RUXTON WINS A TRICK
It was the close of a long and busy day for both of them, and father
and son, in the interim preceding dinner, under a bright moon, paced
together the broad stone paths of the formal terrace gardens of Dorby
Towers. For Ruxton the confined spaces of the house were suffocating.
His nerves were on edge. His father, with the calm philosophy of his
years, merely sought the fresh air which the work in his office denied
him, even though it possessed the damp chill of an English autumn night.
"Anybody else besides Caistor coming for the week-end?" Sir Andrew's
sidelong glance was penetrating.
"Lordburgh and Reginald Steele. There will be others--whom they may
choose to bring."
His father's scrutiny was lost upon Ruxton, who seemed to have little
inclination to talk. His interest in the week-end gathering seemed of
the slightest.
"Well, Caistor and Steele will find plenty to interest them," Sir
Andrew went on. "Lordburgh will probably content himself with the golf
links."
"Lordburgh will spend his time at the yards," Ruxton said. Then he
displayed an increased interest. "He's a Foreign Secretary who sees
further than mere international policies. He's a man who believes that
an adequate foreign policy can only be built on the foundations of a
sound internal economic basis. Caistor and Steele are armament men of
diverging opinions. Caistor pins his faith to weight of metal in
surface craft, while Steele places the submarine before the heaviest
guns. Both have sound enough reasoning, but, as I said, they are
armament men. They cannot conceive that a non-military defence can ever
offer sound possibilities. Both have been shaken up by the mercantile
submersible project. But I think Lordburgh is the more impressed by it."
"I should have preferred their coming next week," Sir Andrew went on, a
little wearily. "We should be under full work then. We are nearly clear
now, and the naval mechanics are replacing the civil men next week.
It's been hard work for us all. I shall be glad when everything has
settled down again."
Ruxton glanced round at the speaker. There was a flash of anxiety in
his eyes. It was the first time he had ever heard his father complain
of the arduous nature of his work. A wave of contrition swept over him.
"I feel I've left too much on your shoulders, Dad," he exclaimed. "I'm
afraid I've been very selfish. I've burdened you with the
responsibility of this thing, and given you no support. Somehow, I
never thought--and you have never complained."
"Tut, tut, boy," his father retorted, in his gruff, hearty way. "I have
yet to learn that I am too old for my work. It's work I've been born
and bred to. Without it I should be a decaying man. Don't think of it.
Your work is far more responsible, far more harassing. You are among
those active thinkers whose life's work is the welfare of our country.
Leave me to Dorby. Mark out the work you demand from me, and rest
assured it will be thoroughly carried out. I haven't the imaginative
brain that sees into the future and formulates plans whereby that
future may be safeguarded. But I can build any fleet you can
plan--single-handed."
There was pride and admiration in the smile with which Ruxton listened
to his father's words. But the man was serious. He knew his
limitations, and he also knew his capacity. Besides, he had no
intention of admitting the strain of the work in hand.
Ruxton shook his head.
"I'm not even doing that, Dad," he protested. "My time's given up to
other affairs. I've simply abandoned everything for one selfish
purpose."
Again came his father's sidelong glance.
"Selfish?"
"Yes; Vita. I must find her. I must help her. I must unravel the
mystery of it all, or--what is the use of all that I had hoped to
achieve? Dad, I no longer blind myself. I have only just awakened to
life. All the hopes and longings of the past belong to a time when I
still remained slumbering to the real meaning of life. Now, compared
with the meaning of life which I have just awakened to, they are mere
cold, meaningless products of the brain. They are nothing, simply
nothing to this new vista which has just opened out to me. I doubt if
you'll understand, if any one can understand but myself."
"No?" There was that twinkling smile in the old man's eyes.
"No. There is only one thought in me now. I must save Vita; I must save
Vita from our enemies. Perhaps, even, I must save her from herself. How
can I expect any one to understand all it means to me, how absurd seem
all those other things which I had counted as vital?"
"And yet I loved your mother."
Ruxton walked on a few steps without reply. A flush had mounted to his
handsome cheeks. Then he abruptly paused, and in the depths of his eyes
was a shamefaced smile.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he cried. "Forgive the egoism of a man--in love."
His father's smiling eyes were full of a deep sympathy.
"No, no, boy; no apologies. You are no different from the rest of us.
We all feel the same at some time in our lives, and we all believe no
one else has ever felt as we do. Work out your plans, boy. Forget
Dorby; forget everything else for the time. Give your whole heart and
time to straightening out the tangle your love affairs seem to be in.
And when you have succeeded, bring her to me. For the rest, I am your
deputy in the work which must still go on; and, believe me, I shall not
fail you. There goes the gong."
