The Men Who Wrought Part 33

The drawing-room at Redwithy Farm was bathed in the shadows of early autumn evening. A fire of blazing logs spluttered and crackled in the great open fireplace. Its ruddy light shed an atmosphere of mellow comfort and coziness over the entire aspect of the room. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances Vita would have revelled in the delight of these moments of a great new happiness in her beautiful home.

She was ensconced in an armchair beside the fire which had doubtless, in years gone by, supported the slumbering form of some bewigged country squire. Its design was perfect for such a purpose. A small tea-table stood at her elbow. The m.u.f.fins were cold upon it, but she had been glad of the mildly stimulating effects of the tea.

Now she was sitting forward in her chair gazing deep down into the heart of the fire. A teeming thought was speeding through a brain which, of late, seemed always to be working at high pressure. The odd pucker of thought between her brows added charm and character to her beautiful face. Her eyes, too, had lost something of their profound serenity. They were alight and s.h.i.+ning with a certain nervous concentration, while her delicate lips were unusually firmly compressed.

She had only returned from London an hour earlier, and now, far from the distractions of the momentous hours she had spent with the man whose love had been powerful enough to sweep aside every other consideration from her mind, she was striving to quell all emotion, and disentangle the skeins in which she felt hopelessly caught up.

Paramount, her great love for Ruxton stood out and tripped her at every effort to concentrate upon those matters which related to the plans upon which they were all at work. Her alarm for her father was real and almost overwhelming. But her joy in her new-found love robbed it of half its significance. In the happiness of the moment it was impossible to believe or accept, even, the suggestion that disaster had overtaken, or could overtake him.

In the first rush of her dread Ruxton's confidence had rea.s.sured her.

Her father must be safe. Her lover's argument had been so clear and convincing. Then he had promised to meet him on his arrival in England.

Yes, her father was bound to make for Dorby. That was their secret landing-place. Ruxton would be there. He would not fail. He would warn him of Von Salzinger's discovery of her house. He would arrange for his safety. To all these things he had given his word, and his word was all-sufficient for her. As for his ability to put his promise into effect there could be no question. The proud thought in her was supreme.

She dwelt upon the glamored picture of her lover which was always in her mind, and it comforted her and rea.s.sured her as she had never found comfort or rea.s.surance before. No one who knew him could question, she felt. Her vivid mental vision dwelt upon the sculptured beauties of his magnificent face and head. The calmly a.s.sured manner; the great physical strength, which reminded her of the men in the wonderful history of her own country,--these things overbore her woman's timidities, and reacted upon her in a manner which drove all doubts headlong.

He would write her. How? Through the post, or would he send a messenger with the news of her father's safety? It was a useless speculation. All she knew was that the news would come. He had promised it.

Va.s.silitz entered the room. Vita knew it because the door had opened, and the rattle of the handle had disturbed her. Otherwise the man's movements were decorously silent. He crossed to the windows and drew the curtains. He glided across the room, and prepared to remove the tea-things.

Would madame have the lights? No, madame preferred the firelight. The brighter lights would have disturbed her dreaming. The man bore the tea-table away, his dark eyes and sallow features perfect in their immobility.

As the door closed behind him, memory brought Vita a fleeting unease.

She remembered Ruxton's warning about Va.s.silitz. He had suggested his possible connection with the Secret Service. It seemed impossible. And yet Ruxton had been definite. How long had she known him? She cast back in her mind. Why, as long as she could remember. She remembered him as a village lout, who sometimes worked for her father in his garden. Then he had been taken away to the army, as they were all taken away by the cruel conscript laws. Yes, of course, he had been away in the army, and--they had lost sight of him all that time--the time he was in the army.

Then she dismissed the matter. Ruxton must be right. She was sure he would not say such a thing without some reason. She would send Va.s.silitz back to his home. There must be no unnecessary risk of her father's safety.

Having settled the matter, the fiery caverns in the grate absorbed her attention once more, and every beat of her heart helped to bridge the distance which separated her from the lover who had so suddenly thrust himself into her life.

How long she sat crouching over the crackling fire, dreaming those dreams of life, which afterwards become the most sacred treasures of a woman's memory, Vita never knew. Later, when she reviewed those moments, conviction remained that never for one moment had her eyes closed in response to the seductive warmth of the fire. Yet she knew that in some strange manner oblivion must have stolen upon her. Without a shadow of warning she found herself sitting bolt upright, every drop of blood seeming to have receded from her veins, leaving her s.h.i.+vering in a frigid panic. The cold, hard tones of a man's voice were addressing her.

"The Princess will forgive the unceremonious nature of this visit," it said. "It is imperative, for--it is made under the direct authority of those who claim all subjects of the Fatherland."

The words were in German. They were without a shadow of inflection, and thereby gained in the consummate tyranny of their meaning.

Vita was on her feet. Nor had the wild panic which swept through her every nerve centre power to rob her of the regal poise natural to her.

