, regal, splendid in the
silvery moonlight. The light playing upon her marbled features, finding
reflection in eyes wide with sincerity, truth and passion. Vita, Vita,
I can never tell you all that picture inspired in me. Suddenly I knew
what life meant. Up till then I had merely existed. Life had had no
meaning for me but the necessity of working out that simple duty of
effort which belongs to us all. With your coming everything changed.
Life became at once that superb thing of which the dreamer speaks.
Where before only the black shadows of a drear depression had been, at
once life became flooded with a golden light. It was beautiful,
beautiful."
The woman's wondering gaze was now frankly held by the passionate eyes
regarding her. She had no power to withdraw it, she had no desire to
withdraw it. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were parted, revealing
the pearly whiteness of her teeth framed in their ruby setting, so
full, so ripe.
"But this is madness," she breathed without conviction. It was the
burden of her feelings seeking expression. She leant forward in her
chair, her hands so tightly clasped that the blood was pressed back
from her delicate finger-tips, and the simple rings dug hard into the
tender flesh.
"Madness? Madness?" Ruxton drew nearer. He laughed as he echoed the
word. It was the inconsequent laugh which is merely an audible
expression and possesses no meaning. "If it is madness let me be mad.
Madness? Then I never want sanity again. Love is madness, Vita, a
madness that is ordained, and without it love can never be love. The
man who can pause to reason does not know love. He can never love.
Leave reason and sanity for the cold affairs of life. Love can know no
check from such a course. That is how I love you, Vita. I want
you--you. I want you always with me, near me. I want you so that our
life together is all one. You must be part of me. You must be me. You
speak of the beginning. There is no beginning, just as there can be no
end. Love is all, everything. Vita--Vita----"
He had bent down from his great height. He had seized the woman's
tightly clasped hands. He had raised them with gentle force, and, as
though caught by the magnetism of all the love he had endeavored to
express, she rose to her feet, and permitted him to hold her prisoner
before him.
But now with his final appeal the tension seemed to relax. She stood
there for a moment, silent. Then she sighed faintly. It was as though
she had awakened from some beautiful dream. The flush on her oval
cheeks lessened, and the light in her eyes changed unmistakably. The
man seemed to become suddenly aware of the change, and a note of
apprehension sounded in his voice as he repeated his appeal.
"Vita--Vita," he cried, with a passion of yearning in the words.
The woman shook her head, but her hands remained captive.
"No, no! It can't be. It is too beautiful, too good to be real. Not in
this life. This life in which there is no peace--nothing that
is--beautiful. Besides----"
"Besides?"
Again Vita shook her head. This time she gently released her hands.
Ruxton contemplated her. Something in her manner was restoring his
control of himself.
"We cannot--we dare not think of--ourselves now," Vita went on. "A time
may come when--but not now. We must not pause--nor step aside."
Each word appeared to be an effort. It was as though she were fighting
temptation in a forlorn hope. Ruxton saw it. He understood, and his
whole Slavonic passion took fire again. Quite suddenly his two great
hands fell upon the woman's rounded shoulders, and his strong fingers
held the soft flesh firmly. Her face was turned up to his in a startled
fashion, wondering but unresentful. His passion-lit eyes gazed deeply
down into hers.
"Vita, my Vita, these protests are not you. They are the brave and
loyal spirit seeking to abnegate those selfish claims which in my case
are irresistible. You--you will love me. You do love me! I can see it
in your eyes--now. God, was there ever so wonderful a sight for man?
Tell me. Forget all else and tell me of it. I am hungry--starving for
the love you can give me. I will not wait. I dare not. I love you with
all that is in me. I love you beyond all earthly duties and cares. Tell
me all that lies behind your beautiful eyes, hidden deep down in your
dear woman's heart."
Vita was powerless. She was utterly powerless to resist the torrent of
the love that leapt from him and overwhelmed her. All her protests died
within her. She imperceptibly drew closer to him, and, in a moment, she
lay crushed in his arms, her face hidden against his broad shoulder,
the perfume of her hair intoxicating him still further. His head bent
down against it and his lips rained caresses upon it. Then, in a
second, one hand was raised and he lifted her face from its
hiding-place so that his eyes gazed full upon it. Then, lower his face
bent towards hers, and in a ravishing silence their lips met, and held
for long, long moments.
The evening shadows were softly drawing their veil about them. The
plain little room had lost its crudeness of outline. Ruxton was seated
in the armchair which had been set for him, and Vita was crouching
curled up on the cushion on the floor close beside him. Ruxton was
smoking now. He had been smoking for some minutes. Vita was listening
to the voice she loved, and occasionally interrupted it with a question
or comment.
He had just completed the story of his success, and her delight in it
had held the woman forgetful of those things she had yet to tell to him.