The deep note of the gong seemed to rise out of its metal bowels; it
crescendoed, and finally died away. The two men passed silently into
the house and removed their light overcoats. Ruxton's emotion was too
deep for words. His father's sympathy and loyalty were almost
overpowering to a nature as sensitive as his. He wanted to tell him all
he felt. He wanted to pour out his gratitude. He wanted to show him
something of the great love he had always borne him. But it was
impossible. He did none of these things because they were men--men of a
temperament and schooling that made such a display impossible. So, in
silence, they prepared to make their way to the dining-room.
But affairs were busier than either of them knew. In a very few minutes
every other emotion became lost in the surge of events.
Just as they were about to leave the hall a man-servant appeared from
the direction of the servants' quarters. He was about to pass
up-stairs, bearing a tray. The quick eyes of Sir Andrew observed the
pile of letters he was carrying up to the library. Without regard for
the moment he stayed him.
"Is that the post just in?" he demanded.
The man promptly returned.
"Yes, sir."
"Ah, let me see."
The letters were divided into two small piles: those that were
addressed to Sir Andrew, and those for his son. Sir Andrew picked his
up. He glanced at the superscription on each envelope, and dealt them
back on the tray as though he were dealing playing-cards. At the last
one he paused. It was the largest envelope.
"That will do," he said, and glanced across at Ruxton as the man passed
on up the staircase.
He tore the envelope open and stood with the contents of it poised in
his hand.
"Ruxton."
The younger man turned from the fireplace. His eyes were expectant. His
father's tone had been sharp.
"Yes."
"You'd better deal with this." He handed him the lesser envelope, which
had been enclosed in the other.
Ruxton took it and glanced at it. His father's eyes were watching him
closely; they were twinkling.
"It is tempting, eh?"
Ruxton shook his head.
"But Vita trusts us," he said simply.
Once again Ruxton found himself looking into the wide eyes and
remarkable face of Prince von Hertzwohl. With the simple courtesy which
was so much a part of him, the latter had thrust his guest into the
only chair his uninviting quarters afforded. For himself, he was more
than content with the doubtful flock bed, with its frowsy patchwork
quilt. The chair creaked under Ruxton's weight, but he said no word. He
was waiting, waiting while the other read the letter he had just put
into his hands.
Ruxton was disguised in a suit of clothes that left nothing to be
desired. Mrs. Clark, the landlady, could have possessed no doubts as to
his calling. She knew the type of mechanic too well. Von Hertzwohl was
still arrayed in his work-soiled suit, which his intellectual features
denied as the yellow lamp-rays fell upon them. Ruxton's outward seeming
was calm, but inwardly his active thoughts were teeming. The
opportunity which otherwise must have been made had been afforded him
without his personal effort. He knew that the crisis in all his plans
had arrived. It was for him to turn the course of affairs in his own
favor, or accept almost certain defeat. So he waited, coordinating
every mental force he could make available.
It was a serious, almost pathetic pair of eyes which were at last
raised from the letter, which was in Vita's handwriting. There was
something almost like dismay in their wide depths as they encountered
the steady gaze of Ruxton's. It was a moment of grave
embarrassment--but only for Von Hertzwohl. He felt like a man hunted
before the gaze of the younger man's dark eyes.
But Ruxton had no desire to discompose him. His mind was clear, his
course marked out. He saw with perfect understanding the only road by
which he could achieve his end. The night when, in the midst of all his
doubts and difficulties, he had suddenly caught a glimpse of daylight,
he had realized that Vita's father sat under pledge to his daughter.
The nature of that pledge was difficult to appraise definitely, but it
was obviously directed towards secrecy to which he must not be
admitted. His hope lay in admitting its inviolability.
"I want you to listen to me, Prince, for some moments," he began at
once. "I have one or two things to put before you, simply and
straightforwardly. In doing so I want you to realize my motive. I have
told you, her father, of my love for Vita. That love burns as deeply in
my soul for her now as it has done ever since I first met her. I want
you to know that I am fighting for that love now, that I shall continue
to fight for it so long as I have the power. Nothing will deter me;
nothing our enemies can do, nothing Vita can say, short of a direct
dismissal. This is my motive, simple and honest. I have not come here
to ask you the contents of your letter from her. I do not want to know
them. I have not come here to press you in any direction which your
honor, your loyalty to your daughter denies. I have come here to tell
you the things I know, and the things I believe, without exaggeration,
and to obtain your consent to a small favor, which, in common fairness,
you cannot deny me."
The embarrassment in the deep, shining eyes beneath the shaggy grey
brows was growing. To Ruxton they were almost a child's eyes, so simple
and earnest, and so full of unconcealed trouble.
