The Men Who Wrought

At first Ruxton had been patient. There had been much to occupy him of an important nature at the shipyards. He had had little time to think of anything else. The constructions were steadily growing under the energetic hands of his engineers and marine architects. Already the promise of the future was taking definite shape. The work, pressed on at his urging, was proceeding apace. Already the completed outlines of two of the hulls filled twin slipways. His enthusiasm was growing with the rapidity of a man of keen imagination. His dreams were becoming real, tangible. The experiment was full of a promise which weeks ago had no place in his almost despairing regard of the future.

But at night there was less occupation for his mind, and inevitably his thoughts flew at once to the woman who had opened out to him the radiant possibilities of his future. No reply had reached him on that first night, and unease began to make itself felt. He mentioned the matter to his father with marked unconcern. The shrewd Yorkshire eyes which regarded him were blandly uncurious.

"Did you word it for reply?" he enquired, glancing up from the pictorial periodical he was looking at.

Ruxton had not worded it particularly so, he assured him, with a glance of trouble in his dark eyes.

Then the old man went on with his paper.

"I shouldn't worry about it," he said calmly. "It must have been delivered, or it would have been returned to you."

But the assurance was without effect upon the lover. He said no more then, but at dinner the following evening his anxiety would no longer be denied.

The butler had withdrawn. Ruxton had been unusually disinclined to talk during the meal. The keen brain of his father had summed up the reason to a fraction, but, with quiet understanding, he had waited for the unburdening which he knew would soon come.

It came as Ruxton, ignoring the dessert, sat back in his chair and lit a cigar.

"I've ordered a special train for town, Dad; I can't stand the suspense any longer."

"You mean – the answer to your message." Sir Andrew made no attempt to misunderstand him. "But where is the suspense? It was a message of – his arrival, I understand. The answer was optional."

"Optional? Ah, you don't understand." Just for a moment the trouble seemed to pass out of the younger man's eyes. He was contemplating the wonderful love which had come to him. He breathed a deep sigh. "Look here, Dad, what would you have felt like – you know, say just before you married my mother, if you sent her an urgent message by wire and received no reply? Why, in the past twenty-four hours you'd have been driving in a stage coach, or something equally slow, to find out the reason, if I know anything. There are a dozen things I could have done. I could have kept the wires humming incessantly – but for possibilities. Those possibilities have restrained me. But now I can wait no longer. I must see Vita myself and assure myself that nothing is – wrong. Dad, it's the whole world to me. I can't wait any longer. I love her, and I am going to marry her. That's where the suspense lies."

"That's how I supposed," Sir Andrew nodded, his shrewd eyes twinkling. "One has to endure many anxious moments under such circumstances. I have known them myself. You leave at – "

"Three A. M."

The old man nodded.

"I've not met her yet, boy," he said kindly, "though," he added slyly, "I seem as if I did know her. You see, you've spoken of her a lot. Well, if she's half the woman you have told me she is, I congratulate you heartily. Somehow, boy, I feel sure she is. Yes, it is as well to go – with possibilities hanging over us all."

He rose from the table and held out his hand as Ruxton followed his example.

"The very best of luck, boy, and – will you give her my love? You can leave the work here in my hands."

The two men clasped hands with a vigor such as belonged to two strong natures, and then, as they moved off to the library, they fell to discussing those "possibilities" to which Ruxton had alluded.

Ruxton's anxiety was no mere impatience of a hotheaded lover. He had not permitted his imagination to distort things out of a real proportion. He knew that their Teutonic enemies were able to lay hands upon Vita if they decided upon such a course. And all too late he had realized that his message had been an indiscretion. Once having arrived at this realization, the rest followed in painful sequence. If his message, though carefully worded, had fallen into enemy hands, the possibilities such an event opened up were illimitable.

It was between ten and eleven in the morning that he presented himself at the flat in Kensington.

On his way up the stairs he received his first shock. It was no less than an encounter with Mrs. Jenkins on her way down them, garbed in her long outdoor ulster, such as all women of her class seem to possess, bearing under one arm an ominous-looking bundle.

He stopped her, or rather she provoked attention herself by a dry cough and a prolonged, moist sniff.

"You goin' up to 'er flat?" she demanded; "'cos if you are she ain't in."

