CHAPTER XXIX
THE CLOSE OF THE WEEK-END
A sensation of dreadful pain swept through an eternity of obscurity,impenetrable to all but a subconscious emotion. Horror floated througha world unseen, unknown. Terror thrilled senses dead to all reality. Anabyss yawned on every hand, a black abyss in which stirred, all unseen,a threat so overwhelming that the victim remained passive, defenceless;waiting, waiting for the final crushing torture.
The blackness changed. It gave place to a deep, ruddy light. It was alight which inspired a sensation of fierce burning. The scorch of itwas devastating, yet the torture went on as if the limit could never bereached.
The ruddy light faded to a grey twilight, through which shot tongues offorked flame, and, with each rift in the grey, pain shot a hundredfoldmore intense for its broken continuity. A terrified shrinking resulted.The moments of respite became a period of mental torture greater thanthe reality of the stabs of blinding light.
It seemed that no suffering could ever equal such agony again. It wasliving death.
Again it all changed. The bodily suffering no longer brokeintermittently. Terror had given place to a grinding physical burden ofagony in which something approaching consciousness had place. It camewith a hammering upon the straining brain, and beat its way through thebody, right down to the very depths of the tortured soul. It wasunbearable, yet its burden seemed inevitable, and complaint seemedhushed by an irresistible power.
Then in the midst of all the torture a sound reached the victim. It wasthe sound of a voice, of voices. Harsh, jarring voices, carrying threatin every tone. It was the magic touch which brought about a vaguesemi-consciousness, and Vita's eyes slowly opened.
The pain went on, burning, throbbing pain, but she did not mind it. Shewas scarcely aware of it. The voices held her, and she struggled withall her power to grasp and hold their meaning. But the effort wasbeyond her. Only the words came, and with them a growing, unaccountablefear inspired by the violence of their intonation.
"Trapped like rats in a pit," she heard a voice cry out in thick tones.
"That door. Fool! They must come that way. We can shoot them down asthey come. Trapped? They'll pay dearly for the trapping."
What were they talking of? And why in such tones? What were those othersounds she heard? Vita remained unmoving, helpless, and withoutunderstanding.
Suddenly a crash overwhelmed every other sound. It left her poor headwhirling with uncertainty.
Then something else shivered through her every nerve. Anothersound--different. There was a clatter and bumping, and strange, sharpexplosions, such as in a vague way she half remembered having heardsomewhere before. What was it? Each sound seemed to bite the air, echo,then die out. Then quickly on its heels another followed, and thenanother. Every explosion gave her a stab of exquisite pain in the head,her aching, throbbing head, in which the sufferings of her body seemedto find a sort of dull, constant echo.
Now came the sound of voices again. But they were indistinctexclamations which conveyed nothing to her. What was that tearing andcrunching? A perfect pandemonium had suddenly been let loose, in whichvoices and biting explosions blended with the rush and scuttling ofmany feet. A dreadful nightmare of noise disturbed her. The hoarsecries of the voices were distressing. Something, something---- Hark!What was that? That voice. She knew it.
"Hold him! Gad! He's like a tiger. Smash his wrist! Only get that gunfrom him! Ah! That's it. Now--see if he has any more weapons."
Full consciousness had suddenly awakened. The familiar voice hadsucceeded where pandemonium had failed. Vita stirred with infinitepain. With a great effort she moved her body. She could have wept withthe torture of it. That voice. She must see him. She must gaze upon theface of the speaker. She must---- With a lurch she strove to raiseherself upon her elbow. For one dreadful second an agony surpassinganything she had ever endured crowded her brain, and swept through hernerves to every extremity of her body. Then she fell back, engulfed inthe black abyss of complete unconsciousness.
Three men were seated in the dishevelled saloon of the gently rockingvessel. Brilliant electric light shone down upon the wreckage aboutthem. At the far side of the apartment lay the still form of a womanstretched out upon a luxurious settee, which was built against theship's side. In another direction another inanimate form was stretchedout upon a lounge. But this was the lean figure of a tall man with greyhair and bushy eyebrows. His face was ghastly, and his eyes werestaring. His square jaw was hanging loose, and his lips were agape.
These two figures seemed to have no interest for the three men who satfacing each other. One of them was seated on a chair that was fixed tothe deck with its back swung round against the table. He was sitting ina hunched attitude of great pain. One hand was supporting the other armjust above the wrist. His stone-grey eyes burned with a desperate light.
The other men were within two yards of him. One, a youngish-lookingman, in British naval uniform, was seated on the edge of a table. Withhis right hand he was grasping the butt of a revolver, whose muzzle waslying across the fleshy part of his thigh. The other, in civil dress,was astride of a chair.
The man in civil dress was speaking. His voice was stern and cold. And,by the expression of his dark eyes, it was obvious that he was holdinghimself under a great restraint.
"This is a bad end for a man holding the great position which PrinceFrederick von Berger occupies," he said. "I want you to understand,Prince, that it is the end, just as surely as the sun will riseto-morrow. Do you grasp the position? I am not here to taunt you withit. But for your own sake I must make it clear to you. Yourfellow-conspirator, Von Salzinger, has by this time been lowered to hislast resting-place beneath the waters. For you there will be lessmercy."
