CHAPTER XV
THE INERADICABLE STRAIN
Von Salzinger was gross. He looked it. But he had not yet arrived atthose years when the outward form loses its atmosphere of virilestrength submerged beneath overwhelming adipose and a general bodilyinertia. That would come as inevitably as reaction invariably followsupon the heels of excess when vitality passes its maximum. VonSalzinger was of original type, and beneath the shallow veneer of thecivilizing process, in him was to be found of a certainty the hairyhands of the savage. It is the brand which can never be eradicated fromthe original Teuton, and particularly from those who are native ofPrussia. The anxious insistence of the claims to Kultur, emanating moreparticularly from Prussian sources, can be taken as something in thenature of an unconscious admission of the depths from which they haveonly been partially lifted.
Von Salzinger was pronouncedly of this type. He possessed all thephysical and mental force which belongs to it; just as he possessed thefull appetite for excess which is its invariable accompaniment. In himwas developed to an unusual degree the desire for all the bodilyenjoyment that life can offer to a creature in whose veins flows thefull tide of the animal.
Once having completed his arrangements with his erstwhile comradeJohann Stryj, he returned to the carefully considered course which hehad marked out. With all the Prussian's scheming mind, from the momenthe had been made aware of the drift of his fortunes he had cast aboutfor the best outlets which might promise amelioration for the positionwhich chance had placed him in. Nor had he been slow to discover whathe sought. Possibilities had promptly opened up before the mental forcewhich he applied to the problem before him.
He withdrew a letter-case from his breast pocket the moment he hadfinished his communication to Von Berger. He leant back from his desk,and, one by one, turned over the papers the case contained. Finally heselected a letter written on thin paper, in a close, spidery hand. Heread this letter through twice. His face was smiling as he read, buthis eyes remained unchanging.
Finally he laid the letter down and copied into a notebook twoaddresses which had been carefully detailed in it. He read them overand verified them. One was in Kensington, and the other was describedas being near a well-known market town in the county ofBuckinghamshire. With this matter accomplished he glanced at the clock.Should he wait for lunch in the hotel, or should he run into the WestEnd and regale himself at one of the fashionable restaurants? Finallythe attractions of the latter triumphed in their appeal to hisgastronomic senses and he telephoned down to the hall porter for a cab.
Von Salzinger had lunched well. He sat back in the taxi-cab in theattitude of a man enjoying the satisfaction of a more than well-linedstomach. Even, for the moment, as he leisurely smoked a great Coronacigar, and reflected on the quart bottle of Pol Roger '06 he hadconsumed, he felt that the position was not without its compensations,and, after all, in certain departments, the French and the long-leggedEnglish were not wholly to be despised.
Such was his satisfaction that his eyes were half closed by the timethe cab jerked to a standstill outside a modest block of flats inKensington. But he was alert in a second, for that was the man. Hispurpose at all times dominated, and only in the moments of leisure didhe permit himself the indulgence he craved.
He negotiated with the cabman for a possible continuance of thejourney, and passed into the building, his alertness and activity in noway impaired by the amplitude of his luncheon.
Five minutes later he returned with a cloud of annoyance depressing hisheavy brows. He strutted up to the driver and gave his orders.
"We'll go on to Wednesford," he said, in his heavy guttural English."You must have petrol, for I return to-night by eight o'clock. What isit, the distance? Twenty-five miles? So. It is easy to do."
The Londoner acquiesced without enthusiasm, and Von Salzinger reenteredthe cab, and slammed the door closed behind him. That was his mood. Hehad been prepared to make the journey, but he was irritated that he hadto do so.
In twenty minutes the cab had threaded its way on to the Oxford Road,and, regardless of all speed limit, raced on towards the famousChiltern Hills.
Already the early autumn leaves were beginning to fall under thefreshening breeze. The hedges were beginning to lose their trimappearance, and the dust-laden leaves on the midsummer growths wore amildewed aspect that somehow matched the lank, weedy grass of the roadbanks. The roads were dry, and the fields looked dry. There was a wearylook about the countryside as though Nature had completed her summer'swork, and was eagerly looking forward to her winter rest.
A solitary horsewoman was leisurely riding down one of the tarred roadsapproaching Wednesford. Her horse was steaming, and her obvious intentwas to cool him down before reaching her destination. Presently sheturned off upon a narrow country lane, whose surface was noadvertisement for the zeal of the local urban council. It was rough,and deep in dust, with overgrown hedges crowding in upon its narrowlimits in a manner which forced her to keep an accurate middle course.
But Princess Vita was not only cooling down her horse after a joyousgallop upon an adjacent gorse-laden common. She was thinking deeply,dreaming as only a woman of romantic ideals can dream. Nor were herthoughts with the rural picture through which she was now moving, andwhich her ardent heart loved. She was gazing back over past moments sorecently spent in the heart of the great capital. Just now her wholemind was filled with thoughts of _the man_. And so she had no room forany other consideration.