There was a sort of defiant displeasure in her words that, to Ruxton, might have been just her natural form of address, or might not have been.

He paused, glanced down at her bundle, and finally regarded her severely.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Don't see it's your bizness. Any'ow I'm goin' to do a bit o' shoppin'."

Then Ruxton adopted a high hand.

"Well, just come back up-stairs a minute. Your shopping will keep. I want to speak to you on a matter of importance. Come along."

He moved on up the stairs, and Mrs. Jenkins, used to obeying somebody at all times, followed him protestingly.

"I don't see I got no right any'ow. But wot with her bein' away, and stoppin' away, and me 'avin' no food to eat, as you might say, an' my wages overdue, an' the bills unpaid, I don't know, I'm sure. Maybe you got my wages with you, bein' a friend of 'ers?"

But Ruxton offered no explanation until they reached the flat and the door of it was securely shut behind them. Then he turned upon her with a forcefulness that reduced her to the necessary condition for giving all the information he needed with the least superfluous verbiage.

"Look here, Mrs. Jenkins, I just want a few straight answers to a few plain questions. Remember, the matters I'm going to question you on are of vital importance – very vital importance. I just want plain truth and nothing else."

"Truth! You'll say I'm lyin' next. Wot d'yer want to know? My motter is allus tell the truth an' shame the devil."

"Yes, yes, that's all right. Where's your mistress?"

The woman sniffed, while she eyed him distrustfully.

"Dunno. Ain't see 'er since you was 'ere last."

"When did you expect her?"

"Why, next day, o' course. She allus come 'ere every day 'less she sed. 'Sides, my wages was due next day, an' there's the 'ousekeepin' money. I ain't got neither. I writ 'er to 'er home, but ain't 'ad no answer. I got to eat, an' I ain't got nothin' t' eat in the place, so I was just goin' to slip round with a pair o' blankets an' get a loan. Y' see I didn't know wot to do, an' I tho't – " She broke off with a fresh sniff.

Ruxton produced some money and handed her two sovereigns.

"There, that'll keep you going. Now all I want from you are these facts. You haven't seen her since I was here, and you expected her next day. You wrote to her and received no reply. The last time you saw her she was leaving for her – home. That so?"

The woman nodded and sniffed.

"Yes, sir." The gold had impressed her.

"Very well. Now I want you to keep on here as if nothing had happened. You shall have your money regularly. Look after your mistress's things carefully, and if any one calls here, any visitors, men, or – or strangers, let me know. There, that card will give you my address. If I'm not there my secretary will take any message for me. I'm afraid some accident must have happened to your mistress. I am going to find out with the help of the – police. Do you understand? Whatever you do, don't talk."

By the time he had finished the poor woman was thoroughly alarmed, and showed it.

"My, sir, I do 'ope nothin' 'as 'appened serious-like. She was allus a venturesome one, as you might say, goin' about, an' I allus was a-tellin' of 'er – "

"Yes, yes; that's all right. The thing is, I've got to find out. Now, you see and do as I have said, and your mistress will thank you. Nor shall I forget. Remember, if any one calls for her, get their names and remember their faces, and – don't talk."

He hurried away, and passed down the uninviting stairs at a run. Two minutes later he was in a taxi, driving at a breakneck speed for Smith Square.

Arrived there, he ordered his own car, and, while awaiting its arrival, gave a string of instructions to Heathcote. Within another twenty minutes he was in his car, threading his way through the London traffic with the reckless inconsequence only to be found in an ex-naval chauffeur urged by an equally reckless employer.

A nightmare of apprehension pursued Ruxton over the switchback Oxford road. With a mind clear and incisive he had thought at almost electric speed, and planned the course to be pursued. In his brief twenty minutes with his secretary he had carefully detailed all his requirements. Now he could only lie back in his car, while the sailorman, driving him, obeyed the reckless instincts which have made him and his comrades a byword for devotion. Ruxton demanded speed, and the keen-eyed chauffeur gave it him. Heavy car as it was, it danced over the greater part of the journey with the fantastic and dangerous irresponsibility of a runaway. But the man at the wheel knew his machine. The pride and joy of his life was that he was the driver of eighty horse-power. This was the first time he had ever been permitted to test the accuracy of the maker's claims.

