“It is upon that principle that Kosmaroff argues,” said Martin, uneasily. “Precisely; and as I was not present when this happened--as it is, moreover, not my department--I cannot, personally, act in the matter.” “Kosmaroff will obey nobody else.” “Then warn Cartoner,” the prince said, in a final voice. His had always been the final word. He would say to one, go; and to another, come. “I cannot do it,” said Martin, looking at Wanda. “You know my position--how I am watched.” “There is only one person in Warsaw who can do it,” said Wanda--“Paul Deulin.” “Deulin could do it,” said the prince, thoughtfully. “But I never talk to Deulin of these matters. Politics are a forbidden subject between us.” “Then I will go and see Monsieur Deulin the first thing to-morrow morning,” said Wanda, quietly. “You?” asked her father. And Martin looked at her in silent surprise. The old prince's eyes flashed suddenly. “Remember,” he said, “that you run the risk of making people talk of you. They may talk of us--of Martin and me--the world has talked of the Bukatys for some centuries--but never of their women.” “They will not talk of me,” returned Wanda, composedly. “I will see to that. A word to Mr. Cartoner will be enough. I understood him to say that he was not going to stay long in Warsaw.” The prince had acquired the habit of leaving many things to Wanda. He knew that she was wiser than Martin, and in some ways more capable. “Well,” he said, rising. “I take no hand in it. It is very late. Let us go to bed.” He paused half-way towards the door. “There is one thing,” he said, “which we should be wise to recollect--that whatever Cartoner may know or may not know will go no farther. He is a diplomatist. It is his business to know everything and to say nothing.” “Then, by Heaven, he knows his business!” cried Martin, with his reckless laugh. There are three entrances to the Hotel de l'Europe, two beneath the great archway on the Faubourg, where the carriages pass through into the court-yard--where Hermani was assassinated--where the people carried in the bodies of those historic five, whose mutilated corpses were photographed and hawked all through eastern Europe. The third is a side door, used more generally by habitues of the restaurant. It was to this third door that Wanda drove the next morning. She knew the porter there. He was in those days a man with a history and Wanda was not ignorant of it. “Miss Cahere--the American lady?” she said. And the porter gave her the number of Netty's room. He was too busy a man to offer to escort her thither.