CHAPTER XVI
ENEMY MOVEMENTS
Busy days crowded upon Ruxton Farlow. The house in Smith Square onlysaw him at night-time, or at the political breakfasts which had becomeso great a fashion. The affairs of his portfolio moved automaticallywith but very little personal attention from him, and so he was leftfree to prosecute his own more secret plans, almost withoutinterruption.
Apart from the affairs at the great Dorby works, his chief effort was acampaign of proselytism amongst the few of great position in thenation's affairs whose conviction and prejudice must be overborne. Andno one knew better than he the meaning of such an undertaking inBritain.
For once, perhaps for the first time in the history of Great Britain,such an effort had been made possible through the reaction fromineptitude to the splendid unity and enthusiasm of the great NationalParty, of which he was a member. He had struck, at once, before thesimmering down to conflict of influences had set in, and his decisionand judgment had not been without their reward.
So his hours were spent in close communion with such men as Sir MeestonHarborough and the Marquis of Lordburgh; Sir Joseph Caistor and a fewothers who headed the party. Breakfasts and luncheons were hisbattle-fields. But week-ends for dilettante golf at Dorby Towers, whichfrequently developed into visits to the great yards at Dorby itself,were no mean factors in the success of his efforts.
It was from a luncheon in Downing Street that he emerged one afternoonon foot into the great official thoroughfare of Whitehall. It had beena very small but very successful function from his point of view. Ithad followed upon a week-end at Dorby Towers, at which the President ofthe Board of Admiralty, Sir Reginald Steele, had given his finalverdict upon the new constructions in process at the Dorby yards. Ithad been more than favorable. It had very nearly approached enthusiasm.And in its expression Sir Reginald had swept away the final doubts ofboth the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary.
Even now, as he swung into Whitehall with long vigorous strides, thePrime Minister's words were still ringing in his ears.
"You have our approval and support, my boy," he had said in his quick,nervous way. "Go ahead, and when the time comes do not hesitate to lookto us. We shall do everything we can to support your efforts; that is,"he added, with a whimsical, twinkling smile, "subject, of course, tothe permission of a certain section of the ha'penny press."
There was still a suggestion of summer in the autumn air, but the skyhad lost its brilliancy, and the inevitable grey of smoke was beginningto settle upon the city. For Ruxton, however, it might have beenspring. The vigor of his gait, his delighted feelings, certainlybelonged to the birth rather than the old age of the summer. He sawnothing of that which moved and passed about him. His busy thoughtswere alive only with those enthralling concerns which were his. Nothingseemed able to stir him out of his abstraction until a street arabselling papers, who had recognized him, with the humorous effrontery ofhis class raised a newspaper poster for his inspection, and almostthrust it under his nose.
"'Ere y'are, governor. Better 'ave one. Kaiser Bill an' old Tirpsscrappin' it out in the Baltic."
There was no avoiding it. The boy's persistence would not be denied.Ruxton glanced at the contents bill, and a startled look crept into hiseyes.
"HEAVY FIRING IN THE BALTIC MYSTERY UNSOLVED"
Ruxton purchased a paper and passed on. But his eager eyes scanned thestop press paragraph as he went. It was a report from Copenhagen. Itstated that heavy gunfire had been heard off the German coast, andfishermen stated that a German squadron had been seen twenty miles fromland engaged in what appeared to be a heavy bombardment of some objectin the water. It was also stated that seaplanes had been seen to bedropping bombs on the same object. Another report, from a Germansource, stated that a portion of the fleet had been engaged inlong-range target practice. This was denied in a still further accountfrom the captain of one of the Baltic ferries, who declared that notarget had been visible to those on his vessel, which had suddenlyfound itself in the danger zone, with shells dropping in the waterwithin a radius of a quarter of a mile.
A still later account hinted that the whole thing was an attempt tosink a foreign submarine discovered in the act of espionage.