But to Ruxton the speed was a snail gait, and it seemed to him, on that brief journey to Wednesford, that he lived through centuries of despairing anxiety and doubts. Had these devils got at Vita? The burden of his cry was based on all the experiences of the late war. Yet what could they do? What would they dare do, here in England? He tried to reassure himself. But it was a vain attempt. He knew, only too well, the ruthless audacity of these people. Then he blamed himself that he had not insisted that Vita should have abandoned her home in Buckinghamshire when she first told him of Von Salzinger's visit. Was not that sufficient warning for any sane mind? Did it not clearly prove that Vita was watched? And, if she were watched, did it not point the purpose in the Teutonic mind to act if it suited it? Of course it did. He was to blame, seriously to blame – if anything had happened to her. He remembered Vassilitz and the inspiration his doings had awakened in him. He must have been mad not to think further – mad or incompetent.

So his feverish imagination ran on and tortured him as no other anxiety could have tortured him. And then came the relief of further action.

He reached Wednesford all too soon for his sailorman, who would have infinitely preferred continuing his reckless journey to Land's End and then – back again. However, he removed his foot from the accelerator and drew up at the police-station of the little old market town in a perfectly decorous fashion. The local chief was awaiting the car, and Ruxton was conducted promptly to that officer's private room.

The chief superintendent was a florid-faced, bulldog-looking man of about forty, vigorous, alert, but possessing no outward sign of particular mentality. He was all deference for his visitor.

"I received the telephone message, sir," he said at once, "and acted upon it. I sent a plain-clothes man out to Redwithy with instructions to ascertain if Madame Vladimir was at her residence, and, if not, to ascertain if possible something of her recent movements. The man should return now at any moment." He pulled out his watch and made a rough calculation. "Yes, he is quite due now. Would you care to give me more intimate particulars?"

To find himself dealing with a Cabinet Minister in matters of his own department was a little overwhelming to Chief Superintendent Reach, but he saw in it a possibility of advancement, and was ready to surpass himself in his efforts. But Ruxton saw no advantage in laying the inner details of the matter before the local police. If any such official aid were needed it would be better demanded of Scotland Yard.

"For the moment nothing more is needed than the simple local information," he replied. "On that depends all future movements. I will tell you this, however. Apart from my personal interest in the matter, there is certain political significance in it of a very important nature. More than that I cannot say until your man – "

The whistle of the tube on the officer's desk interrupted him.

"That's our man, sir," beamed Superintendent Reach, more than satisfied at the opportuneness of the interruption. "Excuse me, sir," he added, and listened at the tube.

"Ah, yes. Send him up here at once," he called through it. Then glancing over at his visitor, he observed ungrammatically, "It's him, sir."

A moment later a brisk plain-clothes man entered the room.

"Well?" demanded his chief sharply.

"The lady's been away about three days, sir," he said, with the stolidity of a policeman giving evidence. "Couldn't tell me when she'd be back. Hadn't left any instructions about the heating apparatus for the new peach-house she is having built. The butler believed the firm who were constructing the house were to put in the plant. He said she left after tea with her maid and luggage for a journey in a motor. Not her own car. He thought it must have been one she hired from Wednesford. I have been round the garages, but no one from Redwithy has hired a car. That's why I am a bit late, sir."

The chief turned to Ruxton, who was eagerly intent upon the man's information.

"I sent him" – indicating the plain-clothes man – "as a heating expert from a well-known horticultural firm."

Ruxton nodded.

"You saw the butler – a foreigner?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you gather an – impression from him?"

"He seemed straightforward and quite ready to talk, sir. I'm sure he knew nothing more, and seemed to believe what he said."

"There's nothing else?"

"No, sir, I think not. The place seemed all reg'lar. You see, sir, I've often 'ad to keep an eye on it when the lady's been away holiday-makin', and during the war. You see, she's a foreigner. So I know it pretty well, though it don't know me. One thing that struck me he was speaking truth was there was a tidy bunch of letters on a hall table. Might have been an accumulation."

"Letters – ah." Ruxton turned to the chief. "I think you'd better come with me and look into things. Those letters. There should be an important telegram there – if – "

He rose from his chair with a sickening fear at his heart. The chief dismissed his subordinate and waited for Ruxton to complete his remark. But as no completion was forthcoming he attempted one himself.

