The Men Who Wrought   By: Ridgwell Cullum (1867-1943)

THE

MEN WHO WROUGHT

By

RIDGWELL CULLUM

Author of "The Night Riders," "The Way of the Strong," "The Law Breakers," etc.

PHILADELPHIA

GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1916, by

George W. Jacobs & Company

All rights reserved

Printed in U. S. A.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

The Golden Woman The Law Breakers The Way of the Strong The Twins of Suffering Creek The Night Riders The One Way Trail The Trail of the Axe The Sheriff of Dyke Hole The Watchers of the Plains

CONTENTS

I. The Danger II. A Strange Meeting III. The Mystery IV. Mr. Charles Smith V. The Lure VI. The Old Mill Cove VII. On the Grey North Sea VIII. Borga IX. The Friendly Deep X. The Future XI. Back at Dorby Towers XII. Kuhlhafen XIII. News XIV. "Kamerads" XV. The Ineradicable Strain XVI. Enemy Movements XVII. The Crouch of the Tiger XVIII. From Beneath the Waters XIX. The Tiger Springs XX. Bar Leighton XXI. Enemy Movements XXII. A Means of Escape XXIII. The Wreck at Dorby XXIV. Ruxton Arrives at a Great Decision XXV. The Sweetness of Life XXVI. Ruxton Wins a Trick XXVII. The Week End Begins XXVIII. The Week End XXIX. The Close of the Week End XXX. Gazing Upon a New World XXXI. After Twelve Months

ILLUSTRATIONS

He moved a step nearer the rail . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece

Out of the grey waters rose the submersible

"Go on," he said sharply

THE MEN WHO WROUGHT

CHAPTER I

THE DANGER

"Amongst the many uncertainties which this deplorable, patched up peace has brought us, there is, at least, one significant certainty, my boy. It's the inventor. He's buzzing about our heads like a fly in summer time, and he's just about as sticky."

Sir Andrew Farlow sighed. His sigh was an expression of relief; relief at the thought that he and his son, dining together at Dorby Towers for the first time since the dissolution of Parliament had released the latter from his political duties, had at last reached the end of a long discussion of the position brought about by the hopelessly patched up peace, which, for the moment, had suspended the three years of terrible hostilities which had hurled the whole of Europe headlong over the precipice of ruin.

The great ship owner toyed with the delicate stem of his liquor glass. There was a smile in his keen blue eyes. But it was a smile without lightness of heart to support it.

"Yes, I know. They've been busy enough throughout the war and to some purpose. Now we have a breathing space they'll spread like a plague."

Ruxton Farlow sipped his coffee. The weight of the recent discussion was still oppressing him. His mind was full of the appalling threat which the whole world knew to be overshadowing the future.

The dinner was drawing to its close. The butler, grown old in Sir Andrew's service, had finally withdrawn. The great Jacobean dining hall of Dorby Towers, with its aged oak beams and beautifully carved panelling, was lost in the dim shadows cast by the carefully shaded table lights. Father and son were occupying only the extreme end of the dining table, which had, at some far distant age, served to bear the burden of the daily meals of half a hundred monks. There were no other lights in the room, and even the figures of the two diners were only illuminated by the reflected glow from the spotless damask on the table, a fashion to which the conservative habits of the household still ardently clung. It was a fitting setting for such a meeting as the present.