The Men Who Wrought Part 27

"We all make mistakes in--our inexperience."

"Yes." The man sipped his tea noisily. Then for a moment he stirred it.

"Tell me," he went on abruptly. "It is four years--nearly--since you told me all you felt about--espionage. It is a long time and much has happened. You have many friends here in England. Still you remain--simply the daughter of your father? Am I rude?" Vita had glanced over at him swiftly, seriously. "You see it is much to me, for--I came over to see you."

He had taken care that she should have no misunderstanding of his meaning. She displayed no resentment, but her eyes lowered to the tea-things she was manipulating. The man abruptly sat forward in his chair.

"I must say what is on my mind. It is my way, Vita. You know that of old. I saw you last night with a man, a stranger to me. And"--he smiled, and leant more urgently towards her,--"I was mad--mad with jealousy. I did not know him. I had no means of knowing him, since I have been isolated away on my command, and I thought, I felt convinced he was your--lover. Ach, it made me mad--mad. So I dared not delay. I must see you at once--at once and learn the truth from you. You must know, Vita, that I love you just as I have always loved you. All the rest--what is it? My position? Nothing. Nothing to compare with my love for you. Then my first sight of you after all this time is with that man--a good-looking man--in the car. You together--alone. I thought--oh, I was convinced he was your husband, and I--I could have killed him. Will you tell me of him? Is he? Is he your lover? You must tell me."

Through her drooping lashes Vita was watching him. There was a curious manner in the man. He was not pleading. He was telling her of his feelings as though she had no alternative but to accept them. She was alarmed, but gave no sign.

She decided swiftly upon her next att.i.tude. It must be frankness. She must keep, hold this man, and convince him that she had nothing to do with, and no knowledge of, Ruxton Farlow's movements. If she failed in this, then----

She laughed musically, a deep, soft laugh. The eyes which were raised to Von Salzinger's were full of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"The same headstrong, impetuous Ludwig. The years have not changed you," she said, shaking her head. "Ruxton Farlow is just one of many men friends I have over here. You cannot expect a woman of my position to live the life of a nun. I dined with him last evening. When we encountered you he was driving me home in his car. Have I committed a crime?"

"Here?"

There was a subtle brutality in the man's monosyllable.

Vita flushed. The amus.e.m.e.nt in her eyes had changed to a sparkle of anger. She shrugged.

"If you adopt that tone I have nothing more to say on the matter."

The man realized his mistake and changed his tone at once.

"Forgive me, Vita," he cried hastily. "It--it is jealousy. I cannot bear to think of you with that man--alone--or any other man. They have no right to you. They are natural enemies of our country. I--I am a Prussian, and you--you belong to our country. Can you not understand my feelings? Ach! It is maddening to think."

Vita's smile was wholly charming as she glanced at him across the tea-table.

"You are going to make me quarrel with you--again. And I don't want to quarrel. Tell me--about yourself and your affairs. They are more interesting. Tell me of that upward path--of that high command you occupy."

For some moments Ludwig von Salzinger did not reply. He had no desire to change the subject. His only interest in Vita was her beauty, her splendid womanhood; her appeal to his baser senses. His hard eyes regarded her unsmilingly for some moments. Then his nature drove him to the blunder which the woman had been awaiting.

"My affairs have no interest just now," he said, almost sombrely.

Vita caught at his reply with all her readiness.

"But they have--for your friends. Your old friends," she said, with well-a.s.sumed earnestness.

"Have they?" The man laughed bitterly. "I wonder." Again his greedy eyes had settled upon her with that curious regard which all good women resent.

At last Vita threw her head up in a manner which definitely but silently made her protest plain. Von Salzinger was forced to speech.

"For the moment the upward path is closed to me," he admitted coldly.

"I no longer occupy my command. Do--you understand?"

But Vita shook her head.

In a moment there came an outburst of pa.s.sion. It was the outburst of a headstrong man, which robs him of half his power in more delicate situations.

"I have been relieved of my command," he cried, springing to his feet and standing over her before the little tea-table. "For the moment my enemies have triumphed. But it will not be for long," he went on, working himself up till he almost forgot whom he was addressing. "The enemies of Ludwig von Salzinger do not triumph for long, and then we shall see. Oh, yes, we shall see."

Vita nodded sympathetically up at the pa.s.sionate face.

"And you came to London, and," she added subtly, "you left your enemies behind you."

The man flung his cigar end in among the glowing logs with a vicious gesture.

"Some of them," he cried fiercely. Then he abruptly recovered himself.

He began to laugh. The change was awkward, and the cunning that crept into his eyes was perfectly apparent to Vita. "Yes, I leave them behind me, where we are told to put all evil things. London is safer for me--at present. Besides, does it not bring me to your side?"

Vita had learned all she wanted to know in his brief admission. "Some of them," he had flung at her in his unguarded moment. The rest of it had no interest for her. She rose from her chair, and forced herself to a radiant smile.

"You are too deep for me, Ludwig," she cried, purposely using the intimate form of address. "But no one realizes your capacity better than I. I have known you so long. You will fight your battles successfully I am sure. Must you be going?"

The man was left without alternative. He had not thought of departure yet. He hesitated. Then he finally held out a hand. Vita only too readily responded. In a moment his hot clasp smothered hers. His eyes narrowed as they held hers, and the woman gathered something of the threat behind them.

"It is not good to be my enemy," he said unpleasantly. "Those who make an enemy of me will howl for mercy before I finish with them." Then his manner lightened to a tone Vita feared even more than the other. "But why talk of these things? I only think of you--dream of you. And some day," he went on, still retaining her hand in his, "you will be--kind to me. Eh? Is it not so? Surely--for it is our fate. And what a fate for any man, my Vita--my beautiful Vita. It will be--wonderful, wonderful."

The woman withdrew her hand sharply. She could stand no more of it. A growing terror was taking possession of her. Von Salzinger laughed as he released her hand with a final pressure. "It is good-bye now, but I shall come again, and then--again."

Vita was standing before the fire gazing down into its ruddy depths.

The tea-things had been removed, and she was alone. She was glad. She was relieved. But she was not dissatisfied on the whole.

She felt that Von Salzinger was a greater blunderer than she had hoped.

She knew he had blundered twice. He had blundered in visiting her at all. He had betrayed his whole purpose as surely as though he had told her all the details of his plans.

But with her satisfaction was a deep element of fear--personal fear.

But she knew it was a fear--a weakness--that must not be encouraged. If it mastered her she would be left powerless to carry through the part she felt she had yet to play. So she resolutely thrust it from her.

Meanwhile, her first duty must be to communicate with her father, and that--at once.

CHAPTER XVI

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 fas.h.i.+on. 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 inept.i.tude 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.