The Men Who Wrought Part 11

What a mill-race the latter was! The man in charge of the launch had by no means exaggerated it. The little craft, urged by its powerful motor, surged through the water till the sea washed over its prow, and Ruxton was forced to shelter beneath the decked-in peak, whence he could observe the man amids.h.i.+ps, who never once desisted from his efforts on the well pump.

Then, just beyond the jaws of the cove, they entered a stretch of tumultuous popple where the ebb met the opposing currents along the coast. Here the boat was tossed about like the proverbial feather, and to navigate it into the smooth water beyond demanded all the consummate seamans.h.i.+p of those responsible for its safety.

Then, out of the heart of the grey waters, came the abrupt rising of the submersible. There was a tremendous swirling and upheaval less than fifty yards away, and the grey-green monster of the deep reared its forlorn-looking deck, with its conning-tower, its sealed hatchways, and its desolate deck rails, above the surface, and lay there, long and low and as evil-looking as only a mind filled with memories of the late war could have pictured it.

Two minutes later Ruxton had left the little launch, had stepped aboard the submersible and pa.s.sed down the "companion" to the saloon beneath the flush deck, once more to be greeted by the woman who seemed to have become so much a part of the new life opening out before him.

Her greeting was cordial.

"I knew you would come," she said, as she left her hand for a moment in his. Then her grey eyes, so full of warmth, shadowed for a moment. "And now that you have come I--could almost wish that I had had nothing to do with it. You see, I haven't the courage of my convictions. I know they are right, but--I am afraid."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Out of the Heart of the Waters Rose the Submersible.]

When he answered her the influence of the woman was greater than Ruxton knew.

"You need not be," he said simply. "We are not fighting for ourselves, so--why fear?"

The woman had no verbal reply. She regarded for one moment the strong face of the man, and the meaning of that regard was known only to herself. Had Ruxton possessed more vanity it is possible he might have read it aright, but vanity with him was so small a quant.i.ty as to be almost negligible.

Again the woman held out her hand.

"The tide will not wait. I must hurry ash.o.r.e." Then she smiled. "I must go, too, while the courage your words have momentarily inspired remains. My father will join you immediately. Good-bye and good----"

"You do not travel with us?"

Ruxton's enquiry was frankly disappointed. The other shook her beautiful head.

"No woman may venture where you are going. No woman has ever set foot there. I know it all, as you will understand later, but--no, I return with the launch. The tide will just serve us. Good-bye and good luck."

Ruxton was left listening to the sound of her footsteps mounting the companionway. Then, as he heard the door of the conning-tower above close with a slam, he turned about and sought one of the luxurious sofas with which the saloon was furnished.

As he sat he swayed gently to the motion of the vessel, and for the first time became aware of the automatic change to artificial light in the room. He knew at once that the vessel was returning once more to those depths whence he had witnessed it emerge. He gazed about him speculatively. The lights were carefully placed and diffused to prevent the trying nature of a constant artificial glare.

He became aware of the splendid appointments of the saloon, which was a fine example of the marine architect's handicraft. The apartment itself was some twenty feet wide, and he judged it to occupy most of the vessel's beam. It was probably a similar length. The carpet on which his feet rested was a rich Turkey. Nor were the rest of the furnis.h.i.+ngs essentially of the character of a s.h.i.+p's cabin. True, there was a centre dining-table bolted to the deck, and the accompanying swinging chairs, but there was a full grand piano of German make. There were several comfortably upholstered lounges. There was exquisite plastic panelling of warm, harmonious tints on the upper parts of the walls and the ceilings, while the lower walls were clad in polished carved mahogany. He sought for the source of the daylight which had filled the room when he first entered, and discovered a great skylight overhead which was now covered by a metal s.h.i.+eld on the outside, which, he concluded, must close over it automatically with the process of submerging.

But his further observations were cut short by the abrupt opening of a door in the mahogany panelling and the entrance of--Mr. Charles Smith.

