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Las diagrammas suivants illustrant la m«thoda. 1 2 3 4 5 6 ««aOCOrY RESOLUTION TBT CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 3.2 3.6 r 12.0 1.8 A /APPLIED IN/MGE 1653 East Main Street Rochester, New York 1 4609 USA (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288-5989 -Fox A AHliXUMa .■ >*...,.t/«l*.,,|^^ ^ y^^y y ,^ P||y^^ ,^^ . jT^" MERRIMAN Wl7.vu/)«MaVvSM«l(IK««v-r»u«a>^^ - 11 THE VULTURES THE VULTURES BY H. S. MERRIMAN Al'TIIOR OK •tHK ,0WKR8." -the ,8L, OF IMUftT." " ,N KE..AKH TMn,.' "rrilC VILVIT OLOVB." OTC., ISTL. ■•(Jontlemen, let us have no more dreams.' Alkxanokr II, at H-artau: TORONJO THE COPP, CL.4RK COMPANY, LIMITED All rigktt renerved £5 228538 I CONTENTS. CBIRU I. All at Sea ••• • a. PAOI I II. Signal HorsE , ... ... 10 m. A Spertautt ... ... ... ... 19 IV. Two OF A Tbade ... t •.. ... 28 V. An Old Acquaimtancb ... ... ... ... S8 VI. The Vdltubes ... . •.. ... 47 vn. At the Fbontieb ... ... ... 56 VIIL In a Behote City ... . ... ... C6 IX. The Sakd Wokkeus ... • • . ... 75 X. A WABNisa * ... ... 83 XI. An Aqreemext— to differ ... ... ... 92 XII. Cabtoneb t. Fate ... . ... ... 101 XIII. The Wheels op Chance ... ••• ... 110 XIV. Sentenced... , «.. ... 119 XV. A Tale Half told ... ... ... 128 XVI. Much— OB Nothixo... . . •.. ... 137 XVII. In the SENATOnSEA ... ... ... 145 xvin. Jobeph's Stobt . •.• ... 155 XIX. The High-wateb Mabk ... ... ... 164 XX. A Lioht Touch ... . ... ... 178 XXL A Clear Undebstandxng ... ... ... 182 VI CONTENTS. CHAPTEB XXII. The White Peatheb #•• ... r*oa 191 XXIII. C«UB Volant ... .. ... 200 XXIV. In the West India Dock Road ... 209 XXV. The CAirrAiN's Stort ... .. ... 219 XXVI. In the Spbinq ... ... ... 228 XXVII. A Sacmfice ... •»• ... ... 237 XXVIII. In the Pinewoods •a* ... 246 XXIX. In a Bt-wat ... ... ... 255 XXX. The QriET City ... ... ... 265 XXXI. The Pathenx ... . .. ... 274 XXXII. A LOVE-LEITEB ... ... ... 283 XXXIII. This Ice ... ... ... 293 XXXIV. Fob Anothfs Time ... 302 XXXV. Across the Prontieb ... ... ... 311 XXXVI. Captain Cable boils his HaSD3 ... 321 XXXVII. TriE Pabtino or the Ways ... ... 332 r THE VDLTUEES. CHAPTER I. ALL AT SEA. Mr. Joseph P. Mangles, at his ease in a deck-chair on the broad Atlantic, was smoking a most excellent cigar Mr. Mangles was a taU, thin man, who carried his head in the manner curJy known at a girls' school as " poking." He was a clean-shaven man, with bony forehead, sunken cheeks, and an underhung mouth. His attitude towards the world was one of patient disgust. He had the air of pushing his way, chin first, doggedly through life. The weather had been bad, and was now moderating. But Mr. Mangles had not suflfered from sea-sickness. He was a dry, hard person, who suffered from nothing but chronic dyspepsia ; had suffered from it for fifty years or so. " Fine weather," he said. " Women will be coming on deck— hang the fine weather." And his voice was deep and low like a growl. "Joseph." said Miss Mangles, "growls over his meals like a dog." The -mark about the weather and the women was B THE VULTURES. addressed to a raan wbo leant against the rail. Indeed, there was no one else near : and the man made no reply. He was twenty-five or thirty years younger than Mr. Mangles, and looked like an Englishman, bat not aggressively so. The large majority of Britons are offensively British. Germans are no better ; so it must be racial, this offensiveness. A Frenchman is at his worst, only comically French — a matter of a smile ; but Teutoiic characteristics are con- ducive to hostility. The man who leant against the rail near to Joseph P. Mangles was six feet high, and rather heavily built, hue, like many big men, he seemed to take up no more than his due share cf room in this crowded world. There was nothing distinctive about his dress. His demeanour was quiet. When ho spoke he was habitually asked to repeat his remark, which he did, with patience, in the same soft inaudible voice. There were two men on board this great steamer, who were not business men — Joseph P. Mangles and Beginald Cartoner; and, like two ships on a sea oi commercial interests, they had drifted together during the four days that had elapsed since their departure from New York. Neither made anything, nor sold anything, nor had a card in his waistcoat pocket ready for production at a moment's notice, setting forth na^e and address and trade. Neither was to be suspected of a desire to repel advances, and yet both were difficult to get on with. For human confidences must be jtiutual. It is only to God that man can continue telling, telling, telling ; and obtaiuing never a word in return. These two men had nothing to tell their fellows about themselves ; so the other passengers drifted away into those closely linked corporations characteristic of steamer life and left them to themselves— to each other. ALL AT SEA. 8 Aud they had never said things to each other— had never, as it were, gone deeper than the surface of their daily life. ^ Cartonor was a dreamy man, with absorbed eyes, inther deeply sunk under a strong forehead. Hif, eyelids had that peculiarity which is rarely seen in the fac(i of a man who is a nonentity. They were quite straight, £,nd cut across the upper curve of the pupU. This gave a direct, stern look to dreamy eyee, which was odd. After a pause, he turned slowly, and looked down at his companion with a vague interrogation in his glance. He seemed to be wondering whether Mr. Mangles had spoken. And Mangles met the glance with one of steady refusal to repeat his remark. But Mangles spoke first after all. "Yes," he said, "the women will be on deck soon— and my sister Jooly. You don't know Jooly ? " He spoke with a slow and pi- «ant American accent. " I saw you speaking to a young lady in the saloon aiwcr luncheon," said Cartoner. « She had a blue ribbon round her throat. She was pretty '* •'That wasn't Jooly," said Mr. Mangles, without hesitation. " Who was it ? " asked Cartoner, witli the simple direct- ness of those who have no self-consciousness— who are absorbed, but not in themselves, as are the majority of men and women. " My niece, Netty Cahere.'* " She is pretty," said Cartoner, with a spontaneity which would have meant much to feminine ears. " You'U fall in love with her," said Mangles, lugubriously. " They all do. She says she can't help it." Cartoner looked ,t him, as one who has cars, but hears not. He made no reply. THE VULTURES. "Distresses her very much," concluded Mangles, dex- terously shifting his cigar by a movement of the tongue from the port to the starboard side of his mouth. Cartoncr did not seem to be very much interested in Miss Netty Cahere. He was a man having that air of detachment from present environments which is apt to arouse curiosity in the human heart, more especially in feminine hearts. People wanted to know what there was in Oartoner's past that gave him so much to think about in the present The two men had not spoken again, when Miss Netty Cahere came on deck. She was accompanied by the fourth officer, a clean built, cleai-shaven young ?i); i, who lost his heart every time he crossed the Atlantic. He was speaking rather earnestly to Miss Cahere, who listened with an expression of puzzled protest on her pretty face. She had wondering, blue eyes, and a complexion of the most delicate pink and white which never altered. She was slightly built, ard carried herself in a subtly deprecating manner, as if her own opinion of herself were small, and she wished the world to accept her at that valuation. Sho made no sign of having perceived her uncle, but nevertheless dismissed the fourth officer, who reluctantly mounted the ladder to the bridge, looking back as he went. Mr. Mangles threw his cigar overboard. *' She don't like smoke," he growled. Cartoner looked at the cigar, and absent-mindedly threw his cigarette after it. He had apparently not made up his mind whether to go or stay, when Miss Cahere approached her uncle, without appearing to notice that he was not alone. " I suppose," she said, *• that that was one of the officers of the ship, though he was very young — quite a boy. He was telling me about his mother. It must be terrible to have a near relation a sailor." ALL AT BEA. 5 She spoke in a gentle voice, and it was evident that she had a heart full of sympathy for the suffering and the poor. "I wish some of my relations were sailors," replied ilr. Mangles, in his deepest tones. " Could spare a whole crew. Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Cartoner—Miss Cahere." He completed the introduction with an old-fashioned and ceremonious wave of the hand. Miss Cahere smiled rather shyly on Cartoner, and it was his eyes that turned away first. "You have not been down to meals," he said, in his gentle, abrupt way. •' No ; but I hope to come now. Are there many people ? Have you friends on board ? " " There are very few ladies. I know none of them." •' But I dare say some of them are nice," said Miss Cahere, who evidently thought well of human nature. "Very likely." And Cartoner lapsed into his odd and somewhat discon- certing thoughtfulness. Miss Cahere continued to glance at him Ijcneath her dark lashes— dark lashes around blue eves— with a guileless and wondering admiration. He certainly was a very good- looking man, well set up, with that quiet air which bespeaks good breeding. " Have you seen the ship on the other side ? " she asked after a pause ; " a sailing ship. You cannot see it from here." As she spoke she made a little movement, as if to show him the spot from whence the ship was visible. Cartoner foUowed her meekly, and Mr. Mangles, left behind in hia deck-chair, sought his cigar-case. " There," said Miss Cahere, pointing out a sail on the 6 THE VULTURES. distant horizon. " One can hardly sec it now. When I first came on deck it was much nearer. That ship's officer pointed it ont to mc." Cartoner looked at the ship without mnch enthnsiasm. *' I think," said Miss Cahero, in a lower voice — she had a rather confidential manner — " I think sailors are very nice, don't you ? Bat . , . well, I suppose one ought not to say that, ought one ? " " It depends upon what yon were going to say." Miss Cahere langhed, and made no reply. Her laugh and a glance seemed, however, to convey the comfortable assurance that whatever she had been about to say would not have been applicable to Cartoner himself. She glanced at his trim, upright figure. •• I think I prefer soldiers," she said, thoughtfully. Cartoner murmured something inaudible, and continued to gaze at the ship he had been told to look at. *' Did you know my uncle before you came on board, or were you bravo enough to force him to speak ? He is so silent, you know, that most people are afraid of him. I supposr. you had met him before." " No. It was a mere accident. "Wc were neither of ns ill. We were both hungry, and hurried down to a meal. And the stewards placed us next to each other." Which was a long explanation, without much information in it. " Oh, I thought perhaps you were in the diplomatic service," said Miss Cahere, carelessly. For an instant Cartoner's eyes lost all their vagueness. Either Miss Cahere had hit the mark with her second shot, or else he was making a mental note of the fact that Mr. Mangles belonged to that amiable body of amateurs, the American Diplomatic Corps. ALL AT SEA. HI Mr. Mangles had naturally selected the leeward side of the deck-honsc for his scat, and Miss Cahero had brought Certoner ronnd to the weather side, where a cold, Atlantic bri>eze made the position nntenable. Without explanation, and for her own good, he led the way to a warmer quarter. But at the comer of the deck-house a gust caught Mian Cahere, and held her there in a pretty attitude, with her two hands upraised to her hat, looking at him with frank and laughing eyes, and waiting for him to come to her assistance. The same gust of wind made the steamer lurch so that Cartoner had to grasp Miss Cahcrc's arm to save her from falling. " Thank you," she said quietly ; and with downcast eyes, when the incident had passed. For in some matters she held old-fashioned notions, and was not one of the modern race of hail-fellow-well-met girh» who are friendly in L,'c minutes with men and women alike. When she came within sight of her uncle, she suddenly hurried towards him, and made an affectionate, laughing attempt to prevent his returning his cigar-case to his jacket pocket. She even took possession of the cigar-case, opened it, and with her own fingers selected a cigar. " No," she said firmly, "you are going to smoke again at once. Do you think I did not see you throw away the other ? Mr. Cartoner— is it not foolish of him ? Because I once said, without reflecting, that I did not care about the smell of tobacco, he never lets me see him smoke now. »» As she spoke she laid her hand affectionately on the old man's shoulder and looked down at him. "As if it mattered whether I like it or not," she said. " And I do like it— I like the smell of your cigars." Mr. Mangles looked from Cartoner to his niece with an 8 THE VULTURES. It .. ii odd smile, which was perhaps the only way ia which that lean countenance could express tendemr as. "As if it mattered what I think," she said hnmblj again. "Always like to conciliate a lady," said Mr. Mangles, iu his deep voice. " Especially when that lady is dependent on you for her daily broiid, and her frocks," answered Netty, in an affec- tionate aside, which Cartoner was, nevertheless, able to overhear. "Where ib your aunt Jooly?" inquired the old man, hurriedly. " I thought she was coming on deck." " So she is," answered Netty. ♦' I left her in the saloon. She ia quite well. She was talking to some people." " What, already ? " ejaculated the lady's brother. And Netty nodded her head with a mystic gravity. She was looking towards the saloon stairway, from whence she seemed to expect Miss Mangles. •^My sister Jooly, sir," explained Mr. Mangles to Car- toner, " li no doubt known to you— Miss Julie P. Manjfles of N< w York City." Cartoner tried to look as if he had heard the name before. He had lived in the United States during some months, and he knew that it ia possible to be famous in New York, and quite without honour in Connecticut. " Perhaps she has not come into your line of country ? " suggested Mr. Mangles, not unkindly. " No— I think not." " Her line is— at present— Prisons." " I have never been in prison," replied Cartoner. " No doubt you will gain experience in course of time," said Mr. Mangles, with his deep, curt laugh. " No, sir, my sister is a lecturer. She gets on platforms and talks." ALL AT SEA. 9 "What aboat ? " asked Cartoner. Mr. Mangles described the wide world, with a graceful vrare of his cigar. " About most things," he answered gravely 5 " chiefly about women, I take it. She is great on the employment of women, and the payment of theai. And she is rigbt there. She has got hold of the right end of the stick there. She has found out what very few women know — namely, that whin women work for nothing, they are giving away sometliing that nobody wants. So Jooly goes about the world lecturing on women's employment, and pointing out to the public and the Administration many ways in which women may be profitably employed and paid. She leaves it to the gumption of the Government to dis- cover for themselves that there is many a nice berth for \\hich Jooly P. Mangles is eminently suited, but Govern- ments have no gumption, sir. And " " Here is aunt Julie," interrupted Miss Cahere, walking away. Mr. Mangles gave a short sigh, and lapsed into silence. As Miss Cahere went forward, she passed another oi < er of the ship, the second in command, a dogged, hravy man, whose mind was given to the ship and his own career. He must have seen something to interest him in Netty Cahere's face— perhaps he caught a glance from the dark-lashed eyes— for he turned and looked ut her again, with a sudden, dull light in his face. yf 10 THE VULTUBES. CHAPTER II. SIGNAL HOUSE. WmiRE Gravesend merges into Northfleet— whore the spicy odours of chemical-fertilizing works mingle with the dry dust of the cement manufactories which throw their tall chimneys into an ever-grey sky— there stands a house known as the Signal House. Why it is so-called no one knows and very few care to inquire. It is presumably a square house of the Jacobean period — presumably, because it is so hidden by trees, so wrapt in grimy ivy, so dust- laden and so impossible to get at, that its outward form is no longer to be perceived. It is within sound of the bells that jingle dismally on the heads of the tram-car horses, plying their trade on the high road, and yet it is haunted. Its two great iron gates stand on the very pavement, and they are never opened. Indeed, a generation or two of painters have painted them shut, and grime and dirt have laid their seals upon the hinges. A side gate gives entrance to such as come on foot. A door in the wall, up an alley, is labelled Tradesman's Entrance, but the tradesmen never linger there. No merry milkman leaves the latest gossip with his thm blue milk on that threshold. The butcher's chariot wheels never tarry at the comer of the alley. Indeed, the local butcher ♦..v- SIGNAL HOUSE. 