Cartoner took up the envelope and put it in his pocket.
“I shall not see her, but I will see that she gets it,” he said.
The dawn was in the sky before the _Minnie_ swept out past the pier-head light of Neufahrwasser. It was almost daylight when she slowed down in the bay to drop her pilot. Kosmaroff's boat was towing astern, jumping and straining in the wash of the screw. They hauled it up under the quarter, and in the dim light of coming day Cable and Cartoner drew near to the Pole, who had just quitted the wheel.
The three men stood together for a moment in silence. There was much to be said. There was a multitude of questions to be asked and answered. But none of the three had the intention of doing either one or the other.
“If you want a passage home,” said Cable, gruffly, “cut your boat adrift. You're welcome.”
“Thank you,” was the answer. “I am going back to Poland to try again.”
He turned to Cartoner, and peered in the half-light into the face of the only man he had had dealings with who had not been afraid of him. “Perhaps we shall meet again soon,” he said, “in Poland.”
“Not yet,” replied Cartoner. “I am under orders for Madrid.”
Kosmaroff stood by the rail for a moment, looking down into his boat. Then he turned suddenly to Cartoner, and made him a short, formal bow.
Kosmaroff then turned towards Cable, who was standing with his hands thrust into his jacket-pockets, looking ahead towards the open sea.
“Captain,” he said, and held out his hand so that Cable could not help seeing it. The captain hesitated, and at length withdrew his hand from the shelter of his pocket.
Then Kosmaroff climbed down into his boat. They cut the rope adrift, and he sat down to the oars.
There was a lurid streak of dawn low down in the sky, and Kosmaroff headed his boat towards it across the chill, green waters. Above the promise of a stormy day towered a great bank of torn clouds hanging over Poland.
Paul Deulin happened to be in Lady Orlay's drawing-room, nearly a month later, when Miss Cahere's name was announced. He made a grimace and stood his ground.
Lady Orlay, it may be remembered, was one of those who attempt to keep their acquaintances in the right place--that is to say, in the background of her life. With this object in view, she had an “at home” day, hoping that her acquaintances would come to see her then and not stay too long. To-day was not that day.