"May I convey them, Prince?"

"Why?" The smiling eyes were keenly questioning.

Ruxton laughed.

"Because I would like to make a small arrangement with him, which will in no way interfere with any orders you may give him."

"I see." The Prince was silent for some moments, pondering deeply.

Then, quite abruptly, he seemed to reach a decision. "Yes," he said at last, "I will send him his orders in writing, with permission to receive certain instructions from you. But my orders must be obeyed implicitly. Remember that. You must not change them in one single detail. Your word of honor, and I will thank you for conveying them."

"My word of honor," said Ruxton solemnly.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE WEEK-END BEGINS

Vita stood up. The swift rise and fall of her bosom bespoke an emotion which found added reflection in the light of her beautiful grey eyes.

Her att.i.tude was tense. It was full of that suggestion of urgency which straining ears ever convey. She was listening. And every muscle of her fair body was tuned to the pitch of her nerves.

Her eyes were upon the face of a small bra.s.s lantern clock. The figures on the dial were indistinct in the artificial light, but she read them with ease under the influence of the emotion stirring her. The dull metal hands were almost together. It was on the stroke of half-past six.

Her ma.s.ses of red-gold hair were completely hidden under a brimless hat, which sank low upon her head. A streaming veil fell to her shoulders, completely covering her hat, and ready to be secured closely about the fair oval of her anxious face. Her costume was a stout dark coat and skirt which displayed to perfection the beauty of her tall figure. Across the back of a chair lay a heavy overcoat of semi-military fashioning. It was thick and warm. It was a man's coat.

The moments ticked away. Vita made no movement. The room was still; a deathly silence reigned throughout the house. And yet, to the waiting woman, a hundred ominous sounds blended with the solemn ticking of the clock. The long hand was within the smallest fraction of the half-hour point. At last she raised one long gloved hand, and the slim fingers were pressed to the temples hidden under the enveloping hat. Her hand was trembling.

When she removed her fingers it was with a gesture of impatience. And the gesture was followed by swift movement. She seized the overcoat and flung it across her arm, picked up a small hand-bag and moved towards the door. Again she paused. Her hand was on the k.n.o.b of the door. She turned it softly and gently pulled the door ajar. Her eyes sought the crack.

Lights were burning beyond in the wide hallway. All was still, silent; and a deep sigh as of relaxing nerves escaped her. She opened the door wider. It creaked, and her fine brows drew together in anxiety. Then they smoothed again as the creaking ceased. Almost imperceptibly the opening widened. Then, in a twinkling it seemed, she had vanished, and the room was left empty.

As she went a door opened at the far end of the room she had left, and a woman's dark face appeared round it. For a moment she surveyed the empty apartment. Then she smiled softly. A moment later the face was withdrawn and the door reclosed.

A creaking stair set panic raging through Vita's heart. The great staircase was old--so old. She stood, scarcely daring to breathe, wondering in what direction the betrayal would display itself. The moments pa.s.sed and no sign was given. She moved again, and, in a fever of apprehension, she left the step and essayed another.

This time there was no alarm. She pa.s.sed on down the stairs, swiftly, stealthily. Only the dainty rustle of her skirts betrayed her movements. This she gave no heed to. It was always with her. Therefore it possessed no significance. The bottom of the great oak staircase was reached. Her breathing was hurried, not with exertion, but as a result of the nervous tension. She was relying on a man's word--a Prussian's.

She believed it honest, but---- A swift glance about the wide hall-place, and, for a moment, her nerves eased. The man was proving as good as his word. The doors into the various apartments were closed.

The hall was empty.

Fresh courage flowed through her veins. She tiptoed across the polished marble, avoiding the loose rugs lest a slip might betray her. Then, in the centre of it, she stopped dead, her heart pounding out the alarm which had suddenly possessed her. Voices, men's voices, had reached her. And they came from immediately beyond a pair of heavy folding doors. She listened. The sound was slightly deadened. The doors made it impossible to hear the words.

Quite suddenly she realized that there was not a moment to lose.

