In his first moment of leisure he was determined to carry out a purpose upon which he had resolved, even amidst the turmoil of the affairs he had been engaged upon. For not once during all those weeks had the haunting memory of his beautiful visitor on the Yorkshire cliffs been lost to him. He had heard no word from her, he had caught no glimpse of her since he had watched her finally ascend the companionway of the submersible to return to the shore. For the first time in his life he had been made aware that there could be a more imperative claim upon a man than his simple duty. For the first time in his life he found himself hearkening to the mandates of Nature in a yielding spirit. He could no longer resist the haunting charms of the wonderful creature who had so appealed to his manhood.
He sat revolving his purpose in his mind. And, so doing, he idly drew a copy of an evening paper towards him. He turned its pages in abstracted contemplation. Then, suddenly, a head-line caught and held his attention. It was the announcement of the completion of his negotiations with the naval department.
He read it eagerly, not with any desire to discover publicity for himself—rather the reverse. He looked to discover how far the pernicious habit of publicity might be damaging to the cause in which he was working. He sighed in relief as he came to the end of the paragraph. For once the press had exercised laudable restraint. There was nothing in it calculated to inspire curiosity or even comment. It simply stated that a department in the Dorby yards had been taken over by the Board of Admiralty to relieve the congestion in the Naval Construction yards.
He thrust the paper aside, drew a telegram pad towards him, and indited an address upon it.
"Veevee, London."
Then he paused and looked up as the door in the panelling of the room was thrust open and his secretary presented himself.
"It's the telephone, and a woman's voice speaking, Mr. Farlow," he said, with a whimsical smile. "I endeavored to get her name, but she refused it. I warned her that I could not call you without she stated her business, or gave her name. Finally she said I had better tell you that 'Veevee, London,' wished to speak to you urgently. I wrote the name down so there should be no——"
"You can put me through—at once."
The crisp response was not without significance to the younger man, and Harold Heathcote departed with the mental reservation that "even with Cabinet Ministers you never can tell."
A few moments later the telephone receiver on Ruxton Farlow's table purred its soft challenge, and he picked it up in hasty and delighted anticipation. In a moment he recognized Vita Vladimir's voice. His dark eyes smiled at the sunlit window as he replied to her enquiry.