11 has no chariot. His clients mostly come in a shawl, and take their purchases away with them, wrapped in a donbtfnl newspaper beneath its folds. The better-class buyers wear a cloth cricketing cap, coqucttishly attached to a knob of hail by a hat pin. The milkman, moreover, is not a merry man, hurrying on his rounds. He goes slowly and pessimistically, waiting for the halfpenny before he tips his measure. This, in a word, is a poor district, where no one wonld live if he could live elsewhere, with the Signal House stranded in the midst of it— a noble wreck on a barren, social shore. For the Signal House was once a family mansion ; later it was described as a riverside residence, then as a quaint and interesting demesne. Finally, its price fell with a crash, and an elderly lady of weak intellect was sent by her relations to live in it, with two servants, who were frequently to be met in Gravesend in the evening hours, what time it is to be presumed the elderly lady of weak intellect was locked in the Signal House alone. But the house never had a ghost. Haunted houses very seldom have. The ghost was the mere invention of some kitchen- maid. Haunted or no, the house stood empty for years, until suddenly a foreigner took it — a Russian banker, it was understood. A very nice, pleasant-spoken little gentleman this foreigner, who liked quiet and the river view. He was quite as broad as he was long, though he was not preposterously stout. There was nothing mysterious about him. He was well known in thfi City. He had merely mistaken an undesirable suburb for a desirable one, a very easy mistake for a foreigner tc make ; and he was delighted at the cheapness of the house, the greenness of the old lawn, the height of the grimy trees within the red-brick wall. II liili 12 THE VULTURES. He lived there all one sammer, and the cement smoke got into his throat in the autumn and gave him asthma, for which complaint he had obviously been designed by Provi- dence, for he had no neck. He used the Signal House occasionally from Saturday till Monday. Then he gave it up altogether, and tried to sell it. It stood empty for some years, while the Russian banker extended his business and lived virtuously elsewhere. Then he suddenly began using the house again as a house of recreation, and brought his foreign servants, and his forei/ri friends and their foreign servants, to stay from Saturdiy till Monday. And all these persons behaved in an odd. Continental way, and played bowls on the lawn at the back of the house on Sundays. The neighbours could hear them but could see nothing, owing to the thickness of the dusty trees and the height of the old brick wall. But no one worried much about the Signal House ; for they were a busy people who lived all around, and had to earn their living, in addition to the steady and persistent assuagement of a thirst begotten of cement-dust and the pungent smell of bone-manure. One or two local amateurs had made sure of the fact that there was nothing in the house that would repay a burglarious investigation, which, added to the fact that the police-station is only a few doors off, tended to allay a natural curiosity as to the foreign gentleman's possessions. When he came he drove in a close cab from Gravesend Station, and he usually told the cabman when his services would again be required. He came thus with three friends one summer afternoon, some years ago, and came without luggage. The servants, who followed in a second cab, carried some parcels, presumably of refreshments. These grave gentlemen were, it appeared, about to enjoy a picnic SIGNAL HOUSE. 13 at the Signal House— possibly a tea-picnic in the Russian fashion. The afternoon was fine, and the gentlemen walked in the garden at the back of the house. They were walking thus when another cab stopped at the closed iron gate, and the banker hurried, as fast as his build would allow, to open the side door and admit a seafaring man, who seemed to know his bearings. " Well, mister," he saitl, in a northern vjice, " another of your Vttle jobs?" The two men shook hands, and the banker paid the cab- man. When the vehicle had gone t'>c host turned to his guest and replied to the question. "Yes, my fren'," he said, "another of my little jobs. I hope you are well. Captain Cable ? " But Captain Cable was not a man to waste words over the social conventions. He was obviously well— as well as a hard, sea-faring life will make a man who lives simply and works hard. He was a short man, with a red face washed very clean, and very well shaven, except for a little piece of beard left fantastically at the base of his chin. His eyes were blue and bright, like gimlets. He may have had a ^nft heart, but it was certainly hidden beneath a hard exterior. He wore a thick coat of blue pilot-cloth, not because the July day was cold, but because it was his best coat. His hat was carefully brushed and of hard black felt. It had perhaps been the height of fashion in Sunderland five years earlier. He wore no gloves- Captain Cable drew the line there. As for the rest, he had put on that which he called his shore-going rig. " And yourself ? " he answered, mechanically. "I am very well, thank you," replied the pohte banker, who, it will have been perceived, was nameless to Captain 14 THE VULTORES. Cable, as ho is to the reader. The truth being that his name was so absurdly and egregiously Russian that plain English tongues never embarked on that sea of consonants. " It is an afifair, as usual. My friends are here to meet you, but I think they do not speak English, except your colleague, the other captain, who speaks a little — a very little." As he spoke he led the way to the garden, where three gentleuien were awaiting them. " This is Captain Cable," he said, and the three gentle- men raised their hats, much to the captain's discom- fiture. He did not hold by foreign ways ; but ne dragged his hat off and then expectorated on the lawn, just to show that he felt quite at home. He even took the lead in the conversation. "Tell 'em," he said, "that I'm a plain man from Sun'land that has a speciality, an' that's transhipying cargo at sea, but me hands are clean." He held them out and they were not, so he must have spoken metaphorically. The banker translated, addressing himself to one of his companions, rather markedly and with much deference. " You're speakin' French," interrupted Captain Cable. " Yes, my fren', I am. Do you know French ? " "Not me," reLumed Captain Cable, affably. "They're all one to me. They're all damn nonsense." He was, it seemed, that which is called in these days of blatant patriotism, a thorough Englishman, or a true Blue, according to the social station of the speaker. The gentleman to whom the translation had been addressed smiled. He was a tall and rather distinguished- looking man, with bushy white hair and moostache. His features were square-cut and strong. His eyes were dark, SIGNAL HOUSE. 15 and he had ar easy smile. He led the way to Bome chaifu which had been placed near a tabic at the far end of the lawn beneath a cedar tree, and his manner had something faintly regal in it, as if in his daily life he had always been looked up to and obeyed without question. " Tell him that we also are plain men with clean hands," he said. And the banker replied, " Oui, mon Prince." But the interpretation was taken out of his mouth by one of the others, the youngest of the group— a merry-eyed youth, with a fluffy, fair moustache and close-cropped flaxen hair. "My father," he said, in perfect English, "says that wc also are plain men, and that your hands will not be hurt by touching ours." He held out his hand as he spoke, and refused to with- draw it until it had been grasped, rather shamefacedly, by Captain Cable, who did not like these effusive foreign ways, but, nevertheless, rather liked the young man. The banker ranged the chairs round the table, and the oddly assorted group seated themselves. The man who had not yet spoken, and who sat down last was obviously a sailor. His face was burnt a deep brr n, and was much hidden by a closely-cut beard. He L e slow ways of a northerner, the abashed manner of a l chant skipper on shore. The mark of the other element was so plamly w.'itten upon him that Captain Cable looked at him hard and then nodded. "Without bemg invited to do so they sat next to each other at one side of the table, and faced the three landsmen. Again Captain Cable spoke first. " Provided it's nothing underhand," he said, "I'm ready and willing. Or'nary risks of the sea. Queen's enemies, act 16 THE V0LTURE8. o' God— them'B my risks ! I am uninsured. Ship's my own. I don't mind explosives " " There are explosives," admitted the banker. " Then they must be honest explosives, or they don't go below my hatches. Explosives that's to blo^ a man up honest, before his face." "There are cartridges," said the young man who had shaken hands. ♦« That'll do," said the masterful sailor. And, pointing a thick finger towards the banker, added, " Now, mister," and sat back in his chair. " It is a very simple matter," explained the banker, in a thick, suave voice. " We have a cargo— a greater part of it weight, though there is some measurement— a few cases of light goods, clothing, and such. You will load in the river, and all will be sent to you in lighters. There is nothing heavy, nothmg large. There is also no msurance, you understand. What falls out of the sUngs and is lost overside, is lost." The banker paused for breath. «I understand," said Captain Cable. "It's the same with me and my ship. There is no insurance, no tricking underwriters into unusual risks. It's neck or nothing with me." ' . , , And he looked hard at the breathless banker, with whom it was, in this respect, nothing. " I understand right enough," he added, with an affable nod to the three foreigners. "You sail from London with a full general cargo for Mahno or Stockhohn, or somewhere where officials are not too wideawake. You meet in the North Sea, at a point to be fixed between yourselves, the O/o/, Captain Petersen— sitting by your side." SIGNAL HOUSE. 17 Captain Cable turned, and gravely shook hands with Captain Petersen. " Thought you was a seafaring man," ho said. And Captain Petersen replied that he was ••Vair pleased." "The cargo is to be transhipped at sea, out of sight of land or lightship. But that we can safely leave to you. Captain Cable." ^ •'I'm not denying," replied that mariner, who was measuring Captain Petersen out of the corner of his eye, " that I have been there before." •' You can then go up the Baltic in balkst to some small port-jast a sawmill at the head of a fjord— where I shall have a cargo of timber waiting for you to bring back to London. When can you begin loading, captain ? " " To-morrow," repUed Cable. '• Ship's lying in the river now, and if these gentlemen would like to see her she's as iiandy a " _ " Xo, I do not think we shall have time for that 1 " put m the banker, hastily. "And now we must leave you and Captam Petersen to settle your meeting-place. You have your charts ? " By way of response the captain produced from his pocket sundry folded papers, which he laid tenderly on the table. For the last ten years he had been postponing the necessity of buying new charts of certain sections of the Xorth Sea He looked round at the high walls and the over-han^ine trees. ° ^ " Hope the wind don't come blustering in here much," he said, apprehensively, as he unfolded the ragged papers ^vith caution. The fair-haired young man drew forward his chair, and Cable, seeing the action, looked at h,m sharply. 18 THE VOLTURES. I " Seafaring man ? " he inquired, with a weight of doubt and distnut in his voice. " Not by profession, only for fun." " Fun ? Man and boy, I've used the sea forty years, and I haven't yet found out where the fun comes in ! " " This gentleman," explained the banker, " his Ex Mr. " He pauserl, and looked inquiringly at the white- haired gentleman. "Mr. Martin." ** Mr. Martin will be on board the Olaf when you meet Captain Petersen in the North Sea. He will act as inter- preter. You remember that Captain Petersen speaks no English, and you do not know his language. The two crews, I understand, will be similarly placed. Captain Petersen undertakes to have no one on board speaking English. And your crew, my fren' ? " "My crew come from Sun'lan'. Men that only speak English, and precious little of that," replied Captain Cable. He had his finger on the chart, but paused and looked up, fixing his bright glance on the face of the white-haired gentleman. " There's one thing— I'm a plain-spoken man myself — what is there for us two — us seafaring men ? " " There are five hundred pounds each for you," replied the white-haired gentleman for himself, in slow and careful English. Captain Cable nodded his grizzled head over the chart. ♦' I like to deal with a gentleman," he said, gruffly. " And so do I," replied the white-haired foreigner, with a bow. Captain Cable grunted audibly. ( 19 ) CHAPTER III. A SPECIALITr. A iiUDDY sea and a dirty grey sky, a cold rain and a moaning wind. Short-capped waves breaking to leeward in a little Liss of spray. The water itself sandy and dis- coloured. Far away to the east, where the green-grey and the dirty grey merge into one, a windmill spinning in the breeze : Holland. Near at hand, standing in the sea, the picture of wet and disconsolate solitude, a little beacon, erect on three legs, like a bandbox affixed to a giant easel. It is alight, although it is broad daylight ; for it is always alight, always gravely revolving, night and day, alone on this sandbank in the North Sea. It is tended once in three weeks. The lamp is filled, the wick is trimmed— the screen, which is ingeniously made to revolve by the heat of the lamp, is lubricated— and the beacon is left to its solitude and its work. There must be land to the eastward though nothing but the spinning mill is visible. The land is below the level of the sea. There is probably an entrance to some canal behind the moving sandbank. This is one of the waste- places of the world— a place left clean on sailors' charts ; no one passes that wey. These banks are as deadly as many rocks which have earned for themselves a dreaded 20 THE VULTURES. 