It was this final paragraph which held Ruxton's attention andpermanently altered the whole trend of his thoughts. The affairsdiscussed at the recent luncheon had been abruptly thrust out of hismind. His final triumph over prejudice and official conservatism seemedto have lost its meaning for the moment. The whole centre of hisinterest had been completely transferred. He was gazing out across thesea, a grey, dark, troubled autumn sea. A fierce and awe-inspiringpicture filled his focus. A squadron of battleships; the hawk-likeswooping of great seaplanes; a small, almost indistinct object bobbingamongst the waves. He remembered his escape from Borga. Something ofsuch a scene had been acted there, only in that case the battleshipshad been absent, and in their place had been guns trained, with everyspot on the narrow water carefully measured out. Was this such anadventure as his? He could not tell. But----
At that moment he hailed a passing taxi, and, giving the man an addressin Kensington, he jumped in.
He folded up his paper and thrust it into a side pocket, and, with thesudden change of environment, his thoughts underwent a thirddevelopment.
Somewhere in the west, there, he knew that a woman was waitingimpatiently for his news. He had 'phoned her of his coming, and hintedat his success. Her reply had set every pulse in his body hammering outa reciprocal emotion.
"Of course you have succeeded," she had replied. "The rapidity withwhich you have done so only the more surely points my originalconviction. You cannot fail. I shall be in Kensington until a latehour."
The invitation had been irresistible to a man of Ruxton's temperament.He snatched at it with an almost boyish impulse, determined to lose nomoment of communion with this wonderful creature whose attractions hadso overwhelmed the youth that was in him. He knew that whatever thefuture might hold for him there could be nothing comparable with thewonderful stirring which the bare thought of her created in him.
As he drove along her image was before his smiling dark eyes. The greyglory of her deeply fringed eyes had a power to thrill him as nothingelse in life could. Her beautiful, oval face, so full of a power toexpress every emotion, suggested to him the mirror-like surface of asunlit lake reflecting the wonders of a perfect life. The radiance ofher smile alone seemed to him worth living for.
The heart of the man had been unloosed from the bondage of earlyrestraint. Now it was a-riot, claiming in its freedom an excess ofinterest for its years of deprivation. He had no power nor desire tocheck it. It was as though a new life had opened out before eyes whichhad all too long confronted the sober grey of mere existence, a lifewhich had been hidden behind a dark curtain raised at last only todazzle and amaze.
Mrs. Jenkins, a hard-faced lady with a sniff, who had undoubtedly seen"worse" days, had performed her duty as only a superior Britishchar-lady-turned-cook-housekeeper could have possibly performed it. Shehad regarded Ruxton Farlow on the door-step of Vita's flat for a fewspeculative moments. Then she sniffed.
"Name of Farlow, ain't it? She's in."
Then, shuffling down the passage, she thrust her head through thedoorway of the sitting-room and sniffed again.
"It's 'im, miss," she announced, and beat a strategical retreat to theback regions of the flat, with the virtuous conviction that she hadperformed her duty in a manner which might well have been an example toa superior parlor-maid, or even a well-trained footman.
There seemed to be no necessity for greeting between Vita and RuxtonFarlow. For the man it was as if Vita had become a part of his life, asthough she were always with him, ready to support him at every turn,ready to lead him on towards those great ideals which were his.
Just now the commonplaces of social intercourse had no meaning forVita. She drew an armchair from its inevitable place beside the coldfireplace, and faced it towards the window, fli
nging the meagre cushionaside, so useless to a man's comfort.
"Take that chair," she said, with a warm smile of welcome. "You maysmoke, too; I'd like you to. And there is refreshment on the tablebeside you." Then she seated herself upon a low chair in the vicinity."Now tell me," she added, as Ruxton flung himself into the doubtfularmchair with a contented sigh.
"Tell you?" he returned, with a smile in his dark eyes.
Then for some moments he was silent, contemplating the perfect oval ofher face, the masses of her red-gold hair; the wonderful grace of theexquisitely clad body. But under his gaze her warm grey eyes werehidden. She felt the ardor of the man's regard, nor did it leave herunmoved.
"There ought to be a lot to tell you--there is a lot," he saidpresently, in a half-abstracted manner. "And yet----"
"Begin at the beginning," she helped him, and his eyes were caught inthe upward glance of the wonderful grey, so eager, so clear, and yet sofull of simple purpose.
"The beginning?" Ruxton smiled. "It makes it the harder." He shook hishead. "No man can tell a woman the beginning. There is no beginning. Itjust comes along without his knowing it, and, in a moment, he is caughtin mid-tide and borne along."
