A MEANS OF ESCAPE
In the valley of Bar-Leighton the climatic pendulum had swung again. A
radiant sort of Indian summer seemed to have definitely set in. Now the
sun was shining, and fleecy clouds swept along the bosom of a brisk
southeasterly breeze.
But the sinister genius of the place remained unchanging. It would have
been optimism of a superlative order to claim that Prince von Berger
ever really changed. For those in contact with him it was impossible to
believe him capable of warmth or feeling. Even Ludwig von Salzinger,
whose human feelings were of a grosser, baser type, regarded him as a
mere mechanism, inspired by some brilliant detached evil genius. He had
no love for him, contact with him depressed him, and his prevailing
emotion was one of fear.
Von Berger turned from the table at which he was sitting. He passed a
long document across to Von Salzinger, who was standing before the log
fire crackling in the great dining-room fireplace. The Prince had read
it through from beginning to end. He had read it again, and then again,
so that its contents had almost been committed to memory. Von Salzinger
accepted it in a silence which was the effect of his superior's
example. And, still following that example, he read it through with the
closest attention. Meanwhile Von Berger's dispassionate gaze was turned
upon the brilliant sunlight pouring in through the wide and lofty
window, which opened out upon a vista of parkland and rolling grass.
It was a written report from Johann Stryj, and it had been delivered
that morning by hand.
"By the time this report reaches your Excellency the completion of our
plans of destruction will have been reached. They will have been put
into operation. The drawing office, where all plans and designs are
locked in a strong-room, has been a simple enough matter to arrange.
One of our agents works in that department. The development there is
timed for 6 A. M. on the morning you will receive this. It is
certain--certain as anything human can be.
"With regard to the docks and slipways there has been greater
difficulty, infinitely more so, since these are under direct official
control. However, we have seven agents amongst the operatives, and
three of our different points of attack are under the immediate
foremanship of Heuferman himself, upon whom I wish to report most
favorably. The explosions here are to be synchronized with the others.
"In the case of the other matter I have a less satisfactory report to
make. Our man certainly landed somewhere on the coast in this region.
He was certainly traced to one night's shelter at a certain house, of
whose identity your Excellency is aware. The house was penetrated and
searched, but the man had taken his departure. There is a possibility
he has made his way to London, and our agents there are using every
endeavor to trace him. I have as yet received no report from them. My
own impression, not based upon evidence, is that he is concealed in our
own neighborhood. If this be so I hope later to have a good report to
make on the matter to your Excellency.
"The movements of the Englishmen are simple to follow. They are both
closely watched. The elder remains here attendant upon the work of
construction. He is in our hands at any moment, at your Excellency's
commands. The younger, too, can be dealt with effectually. He passes
frequently between here and London, and at both ends, and on the
journey, he is closely observed. It has now been ascertained that he is
working with Scotland Yard in the interests of the woman. But on the
result of this combination I have instructed the man on the spot to
report himself directly to your Excellency, in accordance with your
orders. I understand, however, and would call your Excellency's
attention--most earnest attention--to the matter that three of our men
in that neighborhood are closely shadowed by men from Scotland Yard.
Consequently their services are denied us. These men can be relied on,
of course, to give no information, but it points the energy behind the
search for the woman and the direction of the suspicions aroused.
"My next report to your Excellency I hope will be on the result of our
endeavors here.
"Your obedient servant,
"K 1."
Von Salzinger raised his eyes from the paper. They encountered the
profile of the Prince. He regarded it for some moments without
friendliness. Then he changed his expression to one of official
cordiality.
"Stryj is a capable man," he hazarded.
The reply came without a change in the direction of the Prince's gaze.
"He seems successful in the things of lesser importance. Von Hertzwohl
has slipped through his fingers. He may be capable. We shall see. But
we want the--body--of Von Hertzwohl. This man has made no attempt to
communicate with his daughter--yet. Do you know what that means? I
doubt if you do. It means that your first visit to her alarmed them. It
warned the Prince, through this man Farlow, that there was danger. You,
with your attempt at liaison, are responsible for that. Perhaps that
will appeal to your--imagination. Herr von Salzinger, you have made two
mistakes. The second is more serious than the first. If we do not
secure the person of this man you will be recalled to Germany."