1 name in maritime story. For they never relinqoish any- thing that toachcs them. They are soft and gentle in their embrace ; they slowly suck in the ship that comes within their grasp. Their story is a long, grim tale of disaster. Their treasure is vast and stored beneath a weight, half sand, half water, which mnst ever baffle the ingenuity of man. Fog, the sailors* deadliest foe, has its home on these waters, rising on the low-lying lands and creeping out to sea, where it blows to and fro, for weeks and weeks together. When all the world is blue and sunny, fog-banks lie like a sheet of cotton wool on these coasts. " Barrin' fogs — always barrin' fogs 1 " Captain Cable had said as his last word on leaving the Signal House. " If ye wait a month never move in a fog in these waterg, or ye'U move straight to Davy Jones ! " And chance favoured him, for a gale of wind came in- Rtead of a fog, one of those summer gales that swoop down from the north-west without warning or reason. At sunset the Ola/ had crept cautiously in from the west — a high-prowed, well-decked, square-rigged steamer of the old school, with her name writteu large amidships and her side-lights set aft. Captain Petersen was a cautious man, and came on with the leadsman working like a clock. He was a man who moved slowly. And at sea, as in life, he who moves slowly often runs into dangers which a greater confidence and a little dash would avoid. He who moves slowly is the prey of every current. Captain Petersen steamed in behind the beacon. He sighted the windmill very carefully, very correctly, very cautiously. He described a half-circle round the bank hidden a few feet below the muddy water. Then he steamed slowly seawards, keeping the windmill full astern A SPEaALITY. 21 s and the beacon on his port-quaiicr. When the beacon ^ras bearing eonth-cast he rang the engine-room bell. The Btcamcr, hardly moving before, stopped dead, its bluff nose turned to the wind and the rustling waves. Then Captain Petersen held up his hand to the first mate, who was on the high forecastle, and the anchor splashed over. The Ola/ was mr --d at the head of a submarine bay. She had shoalwatc-i ill round her, and no vessel could get at her unless it came a? she had come. The sun went down, and the red-grey clouds in tho stormy west slowly faded into night. There was no land in sight. Even the whirli- gig windmill was below the horizon now. Only the three- legged beacon stood near, turning its winking, wondering eye round the waste of waters. Here the Ola/ rode out the gale that raged all through the ri'^ht, and in the morning there was no peace, for it *till rained and the north-west wind still blew hard. There was no depth of water, however, to make a sea big enough to affect large vessels. The Oh/ rode easily enough, and only pitched her nose into the yellow sea from time to time, throwing a cloud of spray over the length of her decks, like a bird at its bath. Soon after daylight the Prince Martin Bukaty came on deck, gay and lively in his borrowed oilskins. His blue eyes laughed in the shadow of the black sou-wester tied under his chin, his slight form was lost in the ample folds of Captain Petersen's best oilskin coat. "T- remains to be seen," he said, peering out into the i-ain and spray, " whether that little man will come to us in this." " He will come," said Captain Petersen. Prince Martin Bukaty laughed. He laughed at most things— at the timidity and caution of this Norse captain, 22 TUB VULTURES. i i Ab good weather, at bad weather, at life as ho found it. He was one of those few and happy people who lind life a joy and his fcllow-beiugs a jest. Some will say that it is easy enough to bo gay at the threshold of life ; but experience tells that gaiety is an inward snn which shines through all the changes and chances of a journey marked assuredly by more bad weather than good. The gayest are not those who can be pointed out as the happiest. Indeed, the happiest frequently appear to have nothing to make them happy. Martin Bukaty might, for instance, have chosen a better abode than the stuffy cabin of a Scandinavian cargo-boat and cheerier companions than a grim pair of Norse seamen. Ue might have sought a bluer sky and a bluer sea, and yet he stood on the dripping deck and laughed. lie clapped Captain Petersen on the back. "Well, we -'i«e arrived here ond we have ridden out the worst of it, and we haven't dragged our anchors and nobody has seen us, and that exceedingly aromir-, Uttle captain will be here in a few hours. Why look so gloomy, my friend ? " Captain Petersen shook the rain from the brim of his sou-wester. " We are putting our necks within a rope," he said. *' Not your neck — only mine," replied Martin. " It is a necktie that one gets accustomed to. Look at my father I One rarely sees an old man so free from care. IIow he laug'as ! how he enjoys his dinner and his wine 1 The wine runs down a man's throat none the less pleasantly because there is a loose rope around it. And he has played a dangerous game all his life— that old man, ch ? " "It is all very well for you," said Captain Petersen, gravely, turning his gloomy eyes towards his companion. A BPECIALITY. 23 i " A prince docs not get ebut or Langcd or cent to the bottom in the high 8ca>." *' Ah ! yon think that," said Prince Martb, momentarily grave. " One can never tell." Then he broke into a laugh. *' Come 1 " he said, " I am going aloft to look for that English boat. Come on to the fore-yard. Wc can watch him come in— that little bulldog of a man." *' If he has any sense he v" ^rait in the open until this gale is over," grumbled Pett . jn, ncvcrthelcBS following his companion forward. "He has only one sense, that man — a sense of fear- lessness." " He is probably afraid " Captain Petersen paused to hoist himself laboriously on to the rail. " Of what ? " inquired Martin, looking through the ratlines. " Of a woman." And Martin Bukaty's answer was lost in the roar of the wind as he went aloft. Tliey lay on the fore-yard for half an hour, talking from time to time in breathless monosyllables, for the wind was gathering itself togcti <^r for that last effort which usually denotes the end of a gale. Then Captain Petersen pointed his steady hand almost straight ahead. On the grey horizon a little column of smoke rose like a pillar. It was a steamer approaching before the wind. Captain Cable came on at a great pace. His ship was very low in the water, and kicked up awkwardly on a following sea. He s;vung round the beacon on the ohoulder of a great wave that turned him over till the rounded wet sides of the steamer gleamed like a whale's back. He dis- appeared into the haze nearer the land, and presently 24 THE VULTURES. emerged agaiu right astern of the Ohf, a black nozzle of iron and an intermittent fan of spray. He was crashing into the seas at full speed— a very different kind of sailor to the careful captain of the Ou'f. His low decks were clear, and each sea leapt over the bow and washed aft- green and white. As the little steamer came down he suddenly slackened speed, and waved his hand as he stood alone on the high bridge. Then two or three oilskin-clad figures crept forward into the spray that still broke over the bows. The crew of the Ohif, crowding to the rail, looked down on the deeply- laden little vessel from the height of their dry and steady deck. They watched the men working quickly almost under water on the low fore-castle, and saw that it was j?ood. Captain Cable stood swaying on the bridge— a little '«^» figure in gleaming oilskins— and said no word. He a picked crew. d.^ passed ahead of the Ohf and auch'ored there, payiu.' out cable as if he were going to ride out a cyclouc. The steamer had no name visible, a sail hanging carelessly over the stern completely hid name and port of registry. Her forward name-boards had been removed. Whatever his business was, this seaman knew it well. No sooner was his anchor down than Captain Cable be^ran to lower a boat, and Petersen, seeing the action, broke into mild Scandinavian profanity. " He is going to try to get to us ! " he said pessimistically, and went forward to give the necessary orders. He knew his business, too, this northern sailor, and when, after a long struggle, the boat containing Captain Cable and two men came within reach a rope— cleverly thrown— coiled out into the flying scud and fell plump across the captain's face. A few minutes later he scrambled on to the deck of the SS^B A SPECIALITY. 25 Ola/siai shook hands with Captain Petersen. He did not at once recognize Prince Mi^rtin, who held out his hand. "Glad to see you, ' ipiuia Cab!? " he said. Cable finished dry ig Ihe salf> v=' ier from his face with a blue cotton handken hi( f before hr shook hands. "Suppose you thougiiu I vpsn\ coming?" he said, suspiciously. " No, I knew you would." " Glad to see me for my own sake ? " suggested the captain, grimly smiling. " Yes, it always does one good to sec a man," answered Prince Martin. " They tell me you're a prince." "That is all." The captain measured him slowly with his eye. " Makings of a man as well, perhaps," he said, doubtfully. Then ho turned to cast an eye over the Olaf. "Tin-kettle of a thing I" he observed, after a pause. " My little cargo won't be much in her great hold. Hatches are too small. Now, I'm all hatch. Can't open up in this weather. We can turn to and get our running tackle bent. It'll moderate before the evening, and if it does we can work all night. Will your Rile Highnes' be ready to work all night ? " " I shall be ready whenever your high mightiness is." The captain gave a gruff laugh. " Dammy, you're the right sort ! " he muttered, looking aloft at the rigging with that contempt for foreign tackle which is the privilege of the British sailor. Cable gave certain orders, announced that he would send four men on board in the afternoon to benu the runninsr tackle "ship-shape and Bristol fashion," and refused to remain on board the Ola/ for luncheon. 26 THE VULTURES. y\c vc got a bit of steak," he said, conclusively, and c ambcrcd over the side into his boat. In confirmation of this statement the odour of fried onions was borne on the breeze a few minutes later from the small steamer to the large one. The men from Sunderiand came on board durin* the afternoon-men who, as Captain Cable had stated, had°onl7 one language and made singularly smaU use of it. Music and seamanship are two arts daily practised in harmony by men who have no common language. For a man is a sea- man or a musician quite independently of speech. So the running tackle was successfully bent, and in the evenin*' the weather moderated. ° There was a half-moon which struggled through the clouds soon after dark, and by its light the little English steamer sidled almost noiselessly under the shadow of her large companion. Captain Cable's crew worked quickly and quietly, and by nine o'clock that work was begun which was to throw a noose round the necks of Prince Bukaty, Prince Martin, Captain Petersen, and several others. Captain Cable divided the watches so that the work might proceed continuously. The dawn found the smaller steamer considerably lightened, and the captain bright and wakeful at his post. All through the day the transhipping went on. Cases of all sizes and all weights were slung out of the capacious hatches of the one to sink into the dark hold of the other vessel, and there was no mishap. Through the second n.'ght the creaking of the blocks never cease°d, and soon after daylight the three men who had super- intended the work without resting took a cup of coffee together in the cabin of the Olaf, "Likely as not," said Captain Cable, setting down his empty cup, "we three'U not meet again. I have had A SPECIALITY. 27 dealings with many that I've never seen again, and with some that have been careful not to know me if they did Bee me." "We can never tell," said Martin, optimistically. " Of course," the captain went on, " I can hold me tongue. That's agreed — we all hold our tongues, whatever the newspapere may be likely to pay for a word or two. Often enough I've read things in the newspaper that I could put a different name to. And that little ship of mine has had a hand in some queer political pica." " Yes," answered Martin, with his gay laugh, " and kept it clea- all the same." *' That's as may be. And now I'll say good-bye. I'll be calling on your father for my money in ten days' time — barrin' fogs. And I'll tell him I left you well. Good-bye, Petersen ; you're a handy man. Tell him he's a handy man in his own langwidge, and I'll take it kindly." Captain Cable shook hands, and clattered out of the cabin in his grer^ boots. Half an hour lie Olaf was alone on that sliallow sea, which seemed Luelier and more silent than ever ; for when a strong man quits a room he often bequeaths a sudden silence to those he leaves behind. 28 THE VULTURES. J '■ * t .a CHAPTER IV. TWO OF A tra: "His face reminds one of a sunny graveyard," a witty frenchwoman had once said of a man named Paul Deulin And it is probable that Deulin alone could have understood what she meant. Those who think in French have a trick of putting great thoughts into a little compass, and as the hoUow baU of talk is tossed to and fro, it sometimes rings for a moment in a deeper note than many ears are tuned to catch. The careless word seized the attention of one man who happened to hear it-Keginald Cartoner, a listener, not a talker— and made that man Paul Deulia's friend for the rest of his life. As there is " point de cnlte sans mystere » so also there can be no lasting friendship without reserve. And although these two men had met in many parts of the world-althongh they had in common more languages than may be counted on the fingers-they knew but little of each other. If one thinks of it, a sunny graveyard, bright with flowers and the gay gTeea of spring foliage, is the shallowest fraud on earth, endeavouring to conceal beneath a speciou- exterior a thousand tragedies, a whole harvest of lost iUusions a host of grim human comedies. On the other hand, this' TWO OP A TRADE. 29 is a pious fraud ; for half the world is young, and will discover the roots of the flowers soon enough. Cartoner had met Deulin in many strange places. To- gether they had witnessed queer events. Accrec^ted to a new President of a new Republic, they once had made their bow, clad in Court dress and official dignity, to the man whom they were destined to sec a month later hanging on his own flagstafiF, out over the Plaza, from the spare- bedroom window of the new Presidency. They had acted in concert ; they had acted in direct opposition. Uartoner had once had to tell Deulin that if be persisted in his present course of action the Government which he (Carloner) represented would not be able to look upon it with in- difference, which is the language of diplomacy, and means War. For these men were the vultures of their respective Foreign Offices, and it was their business to be found where the carcase is. "The chief difference between the gods and men is that man can only be in one place at a time," Deulin had once said to Cartoner, twenty years his junior, in his light, philosophic way, when a turn of the wheel had rendered a long journey futile, and they found themselves far from that place where their services were urgently needed. "If men could be in two places at the same moment. Fay once only during a lifetime, their lives would be very different from what they are." Cartoner had glanced quickly at him, when he spoke, but only saw a ready, imperturbable smile. Deulin was a man counting his friends among all nation- alities. The captain of a groat steamship has perhaps as many acquaintances as may be vouchsafed to one man, and at the beginning of a vo/age he has to assure a number h ■ t 30 THE VULTURES. of total strangers that he remembers them perfectly. DeuUn. durmg fifty odd years of his life, had moved through a maze Of men rcmemberiDg faces as a shifwaptain must recoUect those who have sailed with him, without attaching a name or being able to allot one saving quality to lift an individual out of the ruck. For it is a lamentable fact that all men and all women arc painfully like each other, it is only their faces that differ. For God has made the faces, but men have manufactured their own thought3. Deulm had met a few who were kot like the others, and one of these was Reginald Cartoner. who was thrown against him as it were, in a professional manner when Deulm had been twenty years at the work. •'I always cross the road," he said, "when I see Cartoner on the other side. If I did not, he would go past.'» 1 ?i' -^'"^ '" ^^^ "^''^^ ''^"^^ t^e day after Cartoner landed m England on his return from America. Deulin saw hia friend emerge from a clnb in Pall Mall and walk westward, as if he had business in that direction. Liko many travellers the Frenchman loved the open air. Like all Frenchmen, he loved the streets. He was idling in Pall Mall, avoiding a man here and there. For we all havo friends whom we arc content to see pass by on the other side. Deulm s duty was, moreover, such that it got strangel v mLxed up with his pleasm-e, and it often happened that dis- cretion must needs overcome a natural sociability. Cartoner saw his friend approaching ; for Deulin had the good fortune, or the misfortune, to be a distinguished- looking man, with a tall, spare form, a trim white moustache and imperial, and that air of calm possession of his environ- raent which gives to some paupers the manner of a great landowner. He shook hands in silence, then tr.med and walked with Cartoner. TWO OP A TBADE. 