She battled fiercely for calmness, but only achieved it superficially.

In the dark of the room she could see nothing of the intruder distinctly. A shadowy outline in the direction of the closed door was all she could make out. Then, with a swift movement, one arm was thrust out towards the wall beside the fireplace. Her fingers encountered a group of electric switches. In a moment the room was flooded with a shaded, mellow light.

"Frederick von Berger! You!"

It was the only exclamation that escaped her parched lips. But it expressed all the terror which would no longer be denied.

She had recognized the intruder. And behind him she saw the square figure of Von Salzinger. But the latter meant nothing compared with the overwhelming personality of the man whom she, with thousands of others, had always regarded as the Kaiser's evil genius. Probably only once or twice in all her years she had seen this man in the flesh. But his pictures, they were known to everybody in the Fatherland, just as was the sinister reputation which dogged his name.

Oh, yes, she knew him--and he was here, here in England, and had stolen in upon the privacy and obscurity of her home. What was his purpose?

What? Something of it, at least, was plain to her from the moment of her recognition. It was the cruel hand of the Teutonic machinery reaching out towards her and--hers. Hers! The thought seared itself upon her brain. For herself she had no thought, but for her father she had become the veriest coward.

The intruder displayed no interest or feeling at the manner of Vita's greeting. The lines of his face remained as stonily graven as chiselled marble. So cold was his regard that it even seemed incapable of interpreting her matchless beauty.

"I am honored that the Princess recognizes me," he said, with a coldness that made his words an offence. "It will save explanation."

Then he came towards her and stood before the fire confronting her. His height matched hers, which left him only of medium height for a man.

"Your father has sold the secrets of Borga to--England. Now he has made good his escape to--England." Then without a sign, or gesture, or shadow of significance, he added: "So you see it was necessary to visit you here."

It was well-nigh an impossibility ever to fathom the thought which lay behind this man's spoken word. There was a directness and simplicity about him which was utterly confounding. Then there was that dreadful frigidity of eye and att.i.tude.

Vita realized the impossibility at once. She made no attempt to guess at that which was in his mind. She contented herself with his admission of her father's escape. Without it terror alone would have remained.

Instead, now, a wonderful calmness settled upon her. Maybe there was a touch of desperation in her calm. But there was still the a.s.surance of her father's security, at least temporarily. She must watch. She must strive. If there were the smallest possibility she must baffle the purpose which had brought Frederick von Berger to her home. She waited.

"It is not presumed, of course, that you are aware of these matters--yet. But it is well known to our agents that you are in touch with the Prince. Therefore it is probable on his arrival in England he will communicate with you. It is not our intention to permit you to thus incriminate yourself. All possibility of the Prince's communicating with you must be avoided, or you, a woman, will fall under the penalty of his crimes. You will prepare yourself at once to make a journey by road. You will leave this house at once, and remain away from it until the whole unpleasant affair has been settled to the satisfaction of Berlin. These are instructions direct to you from the authority of the land which still claims you subject."

Resentment was the dominant emotion the man's p.r.o.nouncement stirred in Vita. His authority was unquestioned in her mind, but the manner of him was infuriating to her hot Polish blood. The sparkle of her beautiful eyes could not be concealed. She bit her lips to keep back the hot words which leapt in retort, and, all the while he was speaking, she reminded herself of the necessity for calm. The moment his last word died out her reply came.

"Here, in England, I am commanded by German authority to abandon my home and go whithersoever it pleases you to conduct me. German authority in a country where German authority does not obtain. You trespa.s.s on my premises, admitted I do not know how. You dictate this absurd order to me, and expect me to obey it. This is not Prussia."

"Precisely, Princess. If this were Prussia there would be no discussion." It was the first shadow of threat the man had displayed.

It was not in his tone. It lay in the keen, steely cold gleam of his eyes. "As for the authority," the man shrugged, "there is no corner in the world where a German subject exists that German authority does not obtain--for the German subject. If you have not yet realized this, then I beg you to do so at once. The method of enforcing that authority alone differs."

"I understand that. In England it is enforced by the methods such as any common criminal might adopt. For instance, the burglar who steals into private houses."

The biting sarcasm left Frederick von Berger quite undisturbed.

"The chief point is, it is, and will be, enforced," he observed coolly.

"Will you be kind enough to prepare for that journey?"

"If I refuse?"

Von Berger shrugged.

"You will still make it. The preparations will be made for you."

"By whom?"

"By your servants."

There was just the faintest flicker of the eyelids as the man a.s.sured her. There was no smile, and yet there was a change from the frigidity which had been so poignantly marked up to that moment.

"My servants! Are they, too, bound to obey the mandates of Berlin in violation of the laws of free England?" Anger was getting the better of her resolve.

"They, too, are children of the Fatherland."

"Spies!"

The exclamation broke from the angry woman with fierce heat.