For the moment the affairs which had brought this man and herselftogether were powerless to disturb her dreaming. The sweet, fragrantair of the autumn countryside was filling her lungs, a sense ofwell-being pervaded her body in the exercise in which she delighted,and so the youthful heart of her had turned aside from the cares whichlurked in the background, and sought only the image of the man who wasalready beginning to occupy so great a part of her life.
The Princess Vita was a well-known figure in the neighborhood. She wasknown as Madame Vladimir, who occupied Redwithy Farm, standing in asleepy hollow nearly two miles outside Wednesford. She had occupied thefarmhouse for several years, and gossip, supported by the reports ofthe local police during the late war, declared that she was a refugeefrom Russian Poland, and consequently one of our Allies, and so thosewho lived sufficiently near by had set themselves to be kind to her,and, incidentally, to satisfy as much of their curiosity as possible.
But the Princess was not easily available to the curious. She wasgentle, she was sufficiently ordinary in her methods of life to pleasethe most exacting of her country neighbors. Furthermore, whileprofessing some Polish religion which the country folk had nounderstanding of, in the absence of a church of her own she had readilyadopted the Church of England. This was enormously in her favor, andshe quickly became an admittedly proper person.
But even the most well-meaning never succeeded in penetrating beneaththe surface of acquaintanceship. She was credited with being extremelywell off. Redwithy Farm was a miniature, restored Elizabethan mansionof rare antiquity, set in the heart of a parkland of over eighty acres.During the war she had only kept English servants, some seven or eight,but from the moment peace had been declared these had been replaced oneby one with foreigners, retainers from her own home in Poland. No oneseriously questioned the change. One and all admitted that theconditions of Poland after the war made it a charity on the part ofMadame Vladimir to rescue these poor people from such a condition ofdevastation and afford them the blessings and peace of the Englishcountryside.
So, through her own consummate tact, Vita was enabled to live more orless unquestioned in her English home. And such peace was justly herdue, for her objects were simple and honest for the country of heradoption. She was preparing, as many another foreigner had done beforeher, a refuge in the hospitable heart of Britain for that father forwhom she foresaw the growing threat of danger.
Half-way down the winding, narrow lane she turned out through anopening which had once been a five-barred gate. She crossed a fi
eld andpassed into another, and then another. Then, making her way through asmall iron gateway, she entered the twenty-acre patch of larch andbirch woods which stood on a hill on her own land dominating the farm.
Following the narrow cart track through these woods, her fine eyes busyin every direction with the scuttling rabbits, she emerged in full viewof the quaint old L-shaped house. It was a perfect picture of ruralEngland. There was not another house in sight. Redwithy Farm seemed tobe shut off from the rest of the world by the hilly surroundings of theChilterns. The land rose up on every side but one, and that was thedirection in which the ribbon-like drive wound its way eastwardsbetween the railed-in pastures of rich grassland. The building wastwo-storied for the most part, but here and there dormer attic windowspeeped out under the eaves of the beautifully cut thatched roof. Then,behind the house itself lay the old farm buildings, all in excellentrepair, and in another direction were the heavy ancient red wallssurrounding the various fruit gardens and glass ranges.
Vita loved the place, and never more appreciated it than when gazing atit from this view-point. Just now there was the added charm of theripening autumn tints lending warmth to the scene and adding to it thatsnug suggestion of shelter from the coming inclemencies of winter.
But in the midst of her happy contemplation she became startled. Thewonderful peace of it all was abruptly broken. Round the corner of thestraight-limbed woods, to the east, a motor vehicle made itsappearance. It came on swiftly down the drive. At first Vita took it tobe the car of some caller from the neighborhood, but, in a moment, thefamiliar outline of a taxi-cab impressed itself upon her.
This realization was the startling part of the apparition, and, withouthesitation, she pressed her horse on towards the house.
Vita's hasty return to the house was inspired by an intangible dread.There was no such thing as a taxi-cab in Wednesford. Therefore hervisitor must have come from farther afield. There was only one place inher mind associated with taxi-cabs--London. If the cab came fromLondon, then----
Her undefined fears received ample confirmation on reaching the house.Herr von Salzinger was awaiting her in the drawing-room. And at onceshe realized, without having admitted it to herself, that this was thevery thing she had dreaded. How could she have admitted it? It hadseemed impossible. Her retreat was known to no one but her father. Howthen had this man discovered it--and so promptly?
The riddle of it left her troubled. She must somehow gain time tothink. Finally, she gave word to the sallow dark-eyed man-servant thatshe would join Herr von Salzinger in the drawing-room in a few minutes.Then she passed up-stairs to change her habit.