The calmness with which he spoke robbed his words of none of their
significance. With his final pronouncement his cold eyes were turned
full upon his companion, searching his gross face with a glance of
inflexible resolve.
Von Salzinger's spirit was tame. But the lash and unjust condemnation
goaded him.
"Discipline must be observed, Excellency," he said, with a thickness
which warned the other of the effect of his words. "If I am recalled,
then I must obey. But it is the authority in Berlin which is to blame
for his escape. I came here to track this other, Farlow, and the work
at his yards. Von Hertzwohl was still in the Baltic when I visited the
Princess. There was no suggestion at the time that the Berlin authority
would be sufficiently blundering to permit his escape. It would be more
just to find the scapegoat amongst those who were responsible in
Berlin. I submit that this matter was in your department, Excellency,
of which you are the sole head."
Von Berger's reply came with a flicker of the eyelids.
"Those who are responsible for acts which jeopardize the ends of the
Fatherland will reap the consequent punishment--whoever they be. No
distinction will be made. That is the discipline of our country, Herr
von Salzinger." Then he pointed to a chair.
The other accepted the silent order. But it was with an ill grace. Von
Salzinger, for all his discipline, was no weakling. At that moment he
was ready to rebel against the iron rod which Von Berger wielded. It
would have required but one more sting to set the man's headstrong
passions loose, whatever, in the end, it might have cost him.
But the Prince was alive to the danger signal. His understanding of
human nature was something more than a study--it was an instinct. A
secret purpose lay behind his charge. The value of the terror of
authority upon a Prussian subject was well understood by him, and none
knew better than he that rank and position afforded no emancipation
from its peculiar claims. The danger signal, however, warned him that
in the present case he was dealing with a man of hot passion and
physical bravery. To gain full effect for his charge he must not
jeopardize his purpose by risking an outbreak of passion. The effect
would come after Von Salzinger's private reflection through the inborn
discipline that was his.
The two men sat facing each other. The truculent regard of Von
Salzinger would not be denied. But Von Berger gave no sign. He was
entirely master of himself as always, just as he knew he was master of
the position at the moment, and of this man.
"That which has happened to us is a greater disaster than the defeat of
our armies could have been," he said slowly. "You, as well as everybody
else, must realize this. If you do not you must be made to. That is why
I have talked plainly. That is why you have indiscreetly permitted your
anger to get the better of you. Now you must listen to me while I show
you how we can achieve that which Berlin has failed to do, and which
this man Stryj has failed to do. I mean lay our hands upon Prince von
Hertzwohl. The woman up-stairs has been condemned to death."
"To--death?"
The square figure of Von Salzinger was erect, and his eyes were alight
with a horror unusual to him. Then his feelings subsided under
incredulity. "But that is a threat--merely."
Von Berger shook his head.
"It is a reality. She will die, if we do not get her father. It is part
of my plan for trapping him. The news of her death will be whispered
through certain channels which we know will convey it to him--wherever
he be. Listen, this is the plan, and this is the work which will be
assigned to you."
Half an hour later the Prince rose from his chair and crossed to the
window. He stood with his back towards his companion. He had talked
long and earnestly in his cold, even voice. Now he waited.
"Well?" he said at last without looking round at the still recumbent
figure behind him. "That is the duty allotted to you. You accept the
position?"
For answer Von Salzinger sprang to his feet. His face was purple with
shame. The diabolical nature of the plan had sunk deeply into the
half-savage heart of the man and found some small grains of genuine
manhood there. Even he was revolted, and the habit of discipline
tottered and crumpled.
"No! By God, no!" he cried, with a savage clenching of the fists.
Von Berger remained gazing out at the autumn scene.
"Think again."
