The Men Who Wrought Part 46

CHAPTER XXVI

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 s.p.a.ces 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 hara.s.sing. 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 a.s.sured 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 pa.s.sed 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 grat.i.tude. 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sed 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.