Vita's eyes were gazing up into the strong face in some doubt. She wasdemanding the story of his success. Something she beheld in the man'sdark eyes made her lower her own, and she found herself powerless tourge him further. An absurdly chaotic feeling had suddenly takenpossession of her, and amidst that chaos was a great and wonderfuldread that had nothing fearful or terrifying in it. Yet the dread wasthere, a dread which urged her to flee from his presence, and hideherself somewhere, whither he could not follow. But opposed to suchfeeling was a fascination which held her waiting, waiting upon hiswords.
Her attitude conveyed something of the emotions his words had inspired,but Ruxton was incapable of interpreting them. He was absorbed in thetriumph of his own feelings. His success in affairs of that day hadintoxicated him. And their outcome was a wild desire to go further andcrown them with the achievement of the passion of love which had setfire to his soul. He yearned for the love of this woman, and such wasthe impetuous tide let loose that there, and now, he must stake hiswhole future happiness on one single throw. Caution had no place whenhis passionate heart was stirred. Caution, and all its concomitants,were for the business of life. In the emotional side of him they had noplace, they could never have place.
"I may be mad, I may be dreaming," he cried, suddenly springing to hisfeet and confronting the woman he loved with eyes grown darker with thesudden intensity of his feelings. "I may be mad to risk forever losinga companionship which has become so great a part of my life, so vitalto my whole existence. I may be dreaming to believe, or hope, that mylongings can ever reach fulfillment. But I cannot help it. It is not inme to act otherwise. The soul-mate of a man either belongs to him, oris denied to him, as the great controlling forces ordain. Forthirty-five years I have walked through life alone. I have seen nowoman whose companionship I desired, or could desire, during all thattime. Never once in all that time have the soul-fires in me beenstirred. Never once have I longed for the warm heart of a woman to beatin unison with mine. Then came a night--a mentally black and drearynight--when the work seemed desolate, and existence a condition almostintolerable in the future. The darkest thoughts of my life passedthrough my hot brain that night; darker even than the thoughts duringthe darkest days of the great war. That moment was the one thatpreceded dawn--my dawn.
"Ah, Vita," he went on, with deeper, more vibrant meaning. "That dawncame like the miracle of every other dawn. But, unlike the dawn whichheralds mere sunrise, it heralded an eternity of beautiful dreamsuntouched by the bitternesses and contentions of the human day. It camewith a voice out of the moonlit darkness. The voice of a woman, who,within a space of time almost negligible, had changed the despairingblackness of night to a--wonderful dawn."
Ruxton turned from her and began to pace the narrow length of the room.It was an unstudied expression of the fierce fire which had leapt up inhis passionate, Slavonic heart. Vita's eyes followed his movements,fascinated yet unseeing in the tumult which he had roused within her.For her his words, his sudden outburst, had reduced to concrete formall that gamut of feeling which had been hers from the moment of theirfirst encounter. All unacknowledged, the latent power of this man'spersonality had absorbed her every feeling. He was the one out of allthe world. His handsome head, his superb body, so strong, so perfectlypoised, but above all that wonderful idealism which saw so clearlythrough the fog of sordid influences which clogged all real progress.Almost breathless she waited while he went on.
He paused in his walk and abruptly flung out his arms.
"I can see her now, a figure of perfect beauty, regal, splendid in thesilvery moonlight. The light playing upon her marbled features, findingreflection in eyes wide with sincerity, truth and passion. Vita, Vita,I can never tell you all that picture inspired in me. Suddenly I knewwhat life meant. Up till then I had merely existed. Life had had nomeaning for me but the necessity of working out that simple duty ofeffort which belongs to us all. With your coming everything changed.Life became at once that superb thing of which the dreamer speaks.Where before only the black shadows of a drear depression had been, atonce life became flooded with a golden light. It was beautiful,beautiful."
The woman's wondering gaze was now frankly held by the passionate eyesregarding her. She had no power to withdraw it, she had no desire towithdraw it. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were parted, revealingthe pearly whiteness of her teeth framed in their ruby setting, sofull, so ripe.
"But this is madness," she breathed without conviction. It was theburden of her feelings seeking expression. She leant forward in herchair, her hands so tightly clasped that the blood was pressed backfrom her delicate finger-tips, and the simple rings dug hard into thetender flesh.