Half an hour later she entered the drawing-room, a picture of suchbeauty as set the strong pulses of the Prussian hammering, and madehim, for the moment, at least, remember only one side of the decisionwhich had brought him to Redwithy Farm.
Vita's ready wit had been active. She had decided on her course ofaction, and greeted him now with an assumption of warmth whichflattered him, and helped to disarm.
"Ludwig von Salzinger!" she cried, her hand outheld in cordial welcome."You, in London, after all this time? How have you managed to tearyourself from the paths of honor, which, if all accounts be true, youhave so familiarly been treading of late? Do you know, when I saw yourfamiliar features last night in that cab I really couldn't believe itwas you. And how--how in the name of all that's wonderful did youmanage to find me out here?"
Her assumption of pleasure was perfect. Its sincerity even convincedthe man who had come prepared for a rebuff.
He laughed in responsive cordiality. But his eyes somehow retainedtheir normal hardness of expression.
"Do not let us talk of how I found you out," he said. "It is likely toarouse--memories. You see, I have still many friends in thisEngland--of yours."
"Mine?" Vita shrugged her superb shoulders, and crossed over to themantelpiece, where she stood resting an elbow upon it. "But I know whatyou mean." She sighed a regret. "You found me through your old SecretService friends. I ought to have remembered." Then she smiled, and hereyes fixed themselves intensely upon the gross face of the man. "But Iwanted to forget that. I wanted to remember only the man who had risenby the force of his own personality and attainments to high militarycommand in our beloved Fatherland. You see, _General_, there is nowoman but delights in the advancement of her friends over the open roadof honor. The secret, underground roads,"--she shook her head,--"no,they are not for a woman's delight in her--friends. They may benecessary, but--they are--underground."
Her purpose was better achieved than perhaps she knew. At the sametime, however, she was incurring a serious risk in another direction.The passions of this Prussian were easily stirred. They had beenstirred before when he had been younger, when perhaps his experiencehad not inspired him with so much of the cynicism and selfishness whichhad come to him through the ruthlessness of his recent campaigning. Hisideals of womanhood, if he had ever really possessed any, were nowcompletely negligible. Never in his doctrine could woman be anythingbut the amusement of man. This Princess at one time had suggested tohis mind a means of advancement in his career. Now she was merely thedaughter of the man who had sought to injure him, a man whom he wasconvinced was a traitor to his country. She was even something morethan merely his daughter. She was something in this man's schemes andplans. This being so, he was left without compunction regarding her.She was beautiful and--a woman. He was a man. Moreover he felt that hiswas the power to impress his will upon her in any direction he chose.This was the Prussian who ever reckons without his adversary.
Von Salzinger settled himself in a comfortable chair and spread out hislegs, while Vita pressed an electric bell.
"Maybe," he said drily. "But those underground channels have served mewell--in the present instance. So I can't feel as you do towards them.Do you know, Princess," he went on, with greater warmth, "the sight ofyou last night left me no longer master of myself. Even then I knewwhere to find you. Seeing you again impelled me here to-day. I couldnot wait. I have come here to England in my first leisure to seeyou--in the hopes that you have at least forgiven if not forgotten ourlast meeting. You see, I was so much younger then, if not in years atleast in the knowledge of those things which humanly speaking reallymatter. Four years! It seems a lifetime since I was with you."
At that moment the man-servant entered with the tea-tray. Ludwig vonSalzinger watched him curiously as he set it before his mistress, infront of the crackling log fire. When the man had withdrawn Vita smiledacross at him.
"Tea?" she enquired. "It is British--this tea habit. There are otherrefreshments if you prefer them, and--you may smoke. We have the houseto ourselves. I have given orders. I could not have your visitdisturbed by the possible intrusion of--neighbors."
At this fresh mark of the woman's cordiality even the cold eyes beganto melt. Von Salzinger was rapidly abandoning himself to the pleasureof the moment. This woman stirred the full depths of passion in him.None had stirred them more deeply. He admitted it, and, with hisadmission, he promised himself the harvest of the power that was his.
He accepted a cup of tea and lit a cigar.
"Then perhaps you have forgiven the--past?" he said, with assurance.
Vita shrugged. But her smile was radiant.
"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 youtold me all you felt about--espionage. It is a long time and much hashappened. You have many friends here in England. Still youremain--simply the daughter of your father? Am I rude?" Vita hadglanced 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 hismeaning. She displayed no resentment, but her eyes lowered to thetea-things she was manipulating. The man abruptly sat forward in hischair.
"I must say what is on my mind. It is my way, Vita.
