"They are not stolen, McGrath," said Ruxton quietly. "At least not in the manner you are thinking. They were given to us by the inventor, whose property they were. But--they represent one of Germany's most treasured secrets." The Scot nodded. "Fine," he said, and the ring in his voice left the two men more than satisfied. Sir Andrew smiled in his most genial fashion. "Good," he exclaimed. "I shall be free in half an hour, McGrath. We'll go into details then. Thank you." The engineer departed as hastily as he had appeared, and Ruxton dropped back into his seat. His father was still contemplating the plans. At last he spoke without looking up. "We are committed to it," he said. Then: "I wonder." Ruxton sprang to his feet. "I am glad--glad." Then he moved round and stood gazing out through the leaded window, and his thoughts went back to the beautiful creature who on that one memorable night upon his beloved Yorkshire cliffs had first opened the doors of Life to him. CHAPTER XII KUHLHAFEN The old fortress of Kuhlhafen stands a milestone on the path of Time. Its vast walls have endured and survived the ravages of a thousand storms driving in off the sea. Its gloomy might still rears itself silhouetted against the grey skies of the Baltic upon its lofty setting of wood-clad hills. Its dull, unlit eyes still gaze down upon the broad waters of the shallow, silted harbor from which it takes its name. And with it all it haunts the primitive mind of the simple fisher folk beneath its shadows with the grim romance of the days of martial barbarity which have endured within its walls. No one would have associated modern significance with this survival of the ages. Yet it was sedulously kept in repair. It still retained its splendid furnishings, and all the relics of its antiquity. Furthermore, all the invention of modern days had been applied to add to its convenience. And it was solicitously cared for by the retainers of the princely house to which it belonged. The peasants of Kuhlhafen knew every detail of its history. Its martial story was part of their lives. Oh, yes. The information was handed down from father to son, and was told with all that care for fantastic detail in which the primitive mind never fails to indulge itself.