"Madness? Madness?" Ruxton drew nearer. He laughed as he echoed theword. It was the inconsequent laugh which is merely an audibleexpression and possesses no meaning. "If it is madness let me be mad.Madness? Then I never want sanity again. Love is madness, Vita, amadness that is ordained, and without it love can never be love. Theman who can pause to reason does not know love. He can never love.Leave reason and sanity for the cold affairs of life. Love can know nocheck from such a course. That is how I love you, Vita. I wantyou--you. I want you always with me, near me. I want you so that ourlife together is all one. You must be part of me. You must be me. Youspeak of the beginning. There is no beginning, just as there can be noend. Love is all, everything. Vita--Vita----"
He had bent down from his great height. He had seized the woman'stightly clasped hands. He had raised them with gentle force, and, asthough caught by the magnetism of all the love he had endeavored toexpress, she rose to her feet, and permitted him to hold her prisonerbefore him.
But now with his final appeal the tension seemed to relax. She stoodthere for a moment, silent. Then she sighed faintly. It was as thoughshe had awakened from some beautiful dream. The flush on her ovalcheeks lessened, and the light in her eyes changed unmistakably. Theman seemed to become suddenly aware of the change, and a note ofapprehension sounded in his voice as he repeated his appeal.
"Vita--Vita," he cried, with a passion of yearning in the words.
The woman shook her head, but her hands remained captive.
"No, no! It can't be. It is too beautiful, too good to be real. Not inthis life. This life in which there is no peace--nothing thatis--beautiful. Besides----"
"Besides?"
Again Vita shook her head. This time she gently released her hands.Ruxton contemplated her. Something in her manner was restoring hiscontrol of himself.
"We cannot--we dare not think of--ourselves now," Vita went on. "A timemay come when--but not now. We must not pause--nor step aside."
Each word appeared to be an effort. It was as though she were fightingtemptation in a forlorn hope. Ruxton saw it. He understood, and hiswhole Slavonic passion took fire aga
in. Quite suddenly his two greathands fell upon the woman's rounded shoulders, and his strong fingersheld the soft flesh firmly. Her face was turned up to his in a startledfashion, wondering but unresentful. His passion-lit eyes gazed deeplydown into hers.
"Vita, my Vita, these protests are not you. They are the brave andloyal spirit seeking to abnegate those selfish claims which in my caseare irresistible. You--you will love me. You do love me! I can see itin your eyes--now. God, was there ever so wonderful a sight for man?Tell me. Forget all else and tell me of it. I am hungry--starving forthe love you can give me. I will not wait. I dare not. I love you withall that is in me. I love you beyond all earthly duties and cares. Tellme all that lies behind your beautiful eyes, hidden deep down in yourdear woman's heart."
Vita was powerless. She was utterly powerless to resist the torrent ofthe love that leapt from him and overwhelmed her. All her protests diedwithin her. She imperceptibly drew closer to him, and, in a moment, shelay crushed in his arms, her face hidden against his broad shoulder,the perfume of her hair intoxicating him still further. His head bentdown against it and his lips rained caresses upon it. Then, in asecond, one hand was raised and he lifted her face from itshiding-place so that his eyes gazed full upon it. Then, lower his facebent towards hers, and in a ravishing silence their lips met, and heldfor long, long moments.
The evening shadows were softly drawing their veil about them. Theplain little room had lost its crudeness of outline. Ruxton was seatedin the armchair which had been set for him, and Vita was crouchingcurled up on the cushion on the floor close beside him. Ruxton wassmoking now. He had been smoking for some minutes. Vita was listeningto the voice she loved, and occasionally interrupted it with a questionor comment.
He had just completed the story of his success, and her delight in ithad held the woman forgetful of those things she had yet to tell to him.
But now, in the silence which had followed, a flood of recollectionspread over her. She searched for a beginning with a brave desire toreveal as little of the disquiet which haunted her as possible.
"I have no such success to recount," she said at last, gazing up at thestrong face above her with a tender smile of confidence. "I have heardfrom Von Salzinger, as I knew I should after that evening in--the car."
"Ah!"
Ruxton laid a hand firmly over one of Vita's, which rested on the armof the chair. It was a gesture which had in it all a strong man'spromise of protection. To Vita it conveyed a sensation of exquisitereassurance.