You know that ofold. I saw you last night with a man, a stranger to me. And"--hesmiled, and leant more urgently towards her,--"I was mad--mad withjealousy. I did not know him. I had no means of knowing him, since Ihave been isolated away on my command, and I thought, I felt convincedhe was your--lover. Ach, it made me mad--mad. So I dared not delay. Imust see you at once--at once and learn the truth from you. You mustknow, Vita, that I love you just as I have always loved you. All therest--what is it? My position? Nothing. Nothing to compare with my lovefor you. Then my first sight of you after all this time is with thatman--a good-looking man--in the car. You together--alone. Ithought--oh, I was convinced he was your husband, and I--I could havekilled him. Will you tell me of him? Is he? Is he your lover? You musttell me."
Through her drooping lashes Vita was watching him. There was a curiousmanner in the man. He was not pleading. He was telling her of hisfeelings as though she had no alternative but to accept them. She wasalarmed, but gave no sign.
She decided swiftly upon her next attitude. It must be frankness. Shemust keep, hold this man, and convince him that she had nothing to dowith, and no knowledge of, Ruxton Farlow's movements. If she failed inthis, then----
She laughed musically, a deep, soft laugh. The eyes which were raisedto Von Salzinger's were full of amusement.
"The same headstrong, impetuous Ludwig. The years have not changedyou," she said, shaking her head. "Ruxton Farlow is just one of manymen friends I have over here. You cannot expect a woman of my positionto live the life of a nun. I dined with him last evening. When weencountered you he was driving me home in his car. Have I committed acrime?"
"Here?"
There was a subtle brutality in the man's monosyllable.
Vita flushed. The amusement in her eyes had changed to a sparkle ofanger. 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 cannotbear to think of you with that man--alone--or any other man. They haveno right to you. They are natural enemies of our country. I--I am aPrussian, and you--you belong to our country. Can you not understand myfeelings? Ach! It is maddening to think."
Vita's smile was wholly charming as she glanced at him across thetea-table.
"You are going to make me quarrel with you--again. And I don't want toquarrel. Tell me--about yourself and your affairs. They are moreinteresting. Tell me of that upward path--of that high command youoccupy."
For some moments Ludwig von Salzinger did not reply. He had no desireto change the subject. His only interest in Vita was her beauty, hersplendid womanhood; her appeal to his baser senses. His hard eyesregarded her unsmilingly for some moments. Then his nature drove him tothe 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, withwell-assumed earnestness.
"Have they?" The man laughed bitterly. "I wonder." Again his greedyeyes had settled upon her with that curious regard which all good womenresent.
At last Vita threw her head up in a manner which definitely butsilently 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 passion. It was the outburst of aheadstrong man, which robs him of half his power in more delicatesituations.
"I have been relieved of my command," he cried, springing to his feetand standing over her before the little tea-table. "For the moment myenemies have triumphed. But it will not be for long," he went on,working himself up till he almost forgot whom he was addressing. "Theenemies of Ludwig von Salzinger do not triumph for long, and then weshall see. Oh, yes, we shall see."
Vita nodded sympathetically up at the passionate face.
"And you came to London, and," she added subtly, "you left your enemiesbehind you."
The man flung his cigar end in among the glowing logs with a viciousgesture.
"Some of them," he cried fiercely. Then he abruptly recovered himself.He began to laugh. The change was awkward, and the cunning that creptinto his eyes was perfectly apparent to Vita. "Yes, I leave them behindme, where we are told to put all evil things. London is safer forme--at present. Besides, does it not bring me to your side?"
Vita had learned all she wanted to know in his brief admission. "Someof them," he had flung at her in his unguarded moment. The rest of ithad no interest for her. She rose from her chair, and forced herself toa radiant smile.
"You are too deep for me, Ludwig," she cried, purposely using theintimate form of address. "But no one realizes your capacity betterthan I. I have known you so long. You will fight your battlessuccessfully I am sure. Must you be going?"
The man was left without alternative. He had not thought of departureyet. He hesitated. Then he finally held out a hand. Vita only tooreadily responded. In a moment his hot clasp smothered hers. His eyesnarrowed as they held hers, and the woman gathered something of thethreat behind them.
"It is not good to be my enemy," he said unpleasantly. "Those who makean enemy of me will howl for mercy before I finish with them." Then hismanner lightened to a tone Vita feared even more than the other. "Butwhy talk of these things? I only think of you--dream of you. And someday," he went on, still retaining her hand in his, "you will be--kindto me. Eh? Is it not so? Surely--for it is our fate. And what a fatefor 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. Agrowing terror was taking possession of her. Von Salzinger laughed ashe released her hand with a final pressure. "It is good-bye now, but Ishall 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. Shewas 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 atall. He had betrayed his whole purpose as surely as though he had toldher 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. Ifit mastered her she would be left powerless to carry through the partshe felt she had yet to play. So she resolutely thrust it from her.Meanwhile, her first duty must be to communicate with her father, andthat--at once.