"To Dorby? Have they discovered—my father?"
The hard eyes of the Prussian lowered before the woman's alarm. Then his reply came, conveying a momentary confidence which Vita clung to.
"I can't be sure," he said. "But I don't think so. Still it is that possibility which has brought me here now. That, and your letter. There must be no delay if we are to get away. Von Berger has to go elsewhere before he reaches Dorby. He will not reach there until Monday. He will also leave there on Monday, and be back here on Tuesday morning. We must be on the sea before Von Berger reaches Dorby. Now—your letter. Read it."
His final order came sharply. There was no request in it.
Vita tore it open. The alarm was still in her eyes, although there had been reassurance in Von Salzinger's words.
For some moments she read down the two pages of the letter. Then she sighed in relief.
"It is all right," she said, passing the sheets across to her companion. "Read it yourself. He will meet us at the cove on Sunday evening. The submersible will be standing off to pick us up. And—the whole thing remains a secret between us. He has merely told Mr. Farlow that he is going."
If she were relieved there was no enthusiasm in her manner. Safety was looming ahead, but the price was no less. The Prussian's eyes were raised from the letter and a cold severity looked out of them and shone down upon Vita's unsmiling features.
"It is well. But—you regret?" His gross lips pouted under their severe compression.
"Regret?" Vita passed one delicate hand across her brow. It was a movement which expressed something like unutterable weariness. It was almost as if she were beyond caring for consequences. "It is more than regret," she said, and the eyes gazing up into Von Salzinger's were as hard as his own.