Part 19 (1/2)
”Ye-es.”
The twinkling eyes of Sir Andrew developed a smile upon his rugged Yorks.h.i.+re features. But it was a smile of sympathy.
”The most thoroughly unbusinesslike transaction I was ever asked to countenance,” he observed drily. ”This sort of thing, as you have suggested, has come rather late in my life. But it only makes me regret my years. But tell me again of this man. His genius, his curious att.i.tude of mind have left me rather breathless. This sort of thing in a German----?”
”Pole. There is not a drop of German blood in his veins.” Ruxton caught eagerly at the opportunity of the man's defence. ”His att.i.tude, his personality, has left you no more breathless than it has left me. Dad, I have spent nearly a week in his company, a week spent in contact with the greatest mind it has ever been my good fortune to encounter. Nor do I think the mind is greater than the soul. Oh, yes, I know what the unthinking would say. They would think and speak of treachery. They would spurn the creature who could betray the country which claims him, the country which has bestowed wealth and rank upon him. They would talk of loyalty and honor, and so, in their shallow way, prove the vile thing he must be. But I tell you there is something terrible in the demand for allegiance to a country whose sole aim is conquest in every phase of life; not the peaceful conquest which springs from the higher intelligence and purity of soul, but the brutal conquest of bloodshed, rapine, and terror. The man who can detach himself from the commonplace understanding of honor, the man whose courage is such that he dares to outrage such understanding in the cause of humanity, is something approaching my understanding of a demi-G.o.d. If Prince von Hertzwohl is a traitor, then I would gladly be branded in a like manner.”
The father permitted nothing of the effect of the idealist's words any expression. But he was not the less affected by them. However, he still bent all his mental force upon the practical side of the situation.
”And you believe this man's life will pay for his--for what he has done?”
”I am certain of it.”
Sir Andrew drew a deep breath. The a.s.surance carried conviction.
”I am so certain,” Ruxton added, ”that I offered him shelter here.”
”He accepted?”
”On the contrary--he refused.”
His father's manner softened.
”His courage is almost--tragic.”
”Or sublime.”
”When were the preparations at this Borga begun?” Sir Andrew asked a moment later.
”During the war.” Ruxton gave a short hard laugh. ”Borga was purchased to be used as an alternative base for submarine construction in case Kiel and Cuxhaven should be raided from the sea. Germany, even then, was looking far, far ahead.”
”Yes.”
For a few silent moments Ruxton's father continued to drum his fingers upon the desk before him. Then his keen eyes were raised again unsmilingly to his son's face.
”And the price? What price does he demand for these plans?” he enquired sharply.
Ruxton's eyes levelled themselves at his father's.
”There is no price.”
The old man's busy fingers became suddenly still.
”No--price?”
”None. They are a gift--in the cause of humanity.”
Sir Andrew ran his strong fingers through his snowy hair. A whimsical smile began to possess his eyes.
”You have left me more convinced than I had thought possible.”