, had stepped forward to the table, and was
about to interrupt. And Kosmaroff, who was not given to obedience,
paused, he knew not why.

"Think," said the other, in his smooth, even voice--"one month from now,
after waiting twenty years. In a month you yourself may be in a very
different position to that you now occupy. You commit yourselves to
nothing. You do not even give ground for the conclusion that the Polish
party ever for a moment approved of our methods. Our methods are our own
affair, as are the risks we are content to run. We have our reasons, and
we seek the approval of no man."

There was a deadly coldness in the man's manner which seemed to vouch
for the validity of those reasons which he did not submit to the
judgment of any.

"Five thousand roubles," he concluded. "And in exchange I give you the
date--so that Poland may be ready."

"Thank you," said Kosmaroff, who had regained his composure as suddenly
as he had lost it. "I decline--for myself and for the whole of Poland.
We play a cleaner game than that."

He turned and took up his hat, and his hand shook as he did it.

"If I did not know that you are a patriot according to your lights--if
I did not know something of your story, and of those reasons that you
do not give--I should take you by the throat and throw you out into
the street for daring to make such a proposal to me," he said, in a low
voice.

"To a deserter from a Cossack regiment," suggested the other.

"To me," repeated Kosmaroff, touching himself on the breast and standing
at his full height. No one spoke, as if the silent spell of History were
again for a moment laid upon their tongues.

"Captain Cable," said Kosmaroff, "you and I have met before, and I
learned enough of you then to tell you now that this is no place for
you, and these men no company for you. I am going--will you come?"

"I'm agreeable," said Captain Cable, dusting his hat.

When they were out in the street, he turned to Kosmaroff and looked up
into his face with bright and searching eyes.

"Who's that man?" he asked, as if there had been only one in the room.

"I do not know his name," replied Kosmaroff.

They were standing on the doorstep. The dirty man had closed the door
behind them, and, turning on his heel, Kosmaroff looked thoughtfully at
the dusty woodwork of it. Half absent-mindedly he extended one finger
and made a design on the door. It was not unlike a Greek cross.

"That is who he is," he sa