31 •' I permit myself a question," he said. " When did yon return from Cuba ? " *' I landed at Liverpool last night." Cartoner turned in his a) -upt way, and looked his com- panion up and tiovm. Perhaps he was wondering for the hundredth time what might be buried behind those smiling eyes. " I am in London, as you sec," said Deulin, as if he had been asked a question. " I am awaiting orders. Something is brewing somewhere, one may suppose. Your return to London seems to confirm such a suspicion. Let us hope we may have another little . . . errand together — eh ? " As he spoke, Deulin bowed in his rather grand way to an old gentleman who walked briskly past in the military fashion, and who turned to look curiously at the two men. " You are dressed in your best clothes," said Deulin, after a pause ; " you are going to pay calls." " I am going to call on one of my old chiefs." " Then I will ask your permission to accompany you. I, too, have put on a new hat. I am idle. I want something to do. Mon Dieu, I want to talk to a dean and wholesome Englishwoman, just for a change. I know all your old chiefs, my friend. I know where you have been every moment since you made your mark at this business. One watches the quiet men— eh ? " "She will be glad to see you," said Cartoner,' with his slow smile. "Ah! She is always kind, that lady; for I guess where we are going. She might have been a great woman ... if she had not been a happy one." "I always go to see them, when I am in town," said Cartoner, who usually confined his conversation to the necessaries of daily intercourse. 82 THE VULTURES. k- \ "A be— how is he?" "He is as well as can be expected. He has worked so hard and so long in many climates. She is always anxious about him. "It is the penalty a woman pays," said Deulin. "To love and to be consumed by anxiety-a woman's life, my friend. Oddly enough, I should have gone there this afternoon, whether I had met you or not. I want her good services— again." And the Frenchman shrugged his shoulders with a laugh, as If suddenly reminded of some grievous error in his past life. 1 want her to befriend some friends of mine, if she has not done so already. For she knows them, of course They are the Bukatys. Of course you know the history of the Bukatys of Warsaw." "I know the history of Poland," answered Cartoner, looking straight in front of him with reflective eyes. He had an odd way of carrying his head a little bent forward as jf he bore behind his heavy forehead a burden of memories and knowledge of which his brain was always conscious— as a man may stand in the centre of a great library, and become suddenly aw .re that he has more books than he can ever open and understand. " Of course you do ; you know a host of things. And you know more history than was ever written in books. Yon know more than I do, and Heaven is witness that I know a great deal. For you are a reader, and I never look into a book. I know the surface of things. The Bukatys are in I/)ndon. I give you that-to put in your pipe and smoke. Father and son. It is not for them that I seek^ Lady Orlay's help. They must take care of themselves • though they will not do that. It does not run in the family, as you know, who read history books." TWO OP A TRADE. 88 "Yes, I know," said Cartoncr, pausiug before crossing to the corner of St. James's Street, in the manner of a man whose life had not been passed in London streets. For it must be remembered that English traffic is different to the ♦raffic of any other streets in the world. " There is a ^irl," pursued the Frenchman. " Families like the Bukatys should kill their girls in infancy. Not that Wanda knows it ; she is as gay as a bird, and quite devoted to her father, who is an old ruffian— and my very dear friend." " And what do you want Lady Orlay to do for Princess Wanda ? " inquired Cartoner, with a smile. It was always a marvel to him that Paul Deulin should have travelled so far down the road of life without losing his enthusiasm somewhere by the way. " That I leave to Lady Crlay," replied Deulin, with an airy wave of his neat umbrella, which imperilled the eye- sight of a passing baker-boy, who abused him. Whereupon Denlin turned and took off his hat and apologized. "Yes," he said, ignoring the incident, "I would not presume to dictate. All I should do would be to present Wanda to her. ' I Tore is a girl who has the misfortune to be a Bukaty ; who Ijas no mother ; who has a father who is a plotter and an old ruffian— a Polish noble, in fact— and a brother who is an enthusiast, and as brave as only a prince can be.' I should say, ' You see that circumstances have thrown this girl upon the world, practically alone— on the hard, hard upper-class world— with only one heart to break. IL is only men who have a whole row cf hearts on a shelf, and when one is broken, they take down another, made, perhaps, of ambition, or sport, or the love of a different sort of woman— and, vogue la galm^ they go on just as well as they did before.' " 34 THE VULTURES. " And mj accomplished aunt . , ," suggested Cartoner. " Would lan^L at mc, I know that. I would rather have Ladj Orlay's laugh than another woman's tears. And so would you : for you &/e a man of common sense, though deadly dull in conversation." As if to prove the truth of this assertion, Deulin was himself silent until they had ascended St. James's Street and turned to the left in Piccadilly, and, sure enough, Cartoner had nothing to say. At last he broke the silence, and made it evident that he had been placidly following the stream of his own thoughts. " Who is Joseph P. Mangles ? " he asked, in his semi- inaudible monotone. •' An Amciit an gentleman — the word is applicable in its best sense — who for his sins, or the sins of his fore- fathers, has. u: on visited with the most terrible sister a man ever had." *' So much I know." Deulin turned and looked at hir companion. "Then you have met him — that puts another complexion on your question." " I have just crossed the Atlantic in the next chair to him." " And that is all you know about him ? " Cartoner nodded. "Then Joseph P. Mangles is getting on." •' What is he ? " repeated Cartoner. •' He is in the service of his country, my friend, like any other poor devil ; like ourselves, for instance. He spends half of his time kicking his heels in Washington, or wherever they kick their heels in America. The rest of his time he is risking his health, or possibly his neck, wherever it may please the fates to send him. If he had been properly TWO OP A TRADE. 85 3 ri trained, ho might have done something, that Joseph P. Mangles ; for he can hold hu. tongue. Bat he took to it ate, as they all do in America. So he has come across, has he ? Yes, the storm-birds are congregating, my silent friend. There is something in the wind." Denlin raised his long, thin nose into the dusty air. and sniffed it. "Was that girl with them?" he inquired presently; •' Miss Netty Cahere?" "Yes." "I always make love to Miss Cahere— ihe likes it best." Cartonor stared straight in front of him, and made no comment. The Frenchman gave a laugh, which wae not entirely pleasant. It was rare that hk laugh was harsh, but such a note rang in it now. They did not speak again until .hey had walked some distance northward of Piccadilly, and stopped before a house with white window boxes. Several carnages stood at the other side of the road agamst the square railings. " Is it her day ? " inquired Deulin. " Yes." Deulin made a grimace, expressive of annoyance. « Aud we shall see a number of people we had better not see. But since we arc here let us go in-with a smUe on the countenance, eh ? my brave Cartoner." " And a lie on the tongue." _ "There I will meet you, too," replied Deulin, lookins? into h!s card-case. They entered the > ise, and, as Deulin had predicted, there found a number of people assembled, who noted, no doubt that they had come together. It was observable that this was not a congregation of fashionable or artistic people ; for the women were dressed quietly, and the men 36 THE VULTURES. were moatly old aad whitc-Laired. It was also dimly perceptible that there was a larger proportion of brain in the room than i^ usually allotted to the merely fashionable, or to that shallow mixture of the dramatic and pictorial, which is termed the artistic world. Moreover, scraps of conversation reached the car that led the hearer to conclude that the house was in its way a miniature Babel. The two separated on the threshold, and Deulic t'ciit forward to shake hands with a tall white-haired woman, who was the centre of a vivacious group. Over the head:) of her guests this lady had already perceived Cartoner, who was making his way more slowly through the crowd. He seemed to have more friends there than Deulin. I^ady Orlay ut length went to meet Curtoner, and as they shook hands, one of those slight and indefmable family resentb- lances which start up at odd moments became visible. •'I want you particularly to-morrow night," said the lady ; " I have some people coming. I will send a curd to your club this evening." And she turned to say good-bye to a departing guest. Deulin was at Cartoner's elbow again. " Here," he said, taking him by the sleeve, and speaking in his own tongue, "I wish to present you to friends of mine. Prince Pierre Bukaty," he added, stopping in front of a tall, old man, with bushy, white hair, and the air of a media3val chieftain, "allow me to present my old friend Cartoner." The two men shook hands without other greeting than a formal bow. Deulin still held Cartoner by the sleeve, and gently compelled him to turn towards a girl, who was looking round with bright and eager eyes. She had a manner full of energy and spirit, and might have been an English girl of open air and active tastes. TWO OF A TRADE. 87 "Priiicesfl Wanda," said the Frenchman, "iny friend Mr. Cartoner. The eager cjes came round to Cartoner's face, of which the gravity Bccmcd suddenly reflected in them. " He is the best linguist in Earope," said Deulin, in a gay whisper ; " even Polish ; he speaks with the tongue of men and of angels." And he himself spoke in Polish. Princess "Wanda met Cartoner's serious eyes again, and in that place, where human fates arc written, another page of those inscrutable books was folded over. 38 THE VULTURES. CHAPTER V. I AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. Prince Bukaty was an affable old man, with a love of good wine and a perfect appreciation of the humorous. Had he been an Englishman, he would have been an honest squire of the old Tory type, now fast fading before facilities for foreign travel and a cheap local railway service. But he was a Pole, and the fine old hatred which should have been bestowed upon the Radicals fell to the lot of the Russians ; and the contempt hurled by his British prototype upon Dissent was cast upon Commerce as represented in Poland by the thrifty German emigri. The prince carried his bluff head with that air which almost invariably bespeaks a stormy youth, and looked out over mankind from his great height, as over a fine standing crop of wild oats. As a matter of fact, he had grown to manhood in the years immediately preceding those wild early sixties, when all Europe was at loggerheads, and Poland seething in its midst, as lava seethes in the crater of a volcano. - The prince had been to England several times. He had friends in London. Indeed, he possessed them in many parts of the world, and, oddly enough, he had no enemies. To his credit be it noted that he was not an exile, which is AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 89 usually another name for a scoundrel. For ho who has no abiding city generally considers himself exempt from the ordinary duties of citizenship. " They do not take me seriously," he said to his intimate friends ; " they do not honour me by recognizing mc as a dangerous person ; but we shell see." And the Prince Bukaty was thus allowed to go where he listed, and live in Warsaw if he so desired. Perhaps the secret of this lay in the fact that he was poor ; for a poor man has few adherents. In the olden times, when the Bukatys had been rich, there were many professing readi- ness to follow him to the death— which is the way of the world. " You have but to hold up your hand," cries the faithful follower. But .vise men know that the hand must have something in it. The prince had been young and impressionable when Poland was torn to pieces, when that which for eight centuries had been one of the important kingdoms of the world, was vsiped off the face of Europe, like writing off a slate. He was not a ruflian, as Deulin had described him ; but he was a man who had been rnfllcd, and nothing could ever smooth him. He was too frank by naturo to play a hopeless ramc with the cunning and the savour of spite which hope- less games require. If ue liked a man, he said so ; if ho disliked one, he was equally frank about it. lie liked Cartoner on the briefest of brief introductions, and said so. "It is difficult to find a man in London who speaks anything but English, and of anything but English topics. You are the narrowest people in the world — you Londoners. But yon are no Londoner ; I beg your pardon. "Well, then, come and see me to-morrow. We are in a hotel in Ken- sington—will you come ? That is the address." 