Without any further hesitation she flitted like a ghost, silently, towards the gla.s.s swing-doors which opened upon the entrance doors.

She thrust them apart. She pa.s.sed down half a dozen wide, shallow steps. The outer doors yielded to her hand. Then she breathed the fresh, chill night air of the valley beyond. It was good, so good. It was the first breath of freedom. Deeply, deeply, she drank in the delight of it.

As the door swung gently to behind her, the folding doors of the apartment in which had sounded the men's voices were thrust apart. Von Salzinger and Johann Stryj stood framed in the archway.

"See, there is movement in the gla.s.s doors," observed Von Salzinger.

"She has gone."

"I heard her," was the Secret Service man's cool reply.

Vita had paused only to put on the coat. Then, with skirts slightly raised, she sped on down the drive at something approaching a run. It was not easy in the pitch black of the night. But fear of pursuit lent her added power, and, surmounting every difficulty, she reached the iron gateway.

She breathed a great relief. The gates were standing open, and, away beyond, and to the right, she beheld the reflection of light upon the roadway.

She hurried towards it. An overwhelming flood of grat.i.tude and thankfulness swept over her. Von Salzinger was proving his loyalty.

Every detail was working out as he had promised. Liberty and Life. They were sweet enough. And even the price lost something of its horror under her new emotion.

The car was a large one. It carried three great headlights. The chauffeur was at his wheel, and the purr of the running engines was music to her ears. The door stood wide open, and, without demur, without word, or a single qualm of fear, she stepped within and closed it after her. Instantly the car rolled away.

A figure moved from the dark window of the unlit lodge. It crossed the little room and stood against the wall. Then a groping hand pressed a b.u.t.ton, and in the great hall of the mansion the peal of an electric bell rang out.

The week-end party had gathered. Sat.u.r.day had been spent by the three princ.i.p.al guests under Ruxton and his father's guidance at the yards.

But Ruxton had been an unimportant member of the party for the moment.

Here in the great works Sir Andrew stood supreme. His was the chief control. His was the genius of organization. And to him these men, Sir Joseph Caistor, Sir Reginald Steele, and the Marquis of Lordburgh, looked for their information upon the new constructions.

It had been a day to remember for Sir Andrew. These brilliant technical men were exacting. Their trained, searching minds displayed a wonderful grasp of detail. There seemed to be no point too small for their consideration. Thus the day had to be entirely given up to them. Nor did Sir Andrew begrudge it. He was a great shipmaster, and his pride in his yards, and all they meant in the country's labors, found him with an almost childlike delight in his guests' interest and understanding.

Ruxton stood aloof. His thoughts and energies were concentrated elsewhere. Frequently he absented himself for long stretches of time together. Nor was it until their naval guests had satisfied their desire to study the new constructions that he became a factor in the day's affairs.

It was after the drive back to Dorby Towers that he slipped into the arena of affairs. It occurred while tea was served in the library. He drew Sir Joseph Caistor and Sir Reginald away from the rest of the party, and held a long private consultation with them.

The result of the consultation was the complete disappearance of Ruxton before dinner. He came into his father's room while the old man was in the midst of dressing.

"They've met me in everything, Dad, and now I'm off," he announced.

The abruptness of his announcement and the unceremonious fashion of his visit caused his father to pause in the act of adjusting his tie. He glanced up into the dark eyes. He needed no added scrutiny. Ruxton's eyes were shining with suppressed excitement. The smile in them was confident, and the set of his jaws told of a determination that was almost aggressive.

"When shall we see you again, boy?"

There was a gleam of anxiety in the deep-set eyes. But there was no suggestion of deterring him.

Ruxton shrugged.

"I can't tell. You see, it will depend entirely on circ.u.mstances."

"Yes."

His father returned to his attack on his tie. Then he smiled.

"It was a master stroke having the two heads of the Admiralty on the premises, also our Foreign Secretary. You left nothing to chance, Ruxton."

"Nothing but the chances of the right or wrong of my beliefs."