A furious jealousy was suddenly taking possession of Ruxton. Only by a powerful self-control was he keeping it under. Vita understood by the tone of his enquiry, and hastily sought to set his doubts at rest. "Oh, but he is a loathsome creature." Then she turned to him and looked up into his dark eyes. "Ruxton, dear," she appealed, "never, never, never believe anything but that I loathe and fear that man." The demon of jealousy died out of the man's eyes and he smiled. "I never will believe otherwise, Vita," he reassured her. "Now tell me." After that Vita told her story briefly and simply. But at its conclusion she asseverated her conviction emphatically. "He was lying. It was patent to me. If he desired to make love to me it was incidental. He came because he and the rest of them are in hot pursuit of the Borga affair. He is over here to fight to retrieve the position from which we know he has fallen. What they will do, what they can do--here--I cannot imagine. But they are so subtle--so subtle." Again that haunting fear had come back to her eyes Ruxton pressed her hand gently. "I think you are wrong, dear," he said firmly. "I am sure of it. As you say, they are subtle. I am convinced his visit to you was--for you." Ruxton's eyes had grown darker, and his brows drew together. Apprehension was stirring, but it was apprehension for Vita. "You must not receive him again. I do not think it safe for you down there. I should give the place up--temporarily. Anyway it can be no safe refuge for your----" He broke off and sat up with a start. His caressing hand was drawn from hers with a suddenness that communicated some further anxiety to the woman. She watched him, searching his face while his hands groped in the side pockets of his coat. "What is it?" she demanded, with a sharp intake of breath. For reply Ruxton withdrew a newspaper folded, and held it out to her, pointing at the stop press paragraph on the outside fold. "Read it," he said urgently. She stood up and moved to the window for better light He watched her while she read. "Can it be----?" he demanded, leaving his sentence unfinished. Vita looked up at last. Her eyes were wide. A stunned look was in them. Her parched lips moved. "Do you think it's father?" she asked. "Do you think he has got away?" Then, with a sudden appealing gesture: "Oh, say you do." CHAPTER XVII THE CROUCH OF THE TIGER Johann Stryj had departed as silently and undemonstratively as he had come. The chief spy was a born master of his craft. The only matter in which Nature had been less kind to him in his fitness for the work he had imposed upon himself was in the slightly furtive restlessness of his eyes. Otherwise the ideal had been achieved. His whole air of simple inoffensiveness left nothing to be desired. Von Salzinger admitted these things to himself, in spite of the morose venom which the man's report upon Dorby had inspired.