40 THE VULTURES. ■if And ho held out a card with a gmall gold crown cm- blazoned in the corner, after the mode of Eastern Europe. Cartoner reflected for a moment, which was odd in a man whose decisions were usually arrived at with lightning-speed. For he had a slow tongue and a quick brain. There are few better equipments with which to face the world. "Yes," he said at length; "it will give me much pleasure." The prince glanced at him curiously beneath his bushy eyebrows. What was there to call for reflection in such a small question ? "At five o'clock," he said. " We can give you a cup of the poisonous tea you drink in this co; ntry." And he went away laughing heartily at the small witticism. People whose lives are anything but a joke are usually content with the smallest jests. It was scarcely five o'clock the next day when Cartoner was conducted by a page-boy to the Bukatys' rooms in the quiet old hotel in Kensington. The Princess Wanda was alone. She was dressed in black. There is in some Varsovian families a heritage of mourning to be worn until Poland is reinstated. She was slightly but strongly made. As in her father and her brother, there was a suggestion of endurance iu her being, snch as is often found in slightly made persons. " I came as early as I could," said Cartoner, and, as he spoke, the clock struck. The princess smiled as she shook hands, and then per- ceived that she had not been intended to show amusement. Cartoner had merely made a rather naive statement iu his low monotone. She thought him a little odd, and glanced at him again. She changed colour slightly as she turned towards a chair. He was quite grave and honest. JL AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 41 " That is kind of you," slie said, speaking English with- out the least suspicion of accent ; for she had had an English governess all her life. " My father will take it to mean that yon wanted to come, and are not only taking pity on lonely foreigners. He will be here in a minute. He has just been called away." "It was very kind of him to ask me to call," replied Cartoner. There was a simple directness in his manner of speech which was quite new to Wanda. She had known few Englishmen, and her own countrymen had mostly the manners of the French. She had never met a man who conveyed the impression of purpo; , and of the habit of going straight towards bis purpose so clearly as this. Cartoner had not come to pay an idle visit. She wondered why he had come. He did not rash into con- versation, and yet his silence had no sense of embarrass- ment in it. His hair was turning grey above the temples. She could see this as ho took a chair near the window. He was probably ten years older than herself, and gave the impression of experience and of a deep knowledge of the world. From living much alone he had acquired the habit of wondering whether it \'a8 worth while to say that which come into his mind— which is a habit fatal to social success. "Monsieur Deulin dined with us last night," said the princess, following the usual instinct that silence between strangers is intolerable. " He talked a gi-eat deal of you." " Ah, Deulin is a diplomatist. He talks too much." " He accuses you of talking too little," said Wanda, with some spirit. " You see there are only two methods of leaving things unsaid, princess." ■ i 42 THE VULTURES. " Which is diplomacy ? " she suggested. " Which is diplomacy." "Then I think you arc both great artists," ishe said, with a laugh, as the door opened and her father entered the room. *'I only come to ask you a question— a word," said the prince. " Heavens ! your English language I I have a man downstairs— a question of business— and he speaks the oddest English. Now, what is the meaning of the word 'jettison'?" Cartoner gave him the word in French. " Ah I " cried the prince, holding up his two powerful hands, " of course. How foolish of me not to guess. In a moment I will return. You will excuse me, will you not ? Wanda will give you some tea." And he hurried out of the room, leaving Cartoner to wonder what a person so far removed above commerce could have to do with the word " jettison." The conversation naturally returned to Beulin. He was a man of whom people spoke continually, and had spoken for yeara. In fact, two generations had found him a fruitful topic of conversation without increasing their knowledge of him. If he had only been that which is called a public man, a novelist or a singer, his fortune would have been easy. All hi* advertising would have been done for him by others. For there was in him that unknown quantity which the world must needs think magnificent. " I want you to tell me all you know about him," said the princess in her brisk way. " He is the only old man I have ever seen whose thoughts have not grown old too. And, of course, one wonders why. He is the sort of person who might do anything surprising. He might fall in love AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 48 nnd marry, or something like that, you know. Papa says Lc is married already, and his wife is in a mad asylum. lie bays there is a tragedy. Bat I don't. He has no wife — unless he has two." " I know nothing of that side of his life. I only know his career." " I do not care about his career," said the princess, lightly. " I go deeper than careers." She looked at Cartoner with a wise nod, and a shrewd look in her gay blue eyes. " A man's career is only the surface of his life." " Then some men's lives are all surface," said Cartoner. Wanda gave a little half -pitying, half -contemptuous jerk of the head. "Some men have the soul of an omnibus-horse," she rephed. Cartoner reflected for a moment, looking gravely the while at this girl, who seemed to know so much of life and to have such singularly clear and decisive views upon it. " What would you have them do beyond going on when required and stopping when expedient — and avoiding collisions ?" he inquired. " I should like them to break up the omnibus occasionally," she answered, " and take a wrong turning sometimes, just to see if a little happiness lay that way." " Yes," he laughed. " You are a Pole and a Bukaty. I knew it as soon as I saw you." "One must do something. Wo were talking of such things last night, and Monsieur Deulin said that his ideal combination in a man was an infinite patience and a sudden premeditated recklessness." *' Now you have come down to a mere career again," said Cartoner. 44 ! THE VULTURES. ni "Not necessarily." The pilflce came into the room again at thia moment. "What are you people diacnssing," he apked "so gravely ? He spoke in French, which was the language that was easiest to him, for ho had been young when it was the fashion in Poland to be French. mj ^^. ^°^ 'l"^'® ^^^^" answered Cartoner, slowly. ' The princess was giving me her views." " I know," retorted the old man, with his rather hollow laugL « They are long views, those views of hers." Cartoner was still standing near the window. He turned absently and looked out, down into the busy street. There he saw something which caused him intense sui-prise, though he did not show it ; for, like any man of strong purpose, his face had but one expression, and that of thoughtful attention. He saw Captain Cable, of the ^Vinnie, crossing the street, having just quitted the hotel. This was the business acquaintance of Prince Bukaty's, who had come to speak of jettison. Cartoner knew Captain Cable well, and his speciality in maritime skill. He had seen war waged before now with material which had passed in and out of the 3Iinnie's hatches. The prince did not refer again to the affairs that had called him away. The talk naturally turned to the house where they had first met, and Wanda mentioned that her father and she were going to the reception given by the Orlays that evening. " You are going, of course ? " said the prince. " Yes, I am going." " You go to many such entertainments ? " " No, I go to very few," replied Cartoner, looking at Wanda in his speculative way. AN OLD ACXiUAINTANCE. 45 Then he saddenly rose and took bis leave, with a charac- teristic omission of the usual, " Well, I must be off," or any such catch-word. He certainly left a great deal unsaid which this babbling world expects. lie walked along the crowded streets, absorbed in his own thoughts, for some distance. Then he suddenly emerged from that quiet shelter, and accepted the urgent invitation of a hansom-cab driver to get into his vehicle. " Westminster Bridge," he said. He quitted the cab at the corner of the bridge, and walked quickly down to the steamboat-landing. " Where do you want to go to ? " inquired the gruff sea- faring ticket-clerk. *' As far as I can," was the reply. A steamer came almost at once, and Cartoner selected a quiet seat over t^.e rudder. He must have known that the Minnie was so constructed that she could pass under the bridges, for he began to look for her at once. It was six o'clock, and a spring tide was running out. All the passenger traffic was turned to the westward, and a friendly deck-hand, having leisure, came and gave Cartoner his views upon cricket, in which, as was natural in one whose life was passed on running water, his whole heart seemed to be absorbed. Cartoner was friendly, but did not take advantage of this affability to make inquiries about the Minnie. He knew, perhaps, that there is no more suspicious man on earth than a riverside worker. The steamer raced under the bridges, and at last shot out into the Pool, where a few related barges were drifting down stream. A number of steamers lay at anchor, some working cargo, others idle. The majority were foreigners, odd-shaped vessels, with funnels like a steam threshing- machine, and gaily painted deck-houses. 46 THE VULTURES. lii: : In one quiet corner, behind a laid-up excursion boat and a file of North Sea fish-carriers, lay the Minnie, painted black, with nothing brighter than a deep brown on her deck-house, her boats painted a shabby green. She might have been an overgrown tug or a superannuated fish-carrier. Oartoner landed at the Cherry Orchard Pier, and soon found a boatman to take him to the Minnie. " Just took the skipper aboard a few minutes ago, sir," he said. " He must have come down by the boat before t> yours A few minutes later Cartoner stood on the deck of the Minnie, and banged with his fist on the cover of the cabin gangway, which was tantamount to ringing at Captain Cable's front door. That sailor's grun face appeared a moment later, emerging like the face of a hermit crab from its shell. The frown slowly faded, and the deep, unwashed vinkles took a kindlier curve. " It's you, Mr. Cartoner," he said. " Glad to see yon." " I passed on a steamer," answered Cartoner, quietly, "and recognized the ^mm'^," "I take it friendly of you, Mr. Cartoner, remembering tue rum time you and me had together. Come below. I've got a drop of wine somewhere stowed away in a locker." ( 47 ) CHAPTER VI. THE VULTURES. *' I SUPPOSE," Miss Mangles was saying, " I suppose, Joseph, that Lady Orlay has been interested in the work without our knowing it ? " " It is possible, Jooly, it is possible," replied Mr. Joseph P. Mangles, looking with a small, bright, specnlative eye out of the window of his private sitting-room in a hotel in Northumberland Avenue. Miss Mangles was standing behind him, and held in her hand an invitation card notifying that Lady Orlay would be at home that same evening from nine o'clock till mid- night. "This invitation," said the recipient, "accompanied as it is by a friendly note explaining that the shortness of the invitation lies in the fact that we only arrived the day before yesterday, seems to point to it, Joseph. It seems to indicate that England is prepared to give me a welcome." " On the face of it, Jooly, it would seem— just that." Mr. Mangles contmucd to gaze with a speculative eye into Northumberland Avenue. If, as Cartoner had sng* gested, the profession of which Mr. Joseph P. Mangles was a tardy ornament, needed above all things a capacity i 48 THE VULTDRES. for leaving things unsaid, the American diplomatist was not ignorant of his art. For ho did not inform his sister that the invitation to which she attached so flattering n national importance owed its origin to an accidental encounter between himself and Lord Orlay— a friend of his early Senatorial days— in Pall Mall the day before. Miss Mangles stood with the card in her hand and reflected. No woman and few men would need to be told, moreover, the subject of her thoughts. Of what, indeed, does every woman think the moment she receives an invitation ? "Jooly," Mr. Mangles had been heai-d to say behind that lady's back, " Jooly is an impressive dresser when she tries." But the truth is that Jooly did not always try. She had not tried this morning, but stood in the conventional hotel room dressed in a black cloth garment which had pleats down the front and back, and a belt like a Norfolk jacket. Miss Mangles was large and square-shouldered. She was a rhomboid, in fact, and had that depressing square and flat waist which so often figures on the platfora i a great cause. Her hair was black and shiny and f ■ .ight; it was drawn back from her rounded temples l^ hydraulic pressure. Her mouth was large and rather loose; it had grown baggy by much speaking on public platforms— a fearsome thing in woman. Her face was large and round and white. Her eyes were dull. Long ago there must have been depressing moments in the life of Julie P. Mangles— moments spent in front of her mirror. But, like the wc an of spirit that she was, she had determined that if she could not be beautiful she could at all events be great. One self-deception leads to another. Miss Mangles sat THE VULTURES. 49 down and accepted Lidy Orlajr'a invitation in the full and perfect conviction that she owed it to her grcatncaa. "Arc they abstainers?" she asked, reflectively, going back m her mind over the causes she had championed. "N'ay," replied Joseph, winking gravely at a policeman in Northumberland Avenne. *' Perhaps Lord Orlay is open to conviction." "If you tackle Orlay you'll find you've bitten off a bigger bit than you can chew," replied Joseph, who had a singular habit of lapsing into the vulgarest slang when Julie mounted her high horse in the presence of himself alone. When others were present Mr. Mangles seemed to take a sort of pride in this great woman. Let those explain the attitude who can. Lady Orlay's entertainments were popularly said to be too crowded, and no one knew this better than Lady Orlay. " Let us ask them all and be done with them," she said, and had said it for thirty years, ever since she had begun a social existence with no other prospects than that which lay in her husband's brain— then plain Mr. Orlay. She had never "done with them," had never secured that peaceful domestic leisure which had always been her dream and her husband's dream, and would never secure it. For these were two persons, now old and white-haired and celebrated, who lived in the great world, and had a supreme contempt for it. The Mangles were among the first to arrive, Julie in a dress of rich black silk, with some green about it, and a number of iridescent beetle-wings serving as a relief. Miss Netty Cahorc was a vision of pink and self-effacing quietness. "We shall know no one," she said, with a shrinking movement of her shoulders as they mounted the stairs. " Not even the waiters," replied Joseph Mangles, in his s 50 THE VULTURES. * t lagabriouB bass, i icing into a room where tea and coffee were set out. ' ^ . they will soon know ua." They bad n. I jt • in the room, however, five minutes before an « i. itr ta entered it, tall and tlim, h'ke » cheerfnl D'.' l,»iu''ot>.\ with the ribbon of a great Order across his sL rt-fio: .. He r.used for a moment near Lord and Lady C i. v. av' .\ t>^ \ 5 caused, as it usually did, a little stir a tao r . i. -, l^en ho turned and greeted Joseph Man:;' .^. (>' iio large firm hand of that gentle- man's sister I> bowc ! . 