"Before you give orders, I would suggest you send your vessel round to Dorby. Our dock-master is on the lookout for you. He is lying off the mouth of the river to pilot you in to a—safe—mooring. When you hail him, pass him one word: 'Towers.' My father is awaiting you at home. We have thought out a plan which may meet with your approval."
The tall figure moved a step nearer. Again his tenacious hand was thrust out.
"It is always the same—in Britain. I thank you."
He turned and gave orders in compliance with Ruxton's instructions. Then the two men stood side by side while they watched the launch slide back with the tide. Then, as it swung about, head on for the opening, they moved away up towards the cavern entrance in the cliff.
Throughout the passage of the cave, and the long climb up the rough-hewn staircase to the mill above, no unnecessary word was spoken. An occasional warning of trifling pitfalls ahead from Ruxton, on the lead, was the only sound beyond the clatter of feet upon the rough stone tread of the journey.
There was much to be said between them, but each felt that the dank atmosphere of this cavern was scarcely the place in which to pause for confidences. This was a meeting between these two full of profound significance, even of threat, for both knew that a challenge had been thrown out at a power for vengeance, the extent of which neither could as yet accurately estimate.
The silence between them was maintained until the outline of the old mill had fallen away well behind them, and the intricacies of the footpaths amongst the black gorse patches permitted of their walking abreast. Then it was Ruxton who opened the subject between them.
"I bought a newspaper almost by chance. It contained news of some action by the German fleet—in the Baltic. It was vague. But somehow it made me uneasy. Then Vita seemed to read it aright."
"Vita?"
"Ah, forgive me," Ruxton smiled. "The Princess interpreted it. We became convinced that it was something to warrant alarm for—your safety."