"If there's been no trickery, sir."

"If she went away of her own free will – that's what we've got to find out. Come along."

Half an hour later Ruxton was addressing himself to the black-haired, sallow-faced Vassilitz, who was urbanity itself in the face of the chief of the Wednesford police.

His story was exactly the same as he had told to the plain-clothes man, and no amount of cross-examination could elicit the smallest shadow of contradiction.

Madame was frequently in the habit of going away suddenly and remaining away indefinite periods. But usually she used her own car, and rarely took her maid. Sometimes she said when she would be back; sometimes not. On this occasion she did not. No, she was unaccompanied except for her maid, Francella, Vassilitz's own sister. And she, Francella, had given him no information. Madame was very secret in her movements. Doubtless madame would return in due course, as she had always done. He hoped no accident had happened. He was devoted to madame, whom he had known all his life.

Even the matter of letters in no way disconcerted him. They were all there on the hall table. But he appealed to the chief of police for authority to show them.

The chief assumed the responsibility, and they were produced.

They were examined carefully, and all but one telegram were duly handed back to the butler. The telegram was sequestered by the officer, but remained unopened.

There was nothing more to be gained from Vassilitz, and the car rolled away. And as they went, Ruxton, in an agony of painful conviction, gazed sombrely back at the beautiful old Elizabethan structure in its perfect setting, which was the home of the woman he loved.

He was aroused from his despairing contemplation by the voice of the officer beside him.

"There's trickery afoot, sir," he said emphatically, "and I'll lay a month's salary that black-haired Vassilitz is in it."

Ruxton turned sharply.

"What makes you so convinced?" he enquired thickly.

"Why, the letters. Every one of 'em has been opened. So has this telegram. Didn't you twig it, sir?"

Ruxton confessed his oversight, and the officer beamed pleasant satisfaction.

"That's where experience comes in, sir," he went on. "There never was a system of opening letters that couldn't be detected by those who know. I've made a study of it. Those letters have all been opened – all of 'em. What about this telegram, sir?"

"If it's mine, then the Princess has not left of her own free will. I'm afraid it's mine."

"Princess, sir?"

"Yes. She's the Princess von Hertzwohl!"

The officer's face had become a study. He was impressed more deeply than ever.

"Er – shall I open it, sir?" he hesitated.

Ruxton nodded.

"You may as well."

The man tore it open and glanced at the contents. A flush spread over his already florid cheeks.

"It's yours, sir," he said. Then he added in a low tone: "I'm – I'm sorry, sir."

For answer he suddenly felt a forceful clutch on his arm.

"The Princess has been kidnapped," cried Ruxton, in a voice deep with passionate intensity. "Do you understand? She was waiting at her house there for that message. Nothing but force would have caused her to leave it until she received that message."

Ruxton's extreme dejection on his return to town was changed abruptly into even greater alarm.

His secretary was nervously awaiting him. Nor could he restrain his impatience. Heathcote was in the hall when Ruxton's key turned in the lock. The young man held a long telegram in his hand and flourished it towards his employer the moment the door closed.

"It's from Sir Andrew," he said. "There's trouble – trouble at Dorby."

Ruxton snatched at the ominous paper and his eyes eagerly sought the boldly-written message.

"Explosion here at 6 A. M. Drawing offices completely wrecked. Serious fire. Certain departments damaged and had narrow escape complete destruction. – Farlow."

It was the second blow in a few hours. Ruxton was hit hard. He read into the message all the ominous facts which had been left unwritten.

But in a moment he had been roused out of himself. The loss of the woman he loved had left him stunned in a curious degree. He had been attacked thereby through the sensitive organism which controlled all that belonged to the emotional side of the human heart. A terrible weight of depression had overwhelmed him for the moment. Now it was different. Here was a tangible attack. Here was something that left his heart untouched, but roused instead all the human fighting instinct which had lain dormant within him. There was no deadening apathy, there was no feeling of helplessness. He was alive, alert, and full of battle. So he prepared for a second night in succession to be spent on the railway.

"I must go to Dorby to-night," he said briefly. Then he added, as he passed up-stairs to his library: "Get on to Scotland Yard and put me through."