“I know nothing,” answered Cartoner. “But I conclude you have failed, since you are here--and he is there.” And he pointed towards Martin. “Thanks to you.” “No, I had nothing to do with it,” said Cartoner. “You cannot expect me to believe that.” “I do not care,” replied the English diplomat, gently, “whether you believe it or not.” Kosmaroff moved towards the door. He carefully avoided passing near Cartoner, as if too close a proximity might make him forget himself. “I will tell you one thing,” he said, in a hard, low voice. “It will not do for you to show your face in Poland. Don't ever forget that I will take any chance I get to kill you! There is not room for you and me in Poland!” “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 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. “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.