The man proceeded to close up his model. "And for communicating with you?" demanded Ruxton. Mr. Smith looked up. "The same address. Veevee, London. It will always find me." "Thank you." Two hours later Ruxton and his father were alone in the library. The inventor had gone, and his precious model had been carefully removed by the two men who had conveyed it to Dorby Towers. For those two hours Sir Andrew and his son had thrashed threadbare the situation created by the stranger's coming. And, incredible as it seemed, in the minds of both men was a steady conviction that the work of that evening was to mark an epoch in the history of their country. The possibilities were of a staggering nature. Neither could probe the future under this new aspect. If this new principle of ocean traffic were to---- But it was "if." If the man were honest. If the invention were right. If--if, and again--if. That was it. And so they had talked it out. Now it was time to seek that rest which Ruxton sorely needed. His had been a strenuous day, and he knew he must return to town to-morrow. He rose and stretched himself. "Well, Dad, it's bed for me," he said, in the midst of a yawn. His father looked up from his final cigar, which was poised in his hand. "Yes. You must be tired, boy. There's one thing, though, about that man, that's occurred to me," he added, his mind still dwelling on the subject of their long discussion. "Did you notice his speech? He didn't sound to me English, and yet there--was no real accent." Ruxton laughed. "I wondered if that had escaped you." Then his eyes grew serious. "No, he isn't an Englishman. He isn't even Dutch. That I am sure of. But his nationality--no, I cannot say." "No. It's a difficult matter with these foreigners." "Yes. But if I can't locate his nationality I am certain of a very important fact." "And that is?" "He belongs to--Germany." CHAPTER V THE LURE That Ruxton Farlow was a creature of destiny rather than a man who wrought only through the force of his own self-guidance was extraordinarily apparent. The purpose of his life filled his whole being. It was all of him, a dim light in the mist and fog of the future, ever encouraging onwards, yet yielding to him no vision of the path by which it might be the more easily reached. It was his lot to flounder on, frequently stumbling and yawning as the conformation and obscurities of the road compelled, but every step, every stumble, every bruise and buffet, added to the sum of progress achieved and pointed the unyielding nature which inspired his set purpose of reaching that ray of light beyond.