1 ilcnce. •' I have n-.tliinrj to u/ to that groat woman," he some- times said. "She is so elevated that my voice will not reach her." Deulin then turned to where Miss Cahere had been standing. But she had moved away a few paces, nearer to a candelabra, under which she was now Rbandin London— no -jue, I mean, who speaks anything except English. That is a thing which is never quite understood on the Continent— that if you go to Lcjdon you must AT THK FRONTIEK. Gl speak English. If you cannot you had better hang your- self and be done with it, for you are practically in solitary confinement. My father does not easily make friends— you must have been very civil to him." " According to my lights, I was," admitted Cartoncr. Martin laughed again. It is a gay heart that can le amused at three in the morning. "The truth is," continued Martin, in his quick arid rather heedless way, " that wo Poles arc under a cloud in Europe now. We are the wounded man by the side of the road from Jerusalem down to Jericho, and there is a tendent;' to pass by on the other side. We are a nation with a bad want, and it is nobody's business to satisfy it. Everybody is ready, however, to admit that we have been confoundedly badly treated." He tossed off his coffee as he spoke, and turned in hia chair to nod an acknowledgment to the profound bows of a gokl-laced official who had approached him, and who now tendered an envelope, with some murmured words of politeness. "Thank you— thauk you," said Prince Martin, and slipped the envelope within his pocket. " It is my passport," he explained to Cartoner, lightly. " All the rest of you will receive yours when you are in the train. Mine is the doubtful privilege of being known here, and being a suspected character. So they are doubly polite, and doubly watchful. As for you, at Alexandrowo you rejoice in a happy obscurity. You will pass in with the crowd, I suppose." ♦' I always try to," replied Cartoner. Which was strictly true. " You see," went on Martin, not too discreetly, consider- ing their environments, " we cannot forget that we were 62 THE VULTURES. a great nation bafore there was a Ruasian Empire, or an Austrmn Empire^ or a German Empire. We are a kndladj who has seen better days; who has let her lodgings d three foreign gentlemen who do not paj the ren^-who ^r^ clean their boots, and then'Sst them atTuJ anJt« °Zr' ^^' ^'^^ '"^"^ ^ °*^^ ^« ^^^'^ open, andthe passengers were passing slowly ont to the iL iZ^ platform. It was almost daylight now, JZ' tram was drawn up in readiness to sLrt, with a fr^h engine and new officials. The homeliness of Germany S vanished, giving place to that subtle sense of dSfort and u^el^choly which hangs in the air from the So t the Pacific coast. xt"I' ^°P® J^*^ ^^ 8^y a long time in Warsaw," said Martm, as thoy walked up the platform. "MyfaL^d sister wUl bo coming home before Ion?, .nd wiU be riad to see you. We wiU do what we can to make the p1^ to^bleforyou. We live in the Kot^ebue, and ha'^ horse for you when you want it. Yon know, we have good horses m Warsaw, as good as any. And the om; ^y ^ ec the country is from the saddle. We have the best horses and the worst roads." « Thaiiks. very much," replied Cartouer. - 1, of course do not know how long I shall stay. I am n;t myTn master, you understand. I never know from one day to another what my movements may be " ^ nnl'^Ml K^^'"^ ^^'"''' ^^ ^^^ »^«^t tone of one who only half hears. «No, of course not. By the way we Lave the races coming on. I hope you wlU be S H them. In our small way. it is the seion in Warsaw now But, of course, there are difficulties-even the ^^Zl difficulties-there is the military element." ^ AT THE FRONTIER. G3 Ho pauBed, and indicated with a short nod the Bouian ofilcer who was passing to his carriage in front of them. "They have the best horses," he explained. "They have more money than we have. We have been robbed, as yon know. You, whose bnsiness it ia." He turned, with his foot on the step of the carriage. He was so accustomed to the recognition of his rank that he went first without question. " Yes," he said, with a laugh ; " I had quite forgotten that it is your business to know all about us." "I have tried to remind you of it several times," answered Cartoner quietly. " To shut me up, you mean ? " asked the younger man. " Yes." Martin was standing at the door of Cartoner's compart- ment. He turned away with a laugh. " Good night," he said. " Hope you will get some more sleep. We shall meet again in a few hours." He closed the sliding door, and as the train moved slowly out of the station Cartoner could hear the cheerful voice — of a rather high timbre — in conversation with the German attendant in the corridor. For, like nearly all his country- men. Prince Martin was a man of tongues. The Pole is compelled by circumstances to learn several langni^es; first, his own ; then the kinguage of the conqueror, either Russian or German, or perhaps both. For social purposes he must speak the tongues of the two countries that promised so much for Poland and performed so little : England and France. Cartoner sat on the vacant seat in his compartment, which had not been made up as a bed, and listened thonght> fully to the pleasant tones. It was broad daylight now, and the flat, carefully cultivated land was green and fresh. •ill >! i 64 THE VULTURKS. Cartoaer looked out of the window with an UMeeing eje and the train lumbered along in silence. The Engl4' nuui seemed to iiavo no desire for sleep, though not being an impressionable man, ho was usually able to rest and work, fast and cat at such times as might be con- venicnt. Ho was considered by his friends to be a rather cold, steady man, who concealed under an indifferent manner an almost insatiable ambition. He cciiuinly had given way to an entire absorption in his profession, and in the dogged acquirement of one language after another as occasion seemed to demand. Ho had been, it was said, more than usually devoted to bis profession, even to the point of sacrificing friendships which from a social, and possibly from an aiabitious point of view, could not have failed to be useful to him. Martin Bukaty was not the first man whom he had kept at arm's length. But in this instance the treatment had not been markedly successful, and Cartouer was wonderin*' now why the prince had been so difficult to oflfend. He hid refused the friendship, and the effect had only been to bring the friend nearer. Cartoner sat at the open window until the sun rose and the fields were dotted here and there with the figures of the red-clad peasant women working at the crops At seven o'clock he was still sitting there, and soon after Prince Martin Bukaty, after knocking, drew back the sliding door and came into the compartment, closing the door behind him. "I have been thinking about it," he said in his quick way, "and it won't do, yon know— it won't do. You can- not appear in Warsaw ad our friend. It would never do for us to show special attention to you. Anywhere else in ^e world, you understand, I am your friend, but not in Warsaw." AT THE rilONTlP:R. 05 " Yea," Biiid Cartoncr, "I nnderetand." Ho rose as ho spoke, for Prince ^klartin was holding out his hand. "Good-bye," ho said in his qaict way, and thoy shook hands as the train glidfil into Wars iw Stution. In the doorway Martin turned atul i okcd back over hw shoulder. " All the Siiino, I don't imderstai I why "Wanda did not nnntion your name . . roc. She mi explained. 66 THE VXJLTUREa 1 ', CHAPTER viir. IX A REMOTE CITY. The Vistula is the backbone of Poland, and from its source in the Carpathians to its mouth at Danfczig, runs the whole length of that which for three hundrei years was the lead- ing power of Eastern Europe. At Cracow— the tomb of many kings— it passes half round the citadel, a shallow sluggish river ; and from the ancient capital of Poland to the present capital— Warsaw— it finds its way across the great plain, amid cultivated fields, through the quiet villages of Galicia and Masovia. Warsaw is built upon two sides of the river, the ancient town looking from a height across the broad stream to the suburb of Praga. In Praga— a hundred years ago— the Russians, under Suvorow, slew thirteen thousand Poles ; in th(3 river between Praga and the citadel two thousand were drowned. Less than forty years ago a crowd of Poles assembled in the square in front of the Castle to protest against the tyranny of their conquerors. They were un- armed, and when the Russian soldiery fired upon them they stood and cheered, and refused to disperse. Again, in cold blood, the troops fired, and the Warsaw massacre continued for three hours in the streets. Warsaw is a gay and cheerful town, with fine streets and IN A BEMOTE CITY. 67 good shops, with a cold grey climate, and a history as grim as that of any city in the world save Ftris. Like most cities, Warsaw has its principal street, and, like all things Polish, this street has a terrible name— the Krakowski Przedmi(iscie. It is in this Krakowski Faubourg that the Hotel de I'Europe stands, where history in its time has played a part, where kings and princes have slept, where the Jew Hermani was murdered, where the bodies of the first five victims of the Russian soldiery were carried after the massacre and there photographed, and finally where that great light from the West— Miss Julie P. Mangles —alighted one morning looking a little dim and travel- stained. "Told you," said Mr. Mangles to his sister, who for so lofty a soul was within almost measurable distance of snappishncss — " told you you would have nothing to com- plain of in the hotel, Jooly." But Miss Mangles was not to be impressed or mollified. Only once before had her brother and nieco seen this noble woman in such a frame of mind — on their arrival at the rising town of New Canterbury, Mass., when the deputa- tion of Women Workers and Wishful Waiters for the Truth failed to reach the railway dep6t because they happened on a fire in a straw-hat manufactory on their way, and heard that the newest pattern of straw hat was to be had for the picking up in the open street. There had been no deputation at Warsaw Station to meet Miss Mangles. London had not recognized her. Berlin had shaken it: of^cial head when she proposed to visit its plenipotentiaries, and hers was the ignoble position of the prophet — ^not withont honour in his own country — who cannot get a hearing in foreign parts. ^'This is even worse than ! anticipated," said Miss 68 THE VULTURES. Miingles, watching the hotel porters in conflict with Miss Netty Cahere's large tranks. " What is worse, Jooly ? " " Poland I " replied Miss Mangles in a voice full of fore- boding, and yet with a ring of determination in it, as if to say that she had reformed worse countries than Poland in her day. " I allow," said Mr. Mangles, slowly, " that at this hour in the morning it appears to be a one-horse country. Ton want your breakfast, Jooly ? " "Breakfast will not put two horses to it, Joseph," re- plied Miss Maugles, looking not at her brother, but at the imposing hotel concierge with a bland severity indicative of an intention of keeping him strictly in his place. Miss Netty quietly relieved her aunt of the small im- pedimenta of travel, with a gentle deference which was better than words. Miss Cahere seemed always to know how to say or do the right Lhing, or, more difficult still, to keep the right silence. Fither this, or the fact that Miss Mangles was conscious of having convinced her hearers that she was as expert in the lighter swordplay of debate as in the rolling platform period, somewhat alle- viated the lady's humonr, and she turned towards the historic staircase, which had run with the blood of Jew and Po!e, with a distinct air of condescension. "Tell me," said Mr. Joseph Mangles to the concierge, in a voice of deep depression which only added to the incongruity of his French, " what language you speak." " Russian, French, Polish, German, English " " That'll (2 to go on with," interrupted Mangles, in his own tongue. " We'll get along in English. My name is Mangles." Whereupon the porter bowed low, as to :ne for whom IN A REMOTE CITY. 69 4 first floo" rooms and a salon had been bespoken, and waved hi band towards the stairs, where stood a couple of waiters. Of the party, Miss Gahere alone appeared cool and com- posed and neat. She might, to jndge from her bright eyes and delicate complexion, have slept all night in a com- fortable bed. Her hat and her hair had the appearance of having been arranged at leisure by a maid. Miss Netty had on the snrface a little manner of self-depreciating flnrry which sometimes seemed to conceal a deep and abiding calm. She had little worldly theories, too, which she often ennncialed in her confidential manner ; and one of these was that one should always, in all places and at all times, be neat and tidy, for one never knows whom one may meet. And, be it noted in passing, there have been many successful human careers based upon this simple rule. She followed the waiter upstairs with that soft rustle of the drf'w which conveys even to the obtuse masculine mind a car( for clothes and the habit of dealing with a good dressmaker. At the head of the stairs she gave a little cry of surprise ; for Paul Deulin was coming along the broad corridor towards her, swinging the key of his bedroom, and nonchalantly humming an air from a recent comic opera. He was, it appeared, as much at home here as in London or Paris or New York. " Ah, mademoiselle ! " he said, standing hat in hand before her, " who would have dreamt of such a pleasure — here and at this moment — in this sad town ? " " You seemed gay enough — you were singing," answered Miss Cahere. " It was a sad little air, mademoiselle, and I was singing flat. Perhai» you noticed it ? " " No, I never know when people are singing flat or not. 70 THE VULTURES. U I have no car for mnsic. I only know when I like to hear a person's voice. I have no accomplishments, you know," said Netty, with a little humble drawing in of the shoulders. " Ah I " said Deulin, with a gesture which conveyed quite clearly his opinion that she had need of none. And he turned to greet Miss Mangles and her brother. Miss Mangles received him coldly. Even the greatest of women is liable to feminine momants, and may know when she is not looking her best. She shook hands, with her platform bow — from the waist — .ind passed on. " Hallo I " said Joseph Mangles. " Got here before us ? Thought you'd turn up. Dismal place, eh ? " " You have just arrived, I suppose ? " said Deulin. " Oh, please don't laugh at us I " broke in Netty. "Of course you can see that. You must know that we have just come out of a sleeping-car I " "You always look, mademoiselle, as if you had come straight from heaven," answered Deulin, looking at Miss Cahere, whose hand was at her hair. It was pretty hair and a pretty, slim, American hand. But she did not seem to hear, for she had turned away quickly and was speaking to her uncle. Deulin accompanied them along the corridor, which is a long one, for the Hotel de I'Europe is a huge quadrangle. "You startled me by your sudden appearance, you know," she said, turning again to the Frenchman, which was probably intended for an explanation of her heightened colour. She was one of those fortunate persons who blush easily— at the right time. " I am sure Uncle Joseph will be pleased to have you in the same hotel. Of course, we know no one in Warsaw. Have yon friends here ? " "Only one," replied Deulin— "the waiter who serves the Zakuska counter, downstairs. I knew him when he lit IN A BEMOTE CITY n was an Anstrian nobleman, travelling for his health in France. He does not recognize me now." "Will you stay long?" ♦' I did not intend to," replied Denlin, " when I came out of my room this morning." "But you and Mr. Cartoner have Polish friends, have you not ? " asked Netty. " Not in Warsaw," was the reply. " Suppose we shall meet again ? " broke in Joseph Mangles at this moment, halting on the threshold of the gorgeous apartment. He tapped the number on the door in order to draw Deulin's attention to it. " Always welcome," he said. "Funny we should meet here. Means mischief, I suppose ? " " I suppose it does," answered Deulin, looking guilelessly at Netty. He took his leave and continued his way downstairs. Out in the Krakowski Faubourg the sun was shining brightly and the world was already astir, while the shops were opening and buyers already hurrying home from the morning markets. It is a broad street, with palaces and churches on either side. Every palace has its story ; two of them were confiscated by the Russian Government because a bomb, which was thrown from the pavement, might possibly have come from one of the windows. Every church has rung to the strains of the forbidden Polish hymn — "At Thy altar we raise our prayer; deign to restore us, Lord, our free country." Into almost all of them the soldiers have forced their way to make arrests. Paul Deulin walked slowly up the faubourg towards the new town. The clocks were striking the hour. He took off his hat, and gave a little sigh of enjoyment of the fresh air and bright sun. 72 THE VULTURES. !» Jost Heaven, forgive me I " he said, with upturned eyes. " I have already told several lies, and it is only eight o'clock. I wonder whether I shall find Cartoner out of bed ? " He walked on in a leisurely way, brushing past Jew and Gentile, gay Cossack officers, and that dull Polish peasant who has assuredly lived through greater persecution than any other class of men. He turned to the right up a broad street and then to the left into a narrower, quieter thoroughfare, called the Jasna. The houses in the Jasna are mostly large, with courtyards, where a few trees struggle for existence. They are let out in flate, or in even smaller apartments, where quiet people live— professors, lawyers, and other persons, who have an interest within themselves, and are not dependent on the passer-by for entertainment. Into one of these large houses Deulin turned, and gave his destination to the Russian doorkeeper as he passed the lodge. This was the second floor, and the door was opened by a quick-mannered man, to whom the Frenchman nodded familiarly. "Is lie up yet ? " he inquired, and called the man by his Christian name. " This hour and