e at a village some miles out of Warsaw
attracted the devout from all parts, and the devout are usually the
humble in Roman Catholic countries. Railways are still conducted in some
parts of Europe on the prison system, and Cartoner, glancing into the
third-class waiting room, saw that it was thronged. The second-class
room was a little emptier, and beyond it the sacred green-tinted shades
of the first-class waiting-room promised solitude. He went in alone.
There was one person in the bare room, who rose as he came in. It was
Wanda. The gods were kind--or cruel.

"You are going away?" she said, in a voice so unguardedly glad that
Cartoner looked at her in surprise. "You have seen Monsieur Deulin, and
you are going away."

"No, I have not seen Deulin since the races. He came to my rooms
yesterday, but I was out. My rooms are watched, and he did not come
again."

"We are all watched," said Wanda, with a short and careless laugh. "But
you are going away--that is all that matters."

"I am not going away. I am only going across the frontier, and shall be
back this afternoon."

Wanda turned and looked towards the door. They were alone in the room,
which was a vast one. If there were any other first-class passengers,
they were waiting the arrival of the train from Lemberg in the
restaurant, which is the more usual way of gaining access to the
platform. She probably guessed that he was going across the frontier to
post a letter.

"You must leave Warsaw," she said; "it is not safe for you to stay here.
You have by accident acquired some knowledge which renders it imperative
for you to go away. Your life, you understand, is in danger."

She kept her eyes on the door as she spoke. The ticket-collector on duty
at the entrance of the two waiting-rooms was a long way off, and could
not hear them even if he understood English, which was improbable. There
were so many other languages at this meeting-place of East and West
which it was essential for him to comprehend. The room was absolutely
bare; not so much as a dog could be concealed in it. It these two had
anything to say to each other this was assuredly the moment, and this
bare railway station the place to say it in.

Cartoner did not laugh at the mention of danger, or shrug his shoulders.
He was too familiar with it, perhaps, to accord it this conventional
salutation.

"Martin would have warned you," she went on, "but he did not dare to.
Besides, he thought that you kn