"If I am sent there I shall go," replied Cartoner. And there crept to one side of Kosmaroff's face that slow smile which seemed to give him pain.

"I believe you will."

Then he went to the door. For Captain Cable could be heard on deck giving his orders, and already the winches were at work. But the Pole paused on the threshold and looked back. Then he came into the cabin again with his hand in the pocket of his threadbare workman's jacket.

"Look here," he said, bringing out a folded envelope and laying it on the cabin-table between them. "A dead man's wish. Get that to Miss Cahere. There is no message."

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 Neufahrwa.s.ser. 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 mult.i.tude 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 pa.s.sage 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.

"Good-bye," he said.

Cartoner nodded, and said nothing.

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.

"Good-bye, mister," he said.

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.

x.x.xVII

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

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.

"I know I ought not to have come this afternoon," explained Netty, with a rather shy haste, as she shook hands. "But I could not wait until next Tuesday, because we sail that day."

"Then you are going home again?"

Netty turned to greet Deulin, and changed color very prettily.

"Yes," she said, looking from one to the other with the soft blush still in her cheeks--"yes, and I am engaged to be married."

"Ah!" said Deulin. And his voice meant a great deal, while his eyes said nothing.

"Do we know the--gentleman?" asked Lady Orlay kindly. She was noting, with her quick and clever eyes, that Netty seemed happy and was exquisitely dressed. She was quite ready to be really interested in this idyl.

"I do not know," answered Netty. "He is not unknown in London. His name is Burris."

"Oh!" said Lady Orlay, "the comp--" Then she remembered that to call a fellow-creature a company promoter is practically a libel. "The millionaire?" she concluded, rather lamely.

"I believe he is very rich," admitted Netty, "though, of course--"

"No, of course not," Lady Orlay hastened to say. "I congratulate you, and wish you every happiness."

She turned rather abruptly towards Deulin, as if to give the next word to him. He took it promptly.

"And I," he said, with his old-world bow and deprecatory outspreading of the hands--"I wish you all the happiness--that money can buy."

Then he walked towards the fireplace, and stood there with his shoulder turned towards them while the two ladies discussed that which was to be Netty's future life. Her husband would be old enough to be her father, but he was a millionaire twice over--in London and New York. He had, moreover, a house in each of those great cities, of which details appeared from time to time in the ill.u.s.trated monthly magazines.

"So I shall hope to be in London every year," said Netty, "and to see all the friends who have been so kind to us--you and Lord Orlay and Mr.

Deulin."

"And Reginald Cartoner," suggested Deulin, turning to look over his shoulder for the change which he knew would come into Netty's eyes. And it came.

"Yes," she said. She looked as if she would like to ask a question, but did not give way to the temptation. She did not know that Cartoner was in the house at that moment, and Wanda, too. She did not know that Deulin had brought Wanda to London to stay at Lady Orlay's until Martin effected his escape and joined his sister in England. She only knew what the world now knew--that Price Martin Bukaty had died and been buried at sea. It was very sad, she had said, he was so nice.

Deulin did not join in the conversation again. He seemed to be interested in the fire, and Lady Orlay glanced at him once or twice, seeking to recall him to a sense of his social obligations. He had taken an envelope from his pocket, and, having torn it in two, had thrown it on the fire, where it was smouldering now on the coals. It was a soiled and worn envelope, as if it had pa.s.sed through vicissitudes; there seemed to be something inside it which burned and gave forth an aromatic odor.

He was still watching the fire when Netty rose and took her leave. When the door closed again Lady Orlay went towards the fire.

"What is that in which you are so deeply interested that you quite forgot to be polite?" she said to Deulin. "Is it a letter?"

"It is a love-token," answered the Frenchman.

"For Netty Cahere?"

"No. For the woman that some poor fool supposed her to be."