It was Von Salzinger. His manner was eager and urgent. It also had in it that suggestion of fear of detection which she had witnessed before. "It is the answer to your letter. I had it this morning, and would have conveyed it you earlier, but I dared not risk it. Now Von Berger is away, and, for the moment, we are safe. So--here it is. Read it quickly and tell me of it. On it depends so much. The future. Our futures. Your father's. Read it." But Vita's mood permitted no sudden reaction at the thought of that life and liberty for which she had bartered her soul. She took the letter, and, before opening it, her eyes searched the square features of the well-dined man before her. Her regard was sufficiently cold. "Where has Von Berger gone?" she demanded. "To Dorby." In a moment the coldness had left Vita's eyes. She was caught again in the hot tide of alarm. "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. The man drew a whistling breath. He realized. "I believe you hate me," he cried. Vita shrugged. "Hate? You are about to give me back my life."