more, monsieur," replied the servant, lead- mg the way along a narrow corridor. He opened a door, and stood aside for Deulin to pass into a comfortably furnked room, where Cartoner was seated at a writing-t«ble. "Good morning," said the Frenchman. As he passed the table he took i-p a book and went towards the window, where he sat down in a deep armchair. " Don't let me disturb you," he continued. " Finish what you are doing '» " News ? " inquired Cartoner, laying aside his pen. He looked at Deulin gravely beneath his thoughtful brows They were marveUously dissimilar— these friends. " Bah I " returned Deulin, throwing aside the book he IN A REMOTE GITT. 73 had picked np— *' Lelewel's History of Poland," in Polish. "I tremhle for yonr future, Cartoner. Yon take life so seriously — ^you, \rho need not work at all. Even uncles cannot live for ever, and some day you will he in a position to lend money to poor devils of French diplomatists. Think of that I " He reflected for a moment. " Yes," he said, after a pause, " I have news of sorts — news which goes to prove that yon are quite right to take an apartment instead of going to the hotel. The Mangleses arrived here this morning — Mangles frhrey Mangles ittWy and Miss Cahere. I say, Cartoner " He paused, and examined his own boots with a critical air. " I say, Car* toner, how old do you put mc ? " " Fifty." " All that, mon cAcr— all that I Old enough to play the part of an old fool who excels all other fools." Cartoner took up his pen again. He had suddenly thought of something to put down, and in his odd, direct way proceeded to write, while Deulin watched him. " I say," said the Frenchman at length, and Cartoner paused, pen in hand. '* What would you think of me if I fell in love with Netty Cahere ? " •' I should think you a very lucky man if Netty Cahere fell in love with you," was the reply. The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. " Yes," he said. " I have known you a good many years, and have gathered that that is your way of looking at things. You want your wife to be in love with you. Odd ! I suppose it is English. Well, I don't know if there is any harm done, but I certainly had a queer sensation when I saw Miss Cahere suddenly this morning. You think her a nice girl ? " 74 1! THE VULTURES. " Very nioe," replied Cartoner, gravely. Deolin looked at him with an odd smile, but Cartoner waa looking at the letter before him. "What I like about her is her quiet way," auggested Deulin, tentatively. "Yes?" Then they lapsed into silence, while Cartoner thought of his letter. Deulin, to judge from a couple of sharp sighs which caught him unawares, must have been thinking of Netty Cahere. At length the Frenchman rose and took his leave, making an appointment to dine with Cartoner that evening. Out in the street he took off his hat to high Heaven again. "More lies ! " he murmured, humbly. ^ ( 75 ) CHAPTER IX. THE SAND WORKERS. At the foot of the steep and narrow Bednaraka— the street running down from the Cracow Fanbonrg to the river — there are always many workers. It is here that the hathing- houses and the boathouses are. Here lie the steamers that ply slowly on the shallow river. Here, also, is a trade in timber, where from time to time one of the smaller rafts that float from the Carpathians down to Dantzig is moored and broken up. Here, also, are loafers, who, like flies, congregate naturally near the water. A few hundred yards higher up the river, between the Bcdnarska and the spacious Jerozolimska Alley, many carts and men work all day in the sand which the Vistula deposits along her low banks. The Jerozolimska starts hopefully from the higher parts of tbe city— ;,he widest, the newest, the most Parisian street in the town, Warsaw's only boule- vard — down the hill, as if it expected to find a bridge at the bottom. But there ia no bridge there, and the fine street dwindles away to sandy mts and a broken towpath. Here horses struggle vainly to drag heavy sand carts from the ruts, while their drivers swear at them, and the sand workers lean on their spades and watch. A cleaner sand ia dredged from tho middle or brought across in deep-laden m 76 TBE VULTURES. 1^ panto from the many banki that render -nttvigaiion next to impossible— a cleai , bard aand, moat excellent for bnilJing purposes. It was the honr of the mid-day dinner— for Polish hours are the hours of the early Victorian meals. Horses and men were alike at rest. The horses nibbled at the thin grass, while the men sat by the .\uter and ate their grey bread, which only tastes of dampness and carraway seeds. It was late autumn and the sun shone feebly through a yellow haze. The scene was not exhilarating. The Vistula, to put it plainly, is a dismal river. Pohmd is a dismal country. A witty Frenchman, who knew it well, once said that it is a country to die for but not to live in. It was only natural that the workmen should group together for their uninteresting meal. The sandbark offered a comfortable seat. Their position was in a sense a strategical one. They were in full view of the bridge and of the high land behind them, but no one could approach within half a mile unperceived. "Yes," one of the workmen was saying, "those who know, say that there will inevitably be a kingdom of Poland again. Someday. And if some day, why not now ? Why not this time ? " His hearers continued to eat in silence. Some were slightly-built, oval-faced men— real Poles; others had the nan'ower look of the Lithuanian ; while a third type possessed the broad and pkcid face that comes from Posen. Some were bom to this hard work of the sandhills ; others had that look in the eyes, that carriage of the head, which betokens breeding and suggests an ancestral story. " The third time, they say, is lucky," answered a white- haired man at length. He was a powtrfal man, with the lines of hunger cut deeply in his face. Thip ,vork was THE BAND WORKERS. 77 nothing to hiiii. He had labonwl elsewhere. The others turned and looked ^^ iiim, but he laid no more. He ghmced across the river towards the spires of Praga pointing above the brown trees. Perhaps he was thinking of those other times, which he must have seen fifty years and twenty years ago. His fj^her must have seen Praga paved with the dead bodies of its people. He must have seen the river run slnggish with the same burden. He may have seen the people shot down in the streets of Warsaw only twenty years before. His eyes had the dull look which nearly always betokens some terrific vision never forgotten. Ho seemed a placid old man, and was known as an excellent worker, though cruel to his horses. He who had first spoken— a boatman known as Kosmaroff —was a spare man, with a narrow face and a long, pointed chin, hidden by a neat beard. He was not more than thirty-five years old, and presented no outward appearance of having passed through hardships. His manner was quick and vivacious, and when he laughed, which was not infrequent, his mouth gave an odd twist to the left. The comer went upwards towards the eye. His smile was what the French call a pale emilc. At times, but very rarely, a gleam of recklessness parsed through his dark eyes. He had been a raftsman, and was reputed to be the most daring of those little-known watermen at flood times and in the early thaw. He glanced towards the old man as if ho{.ing that more was coming. " Yes, it will be the third time," he said, when the other had lapsed into a musing silence, " though few of us have seen it with our own eyes. But we have other means of remembering. We have also the experience of our fore- fathers to guide us— though we cannot say that our fathers have told us- u MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TBT CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) liO Its u 1^ ■ 12 116 23 Z2 2.0 1.8 ^ APPLIED IIVHGP J , B^ '653 Eosl Main Street •'Sa (7'6) 482 - 0300 - Phone ^SB (716) 288-5989 -Fax nc ^rr 78 THE VULTURES. P^; He broke off with a short laugh. His grandfather had died at Praga ; his father had gone to Siberia to perish there. "We shall time it better," he said, "than last time. We have men watching the political world for us. The two emperors are marked as an old man is marked by those who are named in his will. If anythmg happened to Bismarck, if Austria and Russia were to faU out, if the dogs should quarrel among themselves— the three dogs that have torn Poland to pieces ! Anything would do ! They knew the Crimean War was coming. England and France were so slow. And they threw a hundred thousand men into Warsaw before they turned to the English. That shows what they thought of us I " The others listened, lookmg patiently at the river. The spirit of some was broken. There is nothing like hunger to break the spirit. Others looked doubtful, for one reason or another. These men resembled a board of directors- some of them \iiew too little, others too much. It seemed to be Kosmaroff's mission to keep them up to a certain mark by his boundless optimism, his unquestioning faith m 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 usuaUy found m near proximity to danger of any sort. « You, who are an aristocrat, and have nothing to lose I " Kosmaroff ate his bread with an odd smile. He did not look towards the speaker. He knew the voice, perhaps, or he knew that great truth that a man's character is ever bubblmg to his lips, and every spoken word is a part of it running over. "There are many who can be aristocrats some day— brSittnef ' ^"""^ ^'''*"°''" ^' '^^' *^^ '^' ^^^ ^^^ THE SAND WOKKERS. 79 "I lost five at Praga," muttered an elderly man, who had the subdued manner of the toiler. " That is enough for me." " It is well to remember Praga," returned Kosmaroff, in a hard monotone. "It is well to remember that the Muscovites have never kept their word I There is much to remember I " And a murmur of unforgetf ulness came from the listeners. Kosmaroff glanced sideways at two men who sat shoulder by shoulder staring sullenly across the river. " I may be an aristocrat by descent," he said, " but what docs that come to ? I am a raftsman. I work with my hands, like any other. To be a Polish aristocrat is to have a little more to give. They have always done it. They are ready to do it again. Look at the Bukatys and a hundred others, who could go to France and live there peaceably, in the sunshine. I could do it myself. But I am here. The Bukatys are here. They will finish by losing every- thing—the little they have left — or else they will win evciTthing. And I know which they will do. They will win I The prince is wise. Prince Martin is brave ; we all know that I " " And when they have won will they remember ? " asked one of the two smaller men, throwing a brown and leathery crust into the river. "If they are given anything worth remembering they will not forget it. You may rely on that. They know what each gives — whether freely or with a niggard hand — and each shall be paid back in his own coin. They give freely enough themselves. It is always so with the aristocrats ; but they expect an equal generosity in others, which is only right I " The men sat in a row facing the slow river. They were ,j'; 80 THE VULTURES. 11 i: toil-worn and stained ; their clothing was in rags. But beneath their sandy hair more than one pair°of eyes gleamed from time to time with a sudden anger, with an intelligence made for higher things than spade and oar. As they sat there they were like the notes of a piano, and Kosmaroflf played the instrument with a sure touch that brought the fullest vibration out of each chord. He was a born leader ; an organizer not untouched perchance by that light of genius which enables some to rule the souls of men. Nor was he only a man of words, as so many patriots are. He was that dangerous product, a Pole bom in Siberia. He had served in a Cossack regiment. The son of convict number 2704 ; he was the mere offspring of a number— a thing not worth accounting. In hia regiment no one had noticed him much, and none cared when he disappeared from it. And now here he was back in Poland, with a Russian name for daily use and another name hidden in his heart that had blazed all over Poland once. Here he was, a raftsman plying between Cracow and Warsaw, those two hotbeds of Polish patriotism— a mere piece of human driftwood on the river. He had made the usual grand tour of Russia's deadliest enemies. He had been to Siberia and Paris and Loudon. He might have lived abroad, as he said, in the sunshine ; but he preferred Poland and its grey skies, manual labour, and the bread that tastes of dampness. For he believed that a kingdom which stood in the forefront for eight centuries cannot die. There are others who cherish the same belief. "This time," he went on, after a pan? " I have news for you. We are a little nearer. It is t . purpose to be ready, and then to wait patiently until some event in Europe gives us our opportunity. Last time they acted at THE SAND WORKERS. 81 the wrong moment. This time we shall not do that, but we shall nevertheless act with decision when the moment arrives. We arc a step nearer to readiness, and we owe it to Prince Martin Bnkaty again. He is never slow to pat his head in the noose, and laughs with the rope around his neck. And he has succeeded again, for he has the luck. We have five thousand rifles in Poland " He paused and looked down the line of grimy faces, noting that some lighted up and others dropped. The fat little man with the beady eyes blinked as he stared reso- lutely across the river. " In Warsaw ! " he added, significantly. " So, if there are any who think that the cause is a dead one, they had better say so now — and take the consequences." He con- cluded rather cruelly, with his one-sided smile. No one seemed disposed to avail himself of this invi- tation. "And there is ammunition enough," continued Kos- maroff, "to close the account of every Muscovite in Warsaw 1 " His voice vibrated as he spoke, with the cold and steady hatred of the conquered ; but on his face there only rested the twisted smile. " I tell you this," he went on, " because I am likely to go to Cracow before long, and so that you may know what is expected of you. Certain events may be taken before- hand as a sure signal for assembly — such as the death of either Emperor, of the King of Prussia, or of Bismarck, the declaration of war by any of the Great Powers. There is always something seething on the Indian frontier, and one day the English will awake. The Warsaw papers will not have the news ; but the Czas and the other Cracow journals will tell you soon enough, and you can all see the 82 THE VULTURES. Galician papers when you want fo, despite their censors and their police I " A contemptuous laugh from the fat man confirmed this statement. TMs was his department. In many hearts cunning takes the place of courage. At this moment the steam-whistle of the ironworks farther up the river boomed out across the plain. The bells of city churches broke out into a clanging unanimity, as to the time of day, and all the workers stirred reluc- tantly. The dinner hour was over. Kosmaroff rose to his feet and stretched himself— a long, lithe, wiry figure. " Gome," he said, " wo must return to work." He glanced from face to face, and any looking with understanding at his narrow countenance, his steady dark eyes, and clean-cut nose, must have realized that they stood in the presence of that rare and indefinable creation— a strong man. u ' 1 N I ! I i ( 83 ) CHAPTER X. A WARNING. It 13 a matter of history that the division of Poland into three saved many families from complete ruin. For some suffered confiscation in the Kingdom of Poland, and saved their property in Galicia; others, again, of Posen had estates in Masovia, which even Bussiun justice could lot lay hands upon — that gay justice of 1832, which d'^clared that, in protesting against the want of faith of their conquerors, the Poles had broken faith. The Austrian Government half sympathized with the discontent '^f those Poles who had fallen under Russian sway, while in Breslau it was permitted to print and publish pluin words deemed criminal in Cracow and Warsaw. The dogs, in a word, behaved as dogs do over their carrion, and ha^ ing secured a large portion, kept a jealous eye on their neighbour's jaw. The Bukatys had lost all in Poland except a house or two in Warsaw, but a few square miles of fertile land in Galicia brought in a sufficiency, while Wanda had some property in the neighbourhood of Bi«slau bequeathed to her by her mother. The fiery years of 1860 and 1861 had worn out this lady, who found the peace that passeth man's under- standing while Poland was yet in the horrors of a hopeless guerilla warfare. 