He came swiftly across the room, his steps giving out no sound upon the soft carpet.

"Mr. Farlow," he cried, holding out one tenacious hand in greeting, "you have done me a great honor, sir. You have done me an inestimable service in coming. I can--only thank you."

But Ruxton was less attentive to his words than to the man. There was a change in him. A subtle change. He was no longer the enthusiastic inventor, almost slavishly striving to enlist sympathy for his invention. There was something about him which suggested command--even an atmosphere of the autocrat. Perhaps it was that here he was in his own natural element--the element which he had himself created.

Perhaps----

But he left it at that. It was useless to speculate further. He still experienced the sense of trust and liking which had been inspired at their first meeting by the n.o.ble forehead and the gentle, luminous eyes, so like, yet so unlike, those other eyes which so largely filled his thoughts.

He willingly responded to the extended hand. And the man seemed to expect no reply, for he went on at once----

"I was in my laboratory when you came aboard. Now I am entirely at your service."

"Good." Ruxton nodded. "I feel there must be a lot of talk between us--without delay."

The inventor looked at his watch. Then he pointed at the lounge from which Ruxton had risen, and seated himself in one of the swivel chairs at the dining-table.

"We have nearly two hours before supper is served. May I send for some refreshment for you?"

Ruxton dropped into the seat behind him.

"Thanks, no," he declined, "I dined early--purposely. All I am anxious for now is--explanation."

The manner in which his eyelids cut flatly across the upper part of the pupils of his dark eyes gave his gaze a keenly penetrating quality. He wanted explanation, full and exhaustive explanation. Warnings, and mere intangible suggestions, no longer carried weight. He must know the whole thing which the future had to reveal to him.

The white-haired man seemed lost in thought. Again Ruxton noted a change. The lean face and gentle eyes yielded to something very like an expression of dejection. It was almost as if the man shrank from the explanations demanded of him, while yet he knew they must be made.

At length he raised his eyes and regarded his guest with an almost pathetic smile.

"Explain? Ah, yes. I must explain everything now." He sighed.

"Where--where shall I begin?" He crossed his long legs and strove to settle himself more comfortably in his chair, while Ruxton waited without a sign.

"It is hard to explain--all," he said, after a brief pause. "But I know it must be. Mr. Farlow, can you imagine what it means when a man who has always regarded his honor and his country's honor before all things in the world suddenly finds himself called upon to confess that his country's honor has been outraged by his country, and his own honor has been outraged by himself? If you can, then perhaps you will understand my position when explanation is demanded of me."

Ruxton averted the steady regard of his eyes. He did not desire to witness this man's pain.

"I think I know," he said. Then quite abruptly he changed from the English language to German, which he spoke with the perfect accent of a man educated in Frankfurt. "But it may save you much if you begin by telling me your real name. The name you are known by in--Germany."

A pair of simple, startled eyes gazed back into his.

"Has--Vita--told you?" he demanded.

Ruxton shook his head.

"Then how did you know?"

"Does it matter? I desire to make it easier for you."

For a few moments neither spoke. The artificial light in the room had merged once more into daylight. There was again the sound of the opening and shutting of iron doors on deck above them. There were also the harsh tones of orders being given.

Ruxton knew that it was the return of the launch which had conveyed this man's daughter ash.o.r.e, and that it was being taken on board and stowed within the parent craft. Presently the sounds died away. Once more the light in the saloon became artificial, and the silent throb of engines made themselves felt. The journey had begun.

"Well?"

Ruxton had now given himself entirely to the use of the German language.

The inventor cleared his throat

"My name is Stanislaus. Stanislaus, Prince von Hertzwohl."

Ruxton Farlow did not move a muscle. There was not the quiver of an eyelid, nor one detail of change of expression. Yet he was not unmoved at the mention of the man's real name. Although he had half expected it, it came with something very like a shock.