But no answer was forthcoming. Von Salzinger's attitude remained, only
now it seemed as if his clenching fists were a threat to the man at the
window.
"Think again, Herr von Salzinger. Berlin gives no second chance."
The frigidity of the words became a threat that was insupportable. Von
Salzinger was a Prussian. Self-preservation counted with him before all
things. He saw every hope that had ever been his slipping from his
tenacious grasp. To refuse--to refuse. He knew all it meant. He must
accept or--kill this man.
His clenching fists relaxed.
"Very good, Excellency. If those are my orders I must execute them."
"Those are your orders."
Von Berger had turned about, and Von Salzinger beheld that terrible
gleam in his eyes which Vita had once so painfully witnessed.
Von Salzinger spent a bad evening with himself, and a worse night.
Curiously enough this man regarded himself as not only a man of honor,
but chivalrous towards women. How he arrived at the latter conclusion
was one of those miracles of psychology which are beyond the
understanding of the human mind. To him woman was weaker than the man
whose plaything she was set on earth to become. Man's will must be her
law. She possessed no rights of her own. Man's strength to enforce his
will on all weaker vessels was the only right he could understand. Then
woman, in the nature of things, must be intended as his plaything.
But Von Salzinger drew the line hard and fast at the limits of this
understanding. Woman must be protected from physical harm and
discomfort by the man whose plaything she became. As soon would he deem
it right to treat ill any other of those things in life which gave him
pleasure. As soon would he expect to see a child tear and rend its
favorite toy. Woman must be cared for, woman must be sheltered from the
buffets of life outside her own little life. She must be indulged in
the feminine luxuries and pastimes. Any other course he believed would
be an exhibition of brutality by no means in keeping with the boasted
Kultur of his people. The moral and spiritual side of the woman was
something which failed entirely to enter into his comprehension. In the
moral and spiritual side of life she had no place--no place whatever.
The plan of Von Berger, and the cruel nature of the work assigned to
him, had outraged all his ideas of his peculiar form of chivalry. To
condemn Vita to death, and wilfully carry out the sentence, failing the
success of their plans, was an unthinkable and useless cruelty which he
felt he could not take part in. Brutality had here exceeded itself.
So he endured a painful and troubled night as he revolved in his mind
the diabolical scheme which Von Berger had unfolded to him.
He contemplated disobedience. Yes, he contemplated defying the terrible
power which Von Berger wielded so ruthlessly. But the consequence of
such defiance left him panic-stricken, albeit unconvinced. He searched
for a way out. But every mode of egress seemed barred to him. Every one
except---- She was so very, very beautiful.
A tempting thought possessed him, and surged through the thickly
flowing channels of the animal in him. The temptation grew and grew,
and, with each passing hour, it more surely took possession of all that
was most obstinate in him. He was yielding to it. He knew. He left Von
Berger out of his calculations, he left all thoughts of the purposes of
his Government out and thought only of himself, and this new temptation
which dangled before his greedy eyes. Should he yield to the temptation?
His mind went back again of a sudden to the man, Von Berger, whom he
knew he hated as much as he feared. It seemed so hopeless to oppose
him, hopeless to oppose Berlin. Yet he felt he ought to. Then his
thoughts flew again to Vita, and conjured visions of her perfect
charms--and so he fell asleep.
Vita's days and nights had become one long nightmare of terror. The
terror for herself had undermined all her confidence for her father,
and in her lover's ability to succor. The hours of racking thought
since learning the fate awaiting herself left her beautiful face drawn,
and her spirit bowed and crushed. There was no hope anywhere.
From the moment she had first recognized Frederick von Berger, a dreary
hopelessness had set in, and now she knew that her worst apprehensions
were to be more than fulfilled. She knew something of the machinery he
controlled, and she knew how hopeless it was that Ruxton, with all his
manhood and confidence, could ever hope to contend with it and defeat
it. Her father, she knew, would be hunted down and--punished. While
she--she must inevitably fall a victim of the sentence passed upon her
here in this desolate, secret prison.
