RUXTON ARRIVES AT A GREAT DECISION
Ruxton spent another long day and night travelling. He reached London
and Smith Square in a fog, which by no means helped to lighten his
mood. He visited Scotland Yard, where he spent an hour in close
consultation, and when he departed thence for Buckinghamshire he was
accompanied by a prominent officer. He spent several hours at
Wednesford and Redwithy, and finally returned again to town.
His movements were made with a complete disregard for himself. Weary?
Depressed and worn out, he admitted to himself he had no time for
weariness. He was obsessed by one thought now, one thought which
dominated all others. He had lost Vita. She seemed to be passing
completely and finally out of his life.
On his return to Smith Square he spent the long evening alone. He would
see nobody. He would transact no business, and the faithful Heathcote
was distressed, he even protested. But for once the usual amenability
of his friend and employer was lost amidst a jarring irritability, and
the secretary was forced to leave him to his ungracious solitude.
During that long evening alone Ruxton endured a series of mental
tortures such as only the imaginative can ever be called upon to
endure. Every conceivable aspect of the situation arose before his
mind's eye, clad in the drab of hopelessness, until it seemed there
could be no possible place for one single gleam of promise. Many of
these pictures were based upon the insidious doubts which never fail to
attack those in the throes of a consuming passion such as his.
At one moment he saw, in the disaster which had befallen him, the
duplicity of a woman whose love has no depth, whose love is the mere
superficial attraction of the moment, and which, under given
conditions, can be flung aside as a thing of no consequence, no value.
Following upon each such accusation came denial--simple, swift,
emphatic denial, as he remembered the treasured moments in the little
flat in Kensington; as he remembered the woman of the Yorkshire cliffs;
the woman whose shining eyes had revealed the mother soul within her as
she appealed for the great world of humanity with passionate denial of
self. Doubts of her could not remain behind such memories. It was like
doubting the rise of the morrow's sun.
Then, too, the simplicity of his own loyalty, apart from all reason,
denied for him. It was the simple psychology of the devoted Slav in him
battling and defeating the more acrimonious and fault-finding nature of
his insular forebears.
There was reason enough for his doubts. He knew that. The steady
balance of reason was markedly his, and once, after a feverish
struggle, he allowed himself to give it play, and sought to review the
case as might a prosecuting counsel.
The salient points of the situation were so marked that they could not
be missed. Vita had gone to Redwithy in a fever of anticipation, with
assurances of devotion to him upon her beautiful lips, to await a
message from him of her father's safety. That message is duly
dispatched. It reaches its destination. It is opened by some one and
carefully re-sealed. Vita sends no acknowledgment. Later it is
discovered that Vita has left Redwithy, almost on the moment of her
arrival at her home, since when she has not returned. Apparently her
going is voluntary.
On the face of it, it would appear that she has not received the
message. But subsequently she proves, by writing to her father, that
she is aware of his safe arrival, which is the news contained in his
message. Furthermore, she addresses her letter from Redwithy, as though
she desires him to communicate with her at that place. All these facts
are so definite that the reasonable conclusion is that Vita has
wilfully endeavored to hide herself from him--Ruxton.
That, he told himself, was the cold logic of it.
Then, even as he arrived at the conclusion, a hot passion of denial
leapt. It was wrong, wrong. He could stake his soul on it it was wrong.
Logic? Argument? Reason? They were all fallible; fallible as--as hell.
Anyway, they were in this case, he moodily assured himself. Vita was
above all such petty trickery. So contemptible a conclusion was an
insult to a pure, brave, beautiful soul. It belonged to the gutter in
which, he told himself, he was floundering.
There must be another reply to every question which the evidence opened
up. What was the other view of it? He leapt back at once to his first
inspiration. Treachery--treachery of the enemy. His first prompting had
been that Vita had fallen into their hands. How, then, could this be
made to fit in with the letter Prince von Hertzwohl had received from
his daughter? At the first consideration it seemed that such fitment
became impossible.
