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Updated: May 9, 2025
Immediately afterwards the firing began, and was taken up by the more distant boats. A bullet splashed in the water close behind Kosmaroff's oar, with a sharp spit like that of an angry cat. Martin gave a suppressed laugh. Kosmaroff only smiled.
At last they set out, in full daylight, on a high river still encumbered by ice. It was much warmer during the day now; but the evenings were cold, and a thick mist usually arose from the marsh-lands. This soon enveloped them, and they swept on unseen. None could have followed them into the mist, for none had Kosmaroff's knowledge of the river.
But they navigated chiefly by sound. The whistle of a distant train, the sound of church clocks, the street cries of a town these were Kosmaroff's degrees of latitude. "We are getting near," he said, in little more than a whisper. "What is the time?" It was nearly eleven o'clock. If they got past the frontier they would sweep through Thorn before mid-night.
She had not slept until nearly morning, and had heard her father bolt the doors after the departure of the ex-Cossack. She had heard Kosmaroff's light and quick step on the frozen snow as he started on his seven-mile walk to Warsaw. Cartoner's name, then, was not mentioned during the morning meal, which the prince ate with the deliberation of his years.
"None whatever," answered the prince. "He is a mere passing acquaintance. He must be allowed to pass. We will drop him you can tell your friends it will not be much of a sacrifice compared to some that have been made for Poland." Wanda glanced at her father. Did he mean anything? "You know what they are," broke in Kosmaroff's eager voice. "They see a mountain in every molehill.
"Yes," answered Cartoner, watching his hands, for there was a sort of exultation in Kosmaroff's voice, as if fate had offered him a chance which he never expected. Cable came aft and stood beside Cartoner. "I want to go to sea this tide," he said. "Where is the other man?" "The other man is Prince Martin Bukaty," was the answer. "Help me to lift him on board."
They laid him on the locker which served for a bed, while Kosmaroff, supporting himself against the bulkhead, watched them in silence. The captain glanced at Martin, and then, catching sight of Kosmaroff's face, he hurried to the cabin, to return in a minute with the inevitable decanter, yellow with age and rust. "Here," he said, "drink that. Eat a bit o' biscuit. You're done."
It seemed to be Kosmaroff's mission to keep them up to a certain mark by his boundless optimism, his unquestioning faith in a good cause. "It is all very well for you," said one, a little fat man with beady eyes. Fat men with beady eyes are not usually found in near proximity to danger of any sort "you, who are an aristocrat, and have nothing to lose!" Kosmaroff ate his bread with an odd smile.
But, please, do not stand," he added, turning to her. "I have all I want. It is kind of you to wait on me as if I were a king or a beggar." His laugh had rather a cruel ring in it as he continued his meal. "It is," he said, after a pause, "about that Englishman, Cartoner." Wanda turned slowly, and resumed the chair she had quitted on Kosmaroff's sudden appearance at the door.
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.
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