The torture she endured was insupportable. Every moment of the day she
was watched either by the hard-faced matron of the place, or by her own
maid, Francella. She had railed at the latter for her cruel perfidy,
she had appealed to the former. But in neither case had she elicited
the smallest spark of sympathy.
The matron had merely shrugged her broad shoulders.
"You would sell our Fatherland to an enemy. You are not fit to live,"
she had said, with a coldness which none can display more effectively
than a woman.
In Francella she met only the heartless cruelty of a servant who finds
it in her power to rend a late mistress.
"Some day I take my children to the grave of the woman who would have
betrayed our country, and I make them spit upon it."
So Vita was left to nurse her terror in the awful solitude and silence
of the splendid halls of this isolated mansion.
How long she might have borne it and retained sanity is doubtful. It
surely could not have been long. With the smallest gleam of sympathy it
might have been possible to endure. But there was no sympathy. The
gloom of her outlook from her windows, the awesome grandeur of her
rooms, the cold antagonism of those who waited upon her as prison
warders,--all these things aggravated her trouble, just as they were
calculated to aggravate.
Then in the very depths of her despairing misery there suddenly shone
out a vague, flickering light of hope. It was no less than a stealthy
and secret visit from Ludwig von Salzinger. It came in the night. Vita
had abandoned sleeping at night fearing lest the murder would be
committed during the hours of darkness. She had allowed her imagination
to run riot till she almost came to fear her own shadow.
She was sitting in an upright chair. She was gazing straight before her
with eyes staring upon the door. Such was her terror of the night that
she had been reduced to this impotent watching. Her thought was
teeming, going over and over again every horrible fancy a distorted
brain could conjure. Then suddenly, in the midst of it all, she
started. Her straining eyes dilated. She leapt from her seat and sprang
behind her chair, grasping its back, prepared to defend herself. The
door was slowly and silently opening.
Widely ajar it stopped. The next instant a head was thrust round it, a
square head with a shock of close-cut hair. The woman breathed a sigh,
but remained ready to defend herself. She had recognized Ludwig von
Salzinger.
The man recognized her attitude, and signed to her to remain silent.
His warning had instant effect. Vita drew another sigh, and her grip
upon the chair-back relaxed. With eyes wide with doubt and fear she
watched the man's movements. They were stealthy and secret.
He thrust the door further open. Quickly and silently he stepped into
the room. Then, with the door still ajar, he gazed back cautiously down
the corridor beyond, in both directions. Having satisfied himself he
closed the door with the greatest care and came towards her.
"If you speak," he whispered, "don't raise your voice, or--we shall be
overheard."
"What have you come for?" demanded Vita, nevertheless obedient to his
caution.
The man's brows went up and his eyes were urgent.
"Why, to get you out of this," he said quickly. "Do you think I can
stand by while that devil Von Berger does you, a woman, to death? You,
the woman I love--have always loved? God! I hate that man," he added,
and an unmistakable ring of truth sounded in his final words. "Look
here, Vita, I'm part of this diabolical machinery, I know; I can't help
it; but to submit to the murder of a woman--you--God! I can't do it--if
it costs me my own life. Oh, yes, I know what you'll think. You know
the discipline. You know that I was forced into assisting in bringing
you here, under orders I dared not disobey. I know all that, and you
must think of me as you will, but I love you--madly--and I'll not
consent to anything that threatens your life. I tell you, I've done
with it all--all--our country. I'm going to get out of it all and flee
to America, and--take you with me. You'll come with me? Say you'll come
with me, and together we'll outwit this devil of a man. You've done
nothing, nothing on earth to warrant the punishment he's preparing for
you. Your father--that's different. But you--you--oh, it's horrible.
Ach! I could kill that man when I think of it, and all he has said to
me yesterday of his devil's plans."