"It is an ominous prelude," the Pole replied, with a poor attempt at a
smile.
"But not so ominous as the _denouement_ which, I fear, is likely to
come when you attempt to leave these shores."
Ruxton's retort came with a quiet emphasis and directness which
completely took the other aback.
"I do not see---- Is that a threat, Mr. Farlow?" All the childlike
trouble had vanished from the man's luminous eyes. They were shining
with a definite challenge which revealed the ready spirit of the man,
which Vita always told of.
Ruxton smiled.
"Not from me, sir."
"Then from whom?" The words were incisive.
"From your--our enemies across the water."
All the fire had departed out of Von Hertzwohl's eyes; only was there
interest in them.
"Tell me," he said simply.
Ruxton drew a deep breath.
"There is so little--and yet, to me, so much to tell. I cannot force my
line of argument upon you, because it is less argument than conviction.
I can only tell you those things which I know, and assure you of my
conviction."
The Prince inclined his head in a non-committal manner.
"This is the second letter you have had from Vita, in her handwriting,
and addressed from her home. These letters have come through my father,
just as you have received them. I am prepared to believe Vita has
written them, but she has not written them from Redwithy. That I can
swear to. Vita has not been near Redwithy since the day of your arrival
here."
"And that is--true?"
There was a slight change in the Prince's manner, but it was an
undefinable change.
"I will stake my honor upon it. Now," Ruxton went on after a fractional
pause, "let us leave that. It could be explained--if for some
inscrutable reason she wished to avoid me. Let me point something else.
When I came up here to meet you on your arrival I left Vita, who had
promised ardently to be my wife, waiting, in a fever of apprehension,
for a message from me of your safe arrival. That message was promptly
sent, and it reached Redwithy. But before it arrived Vita had left her
home with her maid, Francella, in a strange motorcar, for a destination
unnamed. And yet in a perfect fever of anxiety she had been awaiting
that message. One moment," as the old man, with eyes wide with
astonishment, was about to break in. "When I arrived at Redwithy that
message was lying amongst a pile of correspondence, all of which had
been secretly opened and re-sealed. Would Vita have arranged for that
even if she wished to avoid me? Would she not simply have written me a
note of dismissal? It is the commonest of common sense." He paused,
with brows raised questioningly. "Now come these letters to you, sir,"
he went on a moment later. "I do not know their contents; I do not wish
to know them. But they prove she is aware of your safe arrival. And I
judge they are urging you to leave the country, since you expressed no
idea of doing so till you received the first letter. Now, sir, one last
word and I have told you all I know and all I believe. Either those
letters are forgeries or they are written by Vita under pressure. Vita
is aware you are here at Dorby. Therefore she has been told, for I do
not believe she has seen my message. She has communicated with you by
the only means either she or any one else could think of--through my
father. She does not know where you are, so she cannot be forced to
betray you. But she can be forced to decoy you, or you can be decoyed
in her name. Prince, a trick is being played--a clever trick; and my
conviction of it is all the greater, since I would stake my life on
Vita's loyalty to you--and to me."
The Prince remained silent for some moments. Ruxton had risen from his
protesting chair and moved across the room. He refrained from even
glancing in the old man's direction. He wanted him to have time. He
wanted to exercise no moral influence by appearing to await urgently
his reply.
He had outlined the plain facts without studied effect. The whole
purpose of his visit was still to be achieved.
He turned at last and came back to his chair as the other cleared his
throat.
"There is sense--common sense in what you say." The big eyes of the man
were clear and luminous, but they were not looking at his visitor. They
were gazing at the oil-lamp on the table. "But you have not read Vita's
letters, or you would see that much of your statement becomes
impossible. I have not the right to show you those letters, therefore
you must accept, or not, what I say. I assure you if there is a trick,
or plot, it is so deeply laid that Vita cannot see it; and, in view of
her letters, neither can I. Had I not received her letters I could have
accepted your beliefs, but those letters put the idea beyond
possibility. Mr. Farlow, I am sorry. I could think of no greater
delight, or honor, than having you for my son. If what Vita has done,
if her course has been arranged with a view to breaking with you, then
I can only say I regret more deeply than you can ever dream. All you
have done, and are doing, and have dared in my interests have endeared
you to an old man's heart just as surely as though you were my son. It
is only very, very rarely that men meet _men_. In you and your father I
have been doubly fortunate. Will you believe me when I say it? But for
the rest it is not for me to decide. Your love for my daughter I
realize is deep and sincere. It is for you two to settle it. But that
she is in the hands of our enemies I truly and sensibly cannot believe.