But he attacked it; he attacked it with all the vigor and imagination
of a keen, resolute brain, backed by the passionate yearning of his
soul. But dark mists of confusion obscured the light he sought--mists
of confusion and seeming impossibility through which he must grope and
flounder his way.
For a long time there seemed no promise. A dozen times hope fell
headlong and died the death. But with each rebuff he started afresh at
the given point that--Vita was in enemy hands, whose will she was
forced to obey.
After long hours of defeat his efforts wearied. His power of
concentration lessened. He found himself repeating over and over again
his formula without advancing one single step. Bodily fatigue was
helping to oppress his mental faculties. He was growing sleepy. Again
and again he strove to rouse himself. But the net results of his effort
was a continuation of the idiotic repetition of his formula.
He was not really aware of these things. Mental and bodily weariness
had completely supervened. Another few minutes and---- But something
galvanized him into complete wakefulness. His weariness fell from him,
and he started up in his chair alert--vigorously alert. By some
extraordinary subconscious effort he had become aware that his formula
had changed. He was no longer repeating it in full--only the latter
portion of it: "Whose will she is forced to obey." And as he thought of
them now the words rang with a new and powerful significance.
It was the spark of light he had so long sought, and it had leapt out
at him from amidst the deep mists of confusion.
So it was that when eleven o'clock came, and the hall gong clanged
below, Ruxton went himself to admit his visitor from Scotland Yard. His
whole aspect had completely changed from the dispirited creature who
had curtly refused to consider matters which Heathcote had placed
before him some hours previously.
Inspector Purdic was a smiling, dark man of athletic build and decided
manner. He was by no means of senior rank in his profession. But his
reputation was unique amongst his colleagues. It was said of him that
his record could be divided into two parts, as everybody else's could,
but with this difference: his failures came during his early days of
inexperience, and could be marked off with a sharp line of division.
Beneath that line was nothing but a list of successes.
The officer's manner was deferential. He had had to deal with many men
of considerable position. But this was the first time he had been
brought into contact with a Cabinet Minister, even of junior rank.
He felt that it was a fresh step up the ladder he had set for his own
climbing. He had made his visit there late in the hope that the Cabinet
Minister might be induced to give him a protracted and uninterrupted
interview, and was pleasantly surprised at the manner in which his
explanation was received.
"You see, sir," he said, "it's always a difficulty with us, dealing
with a busy public man. So I took a chance, because there's got to be a
lot of close talk done."
But Ruxton denied the need for apology.
"As a matter of fact I'm glad you've called--now. If it had been
earlier I should not have been so pleased." He laughed, and the smiling
eyes of the officer noted the laugh carefully.
"That's all right then, sir."
The two men passed up-stairs to Ruxton's study, and, while he revelled
in the enjoyment of one of his host's best cigars, Purdic bluntly set
out the objects he sought in this late visit.
"Now, Mr. Farlow," he began, "we've been on this thing some days now,
and we're still groping around like a pair of babes in the wood. We've
located a few bits. We've discovered certain suspicious circumstances,
but nothing's led anywhere, and we're just as far off finding this
Princess as if we were dodging icebergs up around the Pole. And do you
know why, sir?"
Ruxton was not without ideas on the subject, but he nevertheless shook
his head.
"No," he said. He was lounging in the chair which had claimed him
nearly all the evening.
The other cleared his throat.
"Because you've set up a brick wall between me and the job you've set
me at. The wall's high and thick, and it's plastered with Government
political secrecy. You mustn't mind my speaking this way, sir. You see,
you want certain work done, and I want to do it. But miracles don't
concern me, and that's what you're asking of me, unless you break down
that wall. With due respect, sir, it's no use asking men of my
profession to disentangle a skein of fine thread and refuse to let 'em
handle the skein. It can't be done; that's all."
Ruxton nodded, and the man with the smiling face went on.
"I want to know what lies behind, sir. That's what I've come here for
to-night. You'll either tell me, or you won't. You are the best judge
of what is at stake, and whether you are justified in disclosing
secrets in the hope of discovering the whereabouts of the Princess. The
question is, is the discovery of her worth the risk? From the moment I
began on this I saw the direction things were taking. Now, this man
Vassilitz is a foreigner. All the servants at Redwithy are foreigners.