While he was speaking it seemed to Vita that it must be some angel
talking disguised in the angular, hard exterior of this Prussian. Every
nerve in her body which had been so straining seemed suddenly to have
relaxed. It seemed as though years of suffering had been suddenly
lifted from her poor tortured brain. She recalled how from the
beginning she had thought that if hope there were for her it must lie
in this very Von Salzinger who had been disgraced through her father's
and her agency. She gazed upon him now in wonder, and was half inclined
to weep with gratitude and relief.
But she restrained herself. And quite suddenly she remembered something
else. She remembered the man who claimed her love, and she remembered
the love this man was now offering her. The relief of the moment
changed to doubt, and, finally, to a renewed despair.
There was only one course open to her, and she adopted it frankly and
without restraint. She shook her head.
"I--honor you for the sacrifice you would make, but I'm afraid it's
useless. Besides, I feel it would be impossible to defeat these people.
I must tell you, and by doing so I may lose forever your good-will. I
do not love you. All the love I have to give has passed from my
keeping----"
"Ruxton Farlow." There was a sharp, brutal ruthlessness in the manner
in which Von Salzinger broke in.
Vita shrank at the tone.
"Yes," she said. "I love Ruxton Farlow, and have pledged myself to be
his wife."
"Wife?" There was a smile in the man's eyes which did not conceal his
jealous passion. "What chance have you of becoming his wife? None.
There is only one chance--your escape from here. Your escape from here
can only be contrived by me. Am I--I going to risk my life, and all my
future, to hand over the woman I love to--Ruxton Farlow? Vita, I am
only a man--a mere human man. I will risk all for you. I will dare even
the vengeance of Von Berger if you but promise me. But no power on
earth can make me stir a hand to deliver up all I care for in the world
to--Ruxton Farlow."
The frank, ruthless honesty of the man's denial was not without its
appeal to Vita. She even smiled a faint, gentle smile.
"It is as I said--useless. It is only as I could have expected. I could
not hope it would be otherwise. I love Ruxton Farlow."
"Whom you can never hope to see again." Again came that savage
crudeness of method which Vita recognized as part of the man. Then his
eyes lit with a deep, primitive passion. "Oh, yes, I must seem brutal,
a devil, like that Von Berger. Maybe I am, but I can see plain sense.
In less than a week you will die here, murdered. How, I can only guess
at. Von Berger knows no mercy. Your father is surrounded at Dorby, and
will suffer a similar fate. All your plans and schemes will be
frustrated. The works at Dorby are even now destroyed. There is no
power on earth that can give you to this man you say you love. Well? Is
not life still sweet to you? Is not your father's escape also something
to you? I tell you I can contrive these things. All I ask is that you
will marry me. Your solemn pledge. I love you, and will teach you to
love me and forget this Englishman. It is madness to refuse. It is your
one single chance of life, and you would fling it away for a shadow, a
dream which can never be realized."
There was something in the man's manner which appealed to Vita. Perhaps
it was the rugged brutality of his force. The repugnance in which she
had held him had lessened. To her his genuineness was unmistakable. And
he was honest enough to make no claim to generosity in the course he
was prepared to adopt at her bidding.
Von Salzinger saw something of the effect he had achieved upon her and
resolutely thrust home the advantage.
"Vita," he said, lowering his voice still more, but losing nothing of
the urgency of his manner, "I have a plan whereby I can save you
both--your father and you. Think of him, that great, but misguided man,
who has lavished a world of affection upon you, and to whom you are
more than devoted. Can you let him die? Think how he will die under Von
Berger's hands. I tell you, Vita, better endure the agony of death at
the hands of a common murderer a hundred times than be left at the
mercy of that man. Even the torture of the old Inquisition might be
preferable. He has neither soul nor conscience. And what does it mean
to achieve this safety for you both? It means the sacrifice of your
love for this Englishman. God! Is it so great a sacrifice when it can
never be fulfilled? A passing dream which must end in the tragedy of
your murder. You say you have no love. I ask for none. That will come.
