Ruxton's manner was frigidity itself. His dark eyes looked steadily into the other's. Quite abruptly a hard, mirthless laugh broke the silence. "If I land?" "If you land." "Will you explain?" Ruxton shrugged coldly. "Is there need? I am prepared to display a lenience which is the only mercy you need hope for. You will be given the freedom of the deck for half an hour. We are lying awash. There is only a bare rail about it, a rail between you and the water. After that we return at once to Dorby--and the authority which deals with every common felon." The two men sat eye to eye for a few moments. It was a rapier-like exchange of glances. It was the Prince who yielded. He stirred. A sweat had broken out upon his forehead. His physical suffering was beyond words. But he rose to his feet and stood firmly confronting his antagonist. "I will accept--the freedom of the deck," he said. Frederick von Berger gazed out over the restless waters. He swayed easily to the added motion of the now stationary vessel. Twenty feet away stood the young naval officer lounging against the steel casing of the doorway of the conning-tower. His eyes never left his charge. Nor could he help a faint twinge of regret. He had been brought up in that wonderful school of the British Navy in which physical bravery counts for so much, and he knew that such was not lacking in the man whose movements he was so closely following. The night was clear and cold. A great wealth of stars shone down upon the phosphorescent waste of water. So intense was their brilliancy that even the distant sky-line, towards which Von Berger's gaze was turned, stood out with remarkable clearness. Beyond that sky-line lay Germany--the country whose curious fate it had been to breed a race of brave men and brutes, and to mould them into the single form of a splendid manhood. To that country the motionless figure belonged, an epitome of those curious racial characteristics. Birth had given him the place, and opportunity the power. Thus, through a soulless intellect and courage, he had been able to help in the fashioning of the monstrous machine, as yet unbroken, which was still seeking to plough its furrows through a world's spiritual civilization for its own ruthless ends. Possibly he yearned for the cradle of his aspirations. Possibly now, now that it lay so far away, hidden beyond the watery limits, he felt something of the futility of the cold striving for earthly power. If it were so his expression gave no sign. The eyes remained the same coldly shining windows of an empty soul. The hard mouth was tightly shut, and the muscles of his square jaw were tense. All he left for the shining eyes of the night to witness were the beads of moisture upon his broad forehead. And these were the simple outward signs of the frailty of the human body, its vulnerability, its narrow limitations. The spirit alone, whatever its quality, remained invincible.