"Oh, it all seems so futile," she cried, with a sudden helplessness. "Imean when you think of the terrible Secret Service which seems to knoweverything. No one in England except ourselves knows of such a personas Valita von Hertzwohl. As for my home, only my father knows that. Ihave kept it secret even from you. And yet this Von Salzinger comes toEngland and--calls upon me. The refuge I had so carefully prepared formy father in case of emergency is--no refuge at all. I believe I amterrified."
"Tell me more." Ruxton leant forward in his chair. All satisfaction atthe thought of his own affairs had died out of his expressive eyes.They were full of concern and sympathy for the woman he loved. "Whereis this home? I had better know--now."
Vita smiled tenderly. His trifling emphasis on the final word helped tobanish something of her fears. It was the reminder of the bond betweenthem.
"It is the sweetest of aged Elizabethan farms in Buckinghamshire. It iscalled Redwithy Farm, and is less than two miles from Wednesford. It isthe most romantically beautiful place you could find anywhere, small,but--I love it." She sighed deeply. "I was out riding when he called. Ihad no alternative but to see him."
"Why?" The man's earnest gaze was steady. His alert mind was seekingsomething, nor did he know the nature of what he sought.
"Because Vassilitz had admitted him in my absence. He had no right to,but--he did. I cannot--but it doesn't matter now. I simply dared notrefuse to see him, so I affected cordiality and--gave him tea."
Ruxton made an impatient movement.
"Who is Vassilitz? What is he?" he demanded in a level tone.
"My butler. He is a Pole--a German Pole. All my servants are Poles. Ihave known them all my----"
"Ah. And you marvel at the power of the Secret Service?"
The gravity of her lover's tone startled Vita. But she could not credithis suspicion.
"But I have known them all my life. They are devoted to me and mine."
"Then I should know them no longer. But tell me of Von Salzinger. Hehas found you out. It does not much matter how. The purpose of hisvisit. That is the important matter."
It was some moments before Vita replied. A fresh terror was slowlytaking possession of her. After a while, however, she pulled herselftogether with an effort.
"He told me it was to see me. I have told you that years ago he madelove to me. He pretended his visit was--to see me."
"Pretended?"
A furious jealousy was suddenly taking possession of Ruxton. Only by apowerful self-control was he keeping it under. Vita understood by thetone of his enquiry, and hastily sought to set his doubts at rest.
"Oh, but he is a loathsome creature." Then she turned to him and lookedup into his dark eyes. "Ruxton, dear," she appealed, "never, never,never believe anything but that I loathe and fear that man."
The demon of jealousy died out of the man's eyes and he smiled.
"I never will believe otherwise, Vita," he reassured her. "Now tell me."
After that Vita told her story briefly and simply. But at itsconclusion she asseverated her conviction emphatically.
"He was lying. It was patent to me. If he desired to make love to me itwas incidental. He came because he and the rest of them are in hotpursuit of the Borga affair. He is over here to fight to retrieve theposition from which we know he has fallen. What they will do, what theycan do--here--I cannot imagine. But they are so subtle--so subtle."
Again that haunting fear had come back to her eyes Ruxton pressed herhand gently.
"I think you are wrong, dear," he said firmly. "I am sure of it. As yousay, they are subtle. I am convinced his visit to you was--for you."Ruxton's eyes had grown darker, and his brows drew together.Apprehension was stirring, but it was apprehension for Vita. "You mustnot receive him again. I do not think it safe for you down there. Ishould give the place up--temporarily. Anyway it can be no safe refugefor your----"
He broke off and sat up with a start. His caressing hand was drawn fromhers with a suddenness that communicated some further anxiety to thewoman. She watched him, searching his face while his hands groped inthe side pockets of his coat.
"What is it?" she demanded, with a sharp intake of breath.
For reply Ruxton withdrew a newspaper folded, and held it out to her,pointing at the stop press paragraph on the outside fold.
"Read it," he said urgently.
She stood up and moved to the window for better light He watched herwhile she read.
"Can it be----?" he demanded, leaving his sentence unfinished.
Vita looked up at last. Her eyes were wide. A stunned look was in them.Her parched lips moved.
"Do you think it's father?" she asked. "Do you think he has got away?"Then, with a sudden appealing gesture: "Oh, say you do."