I will teach you a love which this Englishman could never have
inspired. And I can give you back your life, and your father's life, in
the great country across the Atlantic. Every detail of my plans are
complete, but it must be now or never. Do you still refuse? Do you
still desire to sacrifice your father to this selfish dream which can
never be fulfilled?"
The woman's eyes were yearning. A great struggle looked out of their
grey depths into the passion-lit eyes of the man. The hope, oh, the
hope of it all! But the price was the price of all that a woman looks
forward to in life.
"Do you swear to me that my father shall be saved?" she demanded, in a
low tone which thrilled to jubilance every sense in the man's body.
He flung out his arms.
"He shall leave this country with you. The fulfillment of your solemn
word shall not be required of you till you are both safe across the
water. If we fail--then you have sacrificed nothing. Can I say fairer?
Can you doubt my honesty of purpose after that? Ach! it maddens me with
alarm and impatience to see you hesitate. For you it is safety--life.
For me I risk all--everything--for a wife who has no love to give me.
If I fail your present lot is nothing to what mine will be. If I hate
Von Berger he has no love for me, and--he is not human."
But still Vita hesitated. It was not that she doubted this man, though
she knew she had little enough reason to trust him. It was the love for
the man of her choice holding and claiming her. She strove to set it
aside. She tried to apply reason. But it would not be denied, and it
elbowed reason at every turn.
What was life without this love of hers? No, it was nothing. Would it
matter if death came upon her and left her cold? No. It would even be
preferable to the life of terrible regret which Von Salzinger offered
her. Her father--she caught her breath. It was the one thought which
her love could not thrust aside. It was in her power to save him--if
she would.
The struggle went on. It shone in her eyes, it was displayed in the
panting rise and fall of her bosom. The appeal of it was too great. To
leave him to his fate would be the vilest selfishness. This man had
promised that he should leave the country with them--before she became
his wife.
She looked up. A burning excitement shone in her eyes.
"Can you communicate with my father?" she asked.
The man shook his head.
"Then how can you--save him?" she demanded sharply. "I do not know
where he is, and if I did wild horses would not drag his whereabouts
from me--even for the purpose of saving his life."
But her words did not offend.
"You do not trust me," returned the man, with a tolerant shake of the
head. "I cannot blame you either. I must prove my sincerity--later.
Meanwhile the matter is simple enough. Give me your solemn pledge that
you will become my wife as soon as we safely land across the water,
you, your father and me. Then I will show you."
For another few silent moments the struggle in Vita's heart went on.
Now it was a struggle of doubt and credulity. All other feeling had
yielded in that earlier struggle. Dare she trust this man? Dare she?
But he was asking nothing until their safety had been assured. His
seemed the greater risk, unless this were some diabolical plot with his
superior, Von Berger. She could not reason it out. Reason was beyond
her. Her father's safety lay in the balance. She forgot self for the
time. So she thrust her finger upon the scale.
"I solemnly pledge myself under the conditions you name," she said in
low tones.
The joy in the man's hard eyes was unmistakable, and Vita, witnessing
it, understood that it was real, genuine.
"Then listen," he cried. "Communication with your father will be simple
and safe. We do not need his whereabouts. I will dictate a letter to
you--a letter of our plans and instructions. We will beat Von Berger at
his own game, and once we are in America we can snap our fingers at the
whole race. I will tell you now Von Berger threatened me yesterday
again. He it was who deprived me of my command at Borga. He it was who
superseded me over here. He it is who has given me the life of a cur
ever since. Now I shall pay him in a way he little suspects. I will
dictate this letter for you, Vita, and when it is written you will
address it to your father and enclose it under cover to Sir Andrew
Farlow at Dorby Towers. He will see that it reaches your father. You
will see how sure is my plan. No matter into whose hands that letter
falls it cannot betray his whereabouts to any one."
And Vita was finally convinced. She was making her sacrifice for the
life and liberty of her father, and through all the pains and
hopelessness of yielding up her love for Ruxton she had the wholly
inadequate assurance that, whatever it cost her, it was her simple duty
for which even Ruxton himself would never blame her.