But now, in the silence which had followed, a flood of recollection
spread over her. She searched for a beginning with a brave desire to
reveal as little of the disquiet which haunted her as possible.
"I have no such success to recount," she said at last, gazing up at the
strong face above her with a tender smile of confidence. "I have heard
from Von Salzinger, as I knew I should after that evening in--the car."
"Ah!"
Ruxton laid a hand firmly over one of Vita's, which rested on the arm
of the chair. It was a gesture which had in it all a strong man's
promise of protection. To Vita it conveyed a sensation of exquisite
reassurance.
"Oh, it all seems so futile," she cried, with a sudden helplessness. "I
mean when you think of the terrible Secret Service which seems to know
everything. No one in England except ourselves knows of such a person
as Valita von Hertzwohl. As for my home, only my father knows that. I
have kept it secret even from you. And yet this Von Salzinger comes to
England and--calls upon me. The refuge I had so carefully prepared for
my father in case of emergency is--no refuge at all. I believe I am
terrified."
"Tell me more." Ruxton leant forward in his chair. All satisfaction at
the thought of his own affairs had died out of his expressive eyes.
They were full of concern and sympathy for the woman he loved. "Where
is this home? I had better know--now."
Vita smiled tenderly. His trifling emphasis on the final word helped to
banish something of her fears. It was the reminder of the bond between
them.
"It is the sweetest of aged Elizabethan farms in Buckinghamshire. It is
called Redwithy Farm, and is less than two miles from Wednesford. It is
the most romantically beautiful place you could find anywhere, small,
but--I love it." She sighed deeply. "I was out riding when he called. I
had no alternative but to see him."
"Why?" The man's earnest gaze was steady. His alert mind was seeking
something, nor did he know the nature of what he sought.
"Because Vassilitz had admitted him in my absence. He had no right to,
but--he did. I cannot--but it doesn't matter now. I simply dared not
refuse to see him, so I affected cordiality and--gave him tea."
Ruxton made an impatient movement.
"Who is Vassilitz? What is he?" he demanded in a level tone.
"My butler. He is a Pole--a German Pole. All my servants are Poles. I
have known them all my----"
"Ah. And you marvel at the power of the Secret Service?"
The gravity of her lover's tone startled Vita. But she could not credit
his suspicion.
"But I have known them all my life. They are devoted to me and mine."
"Then I should know them no longer. But tell me of Von Salzinger. He
has found you out. It does not much matter how. The purpose of his
visit. That is the important matter."
It was some moments before Vita replied. A fresh terror was slowly
taking possession of her. After a while, however, she pulled herself
together with an effort.
"He told me it was to see me. I have told you that years ago he made
love to me. He pretended his visit was--to see me."
"Pretended?"
A furious jealousy was suddenly taking possession of Ruxton. Only by a
powerful self-control was he keeping it under. Vita understood by the
tone of his enquiry, and hastily sought to set his doubts at rest.
"Oh, but he is a loathsome creature." Then she turned to him and looked
up into his dark eyes. "Ruxton, dear," she appealed, "never, never,
never believe anything but that I loathe and fear that man."
The demon of jealousy died out of the man's eyes and he smiled.
"I never will believe otherwise, Vita," he reassured her. "Now tell me."
After that Vita told her story briefly and simply. But at its
conclusion she asseverated her conviction emphatically.
"He was lying. It was patent to me. If he desired to make love to me it
was incidental. He came because he and the rest of them are in hot
pursuit of the Borga affair. He is over here to fight to retrieve the
position from which we know he has fallen. What they will do, what they
can do--here--I cannot imagine. But they are so subtle--so subtle."
Again that haunting fear had come back to her eyes Ruxton pressed her
hand gently.
"I think you are wrong, dear," he said firmly. "I am sure of it. As you
say, they are subtle. I am convinced his visit to you was--for you."
Ruxton's eyes had grown darker, and his brows drew together.
Apprehension was stirring, but it was apprehension for Vita. "You must
not receive him again. I do not think it safe for you down there. I
should give the place up--temporarily. Anyway it can be no safe refuge
for your----"
He broke off and sat up with a start. His caressing hand was drawn from
hers with a suddenness that communicated some further anxiety to the
woman. She watched him, searching his face while his hands groped in
the side pockets of his coat.
"What is it?" she demanded, with a sharp intake of breath.
For reply Ruxton withdrew a newspaper folded, and held it out to her,
pointing at the stop press paragraph on the outside fold.
"Read it," he said urgently.
She stood up and moved to the window for better light He watched her
while she read.
"Can it be----?" he demanded, leaving his sentence unfinished.
Vita looked up at last. Her eyes were wide. A stunned look was in them.
Her parched lips moved.
"Do you think it's father?" she asked. "Do you think he has got away?"
Then, with a sudden appealing gesture: "Oh, say you do."