The other two said nothing. Silently they obeyed the orders of the skipper, who made for the mouth of the Schelde again.
They made no attempt to save her. It would have been a useless task.
XXXI
THE STOLEN DOCUMENT
The last ordinary train to Antwerp had gone long before Heideck reached the station. But a short interview with the railway commissioner sufficed, and an engine was at once placed at the Major’s disposal. When he had mounted to the stoker’s place the station-master saluted and signalled to the driver to start. For a moment Heideck felt a sharp pain in his heart like a knife when the grinding engine started. It was his life’s happiness that he was leaving behind him for ever. A dull, paralysing melancholy possessed his soul. He seemed to himself to be a piece of lifeless mechanism, like the engine puffing ceaselessly onwards, subject and blindly obedient to the will of another. All his actions were decided, no longer by his own resolutions, but by an inexorable, higher law—by the iron law of duty. He was no longer personally free nor personally responsible. The way was marked out for him as clearly and distinctly as the course of the engine by the iron lines of rails. With tightly compressed lips he looked fixedly before him. What lay behind was no longer any concern of his. Only a peremptory “Forward” must henceforth be his watchword.
About six o’clock in the morning he stood before the royal castle on the Place de Meix, where the Prince-Admiral had fixed his quarters, King Leopold having offered him the castle to reside in.
In spite of the early hour Heideck was at once conducted to the Prince’s study.
“Your Royal Highness,” said Heideck, “I have a report of the utmost importance to make. These orders of the English Admiralty have fallen into my hands.”
The Prince motioned him to a seat by his desk. “Be good enough to read the orders to me, Herr major.”