The lady herself is a foreign--princess. Her record during the war
tells of her Polish origin. There were three Polands: Russian, Austrian
and German. She claimed Russian, and was known by a Russian-sounding
name. Her title sounds German. That's all the history of her I have
got. But if I'm any judge there's a lot more, and in that additional
history lies the secret of her present disappearance. Well, sir, that's
my case, and I put it to you. If you cannot see your way to telling me
anything more, I can hold out very little hope. I shall naturally
continue to work the matter, but----"
The man was still smiling his involuntary smile, which was due to a
curious facial formation. Nor could Ruxton help realizing the perfect
mask it became. But his demands were startling and a little
disconcerting. He rose from his chair and began to pace the room, his
preoccupation finding expression in the gnawing of one of his
finger-nails.
The other watched him through the veil of smoke which hung upon the
warm air of the room. Finally he came to a halt on the rug before the
fire.
"Yes, it's political," he admitted. Then, with a curious upward jerk of
his head, and a hot light in his dark eyes: "Damnably political--and
secret."
"Yes?"
Ruxton laughed.
"You want more; much more. You want it all." He shook his head. "But
you can't have it. That's been the devil of it, eh? No, I can't tell
you all you want to know. But I can tell you this much. It's your
brains--our brains against all the arch-devilry of the German
Government, backed by no less a person than the----"
The detective gave a long, low whistle.
"It's as serious as that?" He stirred in his chair.
"Serious? It's likely to involve the death of anybody concerned. Not
only the victims of these machinations, but of those who interfere on
their behalf. There, that's all I can say of what lies behind, and you
must be satisfied, or pretend to be. Meanwhile I can tell you something
which is going to be helpful to us, which I couldn't have told you if
you had paid your visit an hour or so earlier. I have discovered a
means by which I fancy the Princess can be rescued from these German
demons."
Ruxton turned, and again flung himself into his chair. He was smiling
with confidence and hope. The officer insinuated his chair nearer and
waited. Every faculty was alert. The other took no notice of his
movements. He was absorbed in his own thoughts. He had taken a great
decision, and all his imaginative faculties were at work piecing
together the pictured details.
The officer coughed. The long pause was becoming too extended for his
patience. Ruxton started. He looked round and smiled.
"Listen to this," he said, "and tell me what you think."
It was well past midnight when Detective-Inspector Purdic rose to take
his departure. The automatic smile on his face had broadened
noticeably, and Ruxton felt that now, at least, it was inspired. He,
too, was smiling. His own decision had met with something more than
approval from the professional. The man had caught something of the
quiet daring of the brain which had been keen enough to penetrate the
meaning of certain obscure signs, and reckless enough to evolve a plan
of action which promised a possibility of defeating all the trickery
against which they were pitted.
Furthermore, the officer had been able to point certain vital matters,
and offer suggestions in several directions of importance out of his
long experience. Between them they had matured carefully, and placed in
concrete form, a plan which, under any other conditions of a less grave
nature, must have appeared the veriest of forlorn hopes, and which
either of them would certainly have classed amongst the schemes of the
most advanced cases confined within the four walls of a lunatic asylum.
"I'm glad I came, sir," said the officer, in his blunt fashion. "I had
my doubts about it. It didn't seem to offer much hope, seeing I was
dealing with a Cabinet Minister who hadn't seen his way, so far, to
opening out on official secrets of his own accord; and on that score, I
admit, it was no use. But you've done better than that, sir. You've
taught me something which twenty years of my own business wasn't able
to teach me--and it's in my own line, too. I sort of feel, sir, some
one's going to wake up with a horrid start, and--it won't be us.
Good-night, sir, and thank you. I'll set everything in train without
delay. I shall take the five men I mentioned with me when I go north
to-morrow, and look to the local police for any other force we may
need."
"Good." Ruxton shook him by the hand. "I'll see to the other side of it
in--my own way. Good-night, and thank you for coming."