He paused, narrowly observing the fierce light shining in the desperateeyes. Ruxton had no desire for unnecessary cruelty, but Vita was lyinginjured and unconscious just across the room, and he had no thought tospare the author of her troubles.
"Make no mistake, Prince," he went on again, continuing his use of thePrussian's own tongue, and fighting down his own deep feelings, "therewill be no succor from your countrymen. You have deliberately causedthe murder of Von Hertzwohl upon British soil, and for that you willpay the full British penalty. That penalty, Prince, is the rope whichawaits every common murderer."
Von Berger threw up his head in a fury of denial. The naval man satalert, and the barrel of his revolver moved a shade. But the Prussianmade no attempt at the violence which was gleaming in his eyes. Hiswrist had been smashed in the struggle which had taken place, and heknew he had no chance with these men.
"England dare not place me on trial, and condemn me," he cried fiercely.
Ruxton raised his brows.
"Dare not? You can put those words out of your head, Prince. The timehas gone by when international relations could affect theadministration of our courts of justice. Your own country has taught usthe absurdity of such a policy. We have learned the necessity ofprotecting our own at any cost--even at the cost of war. You will betried, and hanged for the murder you have committed."
The solemnity of Ruxton's words was not without effect. A curiousquestioning incredulity crept into Von Berger's desperate eyes. Hislips parted to protest. Then they closed again in a spasm of pain. Buta moment later his cold voice was speaking.
"There is no power on earth which can give you the right to hand aroyal prince over to your police," he said. And his coldness andcalmness were a triumph of the man over physical suffering.
"There is no power on earth which will stop me doing so--if you land atDorby, where we shall presently head for."
Ruxton's manner was frigidity itself. His dark eyes looked steadilyinto the other's.
Quite abruptly a hard, mirthless laugh broke the silence.
"If I land?"
"If you land."
"Will you explain?"
Ruxton shrugged coldly.
"Is there need? I am prepared to display a lenience which i
s the onlymercy you need hope for. You will be given the freedom of the deck forhalf an hour. We are lying awash. There is only a bare rail about it, arail between you and the water. After that we return at once toDorby--and the authority which deals with every common felon."
The two men sat eye to eye for a few moments. It was a rapier-likeexchange of glances. It was the Prince who yielded. He stirred. A sweathad broken out upon his forehead. His physical suffering was beyondwords. But he rose to his feet and stood firmly confronting hisantagonist.
"I will accept--the freedom of the deck," he said.
Frederick von Berger gazed out over the restless waters. He swayedeasily to the added motion of the now stationary vessel. Twenty feetaway stood the young naval officer lounging against the steel casing ofthe doorway of the conning-tower. His eyes never left his charge. Norcould he help a faint twinge of regret. He had been brought up in thatwonderful school of the British Navy in which physical bravery countsfor so much, and he knew that such was not lacking in the man whosemovements he was so closely following.
The night was clear and cold. A great wealth of stars shone down uponthe phosphorescent waste of water. So intense was their brilliancy thateven the distant sky-line, towards which Von Berger's gaze was turned,stood out with remarkable clearness.
Beyond that sky-line lay Germany--the country whose curious fate it hadbeen to breed a race of brave men and brutes, and to mould them intothe single form of a splendid manhood. To that country the motionlessfigure belonged, an epitome of those curious racial characteristics.Birth had given him the place, and opportunity the power. Thus, througha soulless intellect and courage, he had been able to help in thefashioning of the monstrous machine, as yet unbroken, which was stillseeking to plough its furrows through a world's spiritual civilizationfor its own ruthless ends.
Possibly he yearned for the cradle of his aspirations. Possibly now,now that it lay so far away, hidden beyond the watery limits, he feltsomething of the futility of the cold striving for earthly power. If itwere so his expression gave no sign. The eyes remained the same coldlyshining windows of an empty soul. The hard mouth was tightly shut, andthe muscles of his square jaw were tense. All he left for the shiningeyes of the night to witness were the beads of moisture upon his broadforehead. And these were the simple outward signs of the frailty of thehuman body, its vulnerability, its narrow limitations. The spiritalone, whatever its quality, remained invincible.
He moved a step nearer the steel rail. He leant against it. Then, forsome terrible moments, from the manner in which he nursed his injuredmember, agony seemed to supervene and shut out every other emotion.
The moments passed. The young naval officer shifted his position. Thestrain was telling upon him.
The man at the rail moved again. His gaze was withdrawn from thehorizon. It was turned towards the sailor. The officer averted hisgaze. He could not face the eyes which were yet beyond his discernment.He knew their expression without seeing it. He understood the man'sobject. This was the moment he had awaited. The Teutonic mind wassilently hurling all the power of hate and defiant contempt of whichthe distorted spirit was capable at those who had forced him to hisfinal desperate act.
There was the faintest sound of a splash. The young officer's eyes cameback, searching for his charge. But where Frederick von Berger hadstood there only remained the unbroken line of the rail.
Then a voice spoke sharply behind him. It was the voice of RuxtonFarlow conveying orders to Captain Ludovic in the turret.
"Dorby without delay," he said. "The pilot will pick us up at theNorthbank buoy."