I assure you there is no hint of it in her letters. One final word. You
fear that I am running headlong into a trap. Do not fear for me. I have
none. My submersible will convey me to safety as it has done before."
The old man's words, so kindly spoken, so full of regard, and loyalty
and courage, came without any shock or disappointment to the other. Not
a muscle of his strong face moved. Nor was there a shadow of change
from the determination in his dark eyes. When he began to speak,
however, a dawn of a smile grew in them. It was a smile of confidence.
The attitude of the other had made his purpose a shade easier.
"Then, in face of my beliefs, you will go, Prince?" he asked.
The direct challenge seemed to slightly disconcert the other. Von
Hertzwohl had spoken the truth when he said that his regard for Ruxton
had become as that of a parent. He felt that his reply must hurt him.
"It must be," he said. Then he endeavored to soften his decision. "It
is best so. Best for our work; for you; for--Vita. Ach! I would like to
tell you all I have in here"--he tapped his broad brow with a
forefinger. "But I cannot. I may not. Dorby has been a haven to me, and
I longed to be near and witness the growth of that work which is to
make impossible the vile cruelty of men, all the horrors of an
indefensible slaughter. I told myself I would sit here and see my dream
slowly, step by step, fulfilled. I said that you and your father were
the laboring genius setting up the defence which was to serve humanity
in the days to come. And in the pride and joy of my heart I told myself
that mine was the brain that had conceived this merciful weapon, which
I should watch grow to its final triumph. But now I know that it is not
so. I may not witness the triumph of my labor here, where it is to be
achieved. My presence adds jeopardy to it. It adds jeopardy to you all.
It must not be. I have made my mind up. I must go."
Ruxton inclined his head as though in a measure of agreement.
"If it can be done in safety perhaps it is as well," he said.
"Safety?" The wide eyes shining beneath the shaggy white brows were
smiling and full of a boyish delight at the thought of adventure. "Show
me. How can it be otherwise? Have we not held the secret of our
landing? Who is to know the secrets of our cove? The tides--is there a
Teuton spy who would face the entrance of that cove and believe that it
is free to us to enter or leave it at will? No one would believe it
could serve a landing."
"No. And you will go that way?"
"Yes. I shall leave on Sunday night. The tide will serve us at
half-past six. It is then dark."
The old man's spirits were rising at the thought of cheating his
enemies. His eyes were full of guileless delight. Ruxton was regarding
him with something of the same spirit lighting his own smiling eyes.
"It would seem safe enough. I can offer no objection. And yet----"
"Ach! you still fear for me," cried the other impulsively. "It is the
obstinate English in you. Yes, yes. That temperament. You bite hard and
will not let go. So."
But Ruxton suddenly bestirred himself. He passed the simple levity of
the other by. His eyes had become serious.
"Look at it my way, sir," he said in a deep, urgent tone. "I have told
you all I feel and fear. Suppose it was my own father, for some day I
hope and believe you will become my other father. Can you not see all
it means to me--your safety? I feel you are my trust, and I dare not
risk unduly. Will you grant me a favor, sir--a trifling favor from your
point of view? Allow me to take such measures to safeguard your going
as I see fit. You shall not be made aware of that safeguarding, I
promise you--except in case of the treachery I anticipate. I shall not
interfere with any plan you may have made. I will, as our naval men
say, 'carry on' and 'stand by,' unseen by you and by our
enemies--unless danger threatens you. It is not much to ask, and it
means so much to me."
The Prince's smile was very gentle as he watched the eager face of the
other. The genuine anxiety of Ruxton appealed to him in a degree which
was only reached out of his own deep regard. From any other such an
appeal might have been met with ridicule. But in Ruxton it became
something to be delighted in.
"Have your way," he cried cordially. "Do as you will, and I thank you
from my heart for your solicitude. But it is needless. Believe me, it
is needless."
But Ruxton ignored his comment. His sanction was all he needed.
"Thank you, sir," he said simply. "Have you given your man his orders
for the submersible?"
The Prince glanced down at his letter unconsciously.
"No," he said; "not yet."
And Ruxton understood that his letter had decided the time of departure
for him.
"May I convey them, Prince?"
"Why?" The smiling eyes were keenly questioning.
Ruxton laughed.
"Because I would like to make a small arrangement with him, which will
in no way interfere with any orders you may give him."
"I see." The Prince was silent for some moments, pondering deeply.
Then, quite abruptly, he seemed to reach a decision. "Yes," he said at
last, "I will send him his orders in writing, with permission to
receive certain instructions from you. But my orders must be obeyed
implicitly. Remember that. You must not change them in one single
detail. Your word of honor, and I will thank you for conveying them."
"My word of honor," said Ruxton solemnly.