84 THE VULTURES. "Russia owes me twenty years of happiucsa and twenty million roubles," the old prince was in the habit of saying, and each year on the anniversary of his wife's death he reckoned up afresh this debt. He mentioned it, moreover, to Russian and Pole alike, with that calm frankness which was somehow misunderstood, for the Administration never placed him among the suspects. Poland hns always been a plain-speaking country, and the Poles, expressing them- selves in the roughest of European tongues, a plain-spoken people. They spoke so plainly to Henri of Valois i^hen he was their king, that one fine night he ran away to mincing France and gentler men. When, under rough John Sobieski, they spoke with their enemy in the gate of Vienna, their moaning was quite clear to the Moslem understanding. The Prince Bukaty had a touch of that rough manner which commands respect in a smooth age, and even Russian officials adopted a conciliatory attitude towards this man, who had known Poland without one of their kind within her boundaries. " You cannot expect an old man such as I to follow r,' the changes of your petty laws, and to remember undc which form of government he happens to be living at the moment 1 " he had boldly said to a great personage from St. Petersburg, and the observation was duly reported in the capital. It was, moreover, said in Warsaw that the law had actually stretched a point or two for the Prince Bukaty on more than one occasion. Like many outspoken people, he passed for a barker and not a biter. It does not fall to the lot of many to live in a highly civilized town and submit to open robbery. Prince Bukaty occupied a small house in Kotzebue Street, and when he took his morning stroll in the Cracow Faubourcr be A WARNING. 85 ! passed under the shadow of a palace flying the Rnsaian flag, which palace was his, and had belonged to his ancestors from time immemorial. He had once made the journey to St. Petersburg to see in the great museum there the portraits of bis fathers, the books that his predecessors had collected, the relics of Poland's greatness, which were his and the greatness thereof was his. •' Yes," he replied to the loquacious curator, " I know. You tell me nothing that I do not know. These things arc mine. I am the Prince Bukaty ! " And the curator of St. Petersburg museum went away, sorrowful, like the young man who had great possessions. For Russia had taken these things from the Bukatys, not in punishment, but because she wanted them. She wanted offices for her bureaucrats on the Krakowski Przcdmidscie, in "Warsaw, so she took the Bukaty Palace. And to whom can one appeal when Caesar steals ? Poland had appealed to Europe, and Europe had )res3cd the deepest sympathy. And that was all t The house in the Kotzebue has the air of an old French town house, and was, in fact, built by a French architect in the days of Stanislaus Augustus, when Warsaw aped Paris. It stands back from the road behind high railings, and at the further end of a paved courtyard, to which entrance is gained by two gates, now never opened in hospitality, and only unlocked at rare intervals for the passage of the quiet brougham in which the prince or Wanda went and came. The house is just round the corner of the Kotzebue, and therefore faces the Saski Gardens — a quiet spot in this most noisy town. The building is a low one, with a tiled roof and long windows, heavily framed, of which the smaller panes and thick woodwork suggest the early days of window-glass. Inside, the house is the pi n 86 THE VULTURES. M If dwelling of a poor man. Tho carpets arc worn thin ; tho furniture, of a sumptuous design, is carefully patched and mended. Tho atmosphere has that mournful scent of ancient tapestries which is tho scent of better days—now dead and past. It is the odour of monarchy, slowly fading from tho face of a world that reeks of cheap democracy. The air of the rooms— the subtle individuality which is impressed by humanity on wood and texture -suggested that older comfort which has been succeeded by tho restless luxury of these times. The prince was, it appeared, one of those men who diffuse tranquil! ;iy wherever they are. He had moved quietly through stirring events ; had acted without haste in hurried moments. For tht individuality of the house must have been his. Wanda had found it then when she came back from school in Dresden, too young to have a marked individuality of her own. The difference she brought home was a certain brightness and a sort of experimental femininity, which reigned simreme until her English governess came back again to live . . a companion with her pupil. Wanda moved the furniture, turned tho house round on its staid basis, and made a hundred experi- ments m domestic economy before she gave way to her father's habits of life. Then she made that happiest of human discoveries, which has the magic power of allayin- at one stroke the eternal feminine discontent which hw made the world uneasy since the day that Eve idled in that perfect garden-she found that she was wanted in tho world I The prince did not tell her so. Perhaps his need of her was too obvious to require words. He had given his bc^t years to Poland, and now that old age was coming, that A WARNING. 87 health was failing and wealth had vanished, Polnni^. would have none of him. The; J ^.v ao Poland. At this mcment Wanda bunt upon him, so to speak, with a hundred desires that only ho could fulfil, a hundred questions that only ho could answer. And. as wise persons know, to fulfil desires and answer questions is the best happinoss. Father and daughter lived a quiet life in the house that was called a palace by courtesy only. For Martin was made of livelier stuff, and rarely stayed long at home. Ho came and went with a feverish haste ; was fond of travel, he said, and the authorities kept a questioning eye upon his movements. There are two doors to the Bukaty Palace. As often as not, Martin made use of the smaller door giving entrance to the garden at the back of the house, which garden could also be entered from an alley leading round from the back of the bank, which stands opposite the post-office in the busier part of Kotzebue Street. He came in by this door one evenuig and did not come alone, for he was accompanied by a man in working clothes. The streets of Warsaw ore well lighted and well guarded by a most excellent police, second only as tho Russians are to the police of London. It is therefore the custom to go abroad at night as much as in the day, and the Krakowski is more crowded after dark than during tho afternoon. KosmarofF had walked some distance behind Prince Martin in the streets. Martin unlocked the gate of tl garden and passed in, leaving the gate open with tho key in the lock. In a minute Kosmaroff followed, lockeil the gate iter him, and gave the key back to its owner on the steps of the garden door of the house, where Martin was awaiting him latchkey in hand. They did it without 88 TnB VULTURES. comment or instruction, as men carry out a plan frequently resorted to. Martin led the way into the house, along a dimly lighted con-idor, to a door which stood ajar. Outside the night was cold ; within were wrmth and comfort. Martin went l.ito the long room. At the far end, beneath a lamp and near an open wood fire, Lhe prijcc and Wanda were sitting. They were in evening dress, and the prince was dozing in his chair. "I have brought Kos to see you," said Martin, and, turning, he looked towards the door. The convict's son, the convict, came forward with that ease which, to be genuine, must be quite unconscious. He apparently gave no thought to his sandy and wrinkled top-boots, from which the original black had long since been washed away by the waters of the Vistula. He wore his working clothes as if they were the best habit for this or any other palace. He took Wanda's hand, and kissed it in the old-world fashion, which has survived to this day in Poland. But the careless manner in which he raised her fingers to his lip3 would have showed quite clearly to a competent observer that neither Wanda nor any other woman had ever touched his heart. " You will excuse my getting up," said the prince. " My gout is bad to-night. You will have something to eat ? " " Thank yon, I have eaten," replied Kosmaroff, drawing forwar ' uiair. Martin put the logs together with his foot and they blazed up, lighting with a flickering glow the incongruous group. " He will take a glass of port," said the prince, turning to Wanda, and indicating the decanter fro n which, despite bis gout, he had just had his after-dinner vine. A WARNING. 89 Wauda poured oat iho wine and handed it to Kosmaroff, who took it with a glance and a quick smilo of thanks, which seemed to indicate that he was almost one of the family. And indeed, they were closely related, not only in the present generation, but in /r^one days. For Kosmaroff represented a family long sin' deemed extirct. " I have come," he said, " to tell you that all is Ui ■ Also to bid you good-bye. As soon as I can get em, ' mcnt I shall go down to Thorn to stir them np there. They JW( lethargic at Thorn." " Ah I " laughed the prince, moving his legs to a more comfortable position, " you young men ! You think every- body is lethargic. Don't move too quickly. That is what I always preach." " And we are ready enough to listen to your preaching," answered Kosmaroff. ** You will admit that. I came here to-night in obedience to your opinion that too much secrecy is dangerous because it leads to misunderstandings. Plain speaking and a clear -iderstandin va' the message you sent me — the text of your last, serm ' With his quick smile, Kosjistroff touched the rim of the prince's wineglass, which st ad at his elbow, and indicated by a gesture that L. drank h > ) ealth. " That was not jy text— tiiat was Wanda's," answered the prince. " Ah I " said KosmarofF, looking towards Wanda. " Is that so ? Then I will take it. I believe in Wanda's views of life. She has a vast experience." "I have been to Dresden and to London," answered Wanda, "and a woman always sees much more than a man." '* Always ? " asked Kosmaroff, with his one-sided smile. " Always,"' 90 THE VULTURES. But Kosmaroff had turned towards the prince in his quick, jerky way. "By the way," he asked, "what is Cartoncr doinz in Wareaw ? " * "Cartoncr— the Engh'shman who speaks so many languages? We met him in London," answered the prince. « Who is he ? AVhy should he not be here ? " " I will teU you who he is," answered Kosmaroff, with a sudden light in his eyes. « He is the man whom the English send when they suspect that something is going on which they can turn to good account. He has a trick of finding things out-that man. Such is his reputation, at aU events. Paul Deulin is another, and he is here. He is a friend of yours, by the way ; but he is not dangerous, like Carfconer. There is an American here, too. His instruc- tions are Warsaw and Petersburg. There is either some- thing moving in Russia or else the Powers suspect that something may move in Poland before long. These men are here to find out. They must find out nothing from us." The prince shrugged his shoulders indifferently. He did not attach much importance to these foreigners. " Of course," went on Kosmaroff, " they are only watchers. But, as Wanda says, some people see more than others. The American, Mangles, who has ladies with him, will report upon events after they have happened. So will Deulin, who is an idler. He never sees that which will give him trouble. He does not write long despatches to the Quai d'Orsay, because he knows that they will not bo read there. But Caitoner is different. There are never any surprises for the English in matters that Cartoner has in hand. He reports on events before they have happened, which is a different story. I merely warn you." As he spoke, Kosmaroff rose, glancing at the clock. A WABNINO. 91 " There arc no instructions ? " *• None," answered the prince ; " except the usurl one — patience ! " "Ah, yes," replied Kosmaroff ; " we shall be patient." He did not seem to think that it might be easier to be patient in this comfortable house than on the sandhills of the Vistula in the coming winter months. "But bo careful," he added, addressing Martin more particularly, "of this man Cartoner. He will not betray, but he will know, you understand. And no one must know 1 " He shook hands with Martin and TVanda and then with the prince. "You met him in London, you say?" he said to the prince. "What did you think of him ? " " I thought him — a quiet man." "And Wanda?" continued Kosmaroff lightly, turning to her, "she who sees so much. What did she think of hira ? " " I was afraid of him." 92 THE VULTURES, CHAPTER XL AN AGREEMENT — TO DIFFER. The Saxon Gardens are in the heart of Warsaw and, in London, would be called a park. At certain hours the fashionable world promenades beneath the trees, and at all times there is a thoroughfare from one quarter of the town to another. Wanda often sat here in the morning or walked slowly with her father at such times as the doctor's instructions to take exercise were still fresh in his memory. There are seats beneath the trees, overlooking the green turf and the flowers so dear to the Slavonic soul. Later in the morning these seats are occupied by nurses and children, as in any other pa in any other city. But from nine to ten Wanda had the alleys almost to herself. The early autumn had already laid its touch upon the trees, and the leaves were brown. The flowers, laboriously tended all through the brief, uncertain summer, had that forlorn look which makes autumn ii northern latitudes a period of damp depression. Wanda had gone out early, and was sitting at the sunny side of the broad alley that divides the garden in two from end to end. She was waiting for Martin, who had been called back at the door of the palace and had promip A to follow in a few minutes. He had a hundred engagements daring the day, a hundred AN AGREEMENT — TO DIFFER. 98 friends among those unfortunate scions of noble houses who will not wear the Russian uniform, who cannot by the laws of their caste engage in any form of commerce and mu3t not accept a Government office — who are there- fore idle, without the natural Southern sloth that enables Ttalians and Spaniards to do nothing gracefully all day long. Wanda was wiser than Martin. Girls generally are infinitely wiser than young men. But the wisdom ceases to grow later in life, and old men are wiser than old women. Wanda was, in a sense, Martin's adviser, mentor, and friend. She had, as he himself acknowledged, already saved him from dangers into which his natural heedlessness and im- petuosity would have led him. As to the discontent in which all Poland was steeped, which led the prmces and their friends into many perils, Wanda had been brought up to it, just as some families are brought up to consumption and the anticipation of an early death. In her eminently practical, feminine way of looking at things, Wanda was much more rtfraid of Martin running into debt than into danger. Debt and impecuniosity would be so inconvenie»>t at this time, when her father daily needed some new comfort, and daily depended for his happi- ness more and more upon his port wme and that ease which is only to be enjoyed by an easy mind. Wanda was thinking of these things in the Saski garden, and hardly heeded the passers-by, though, for the feminine instincts were strong in her, she looked with softer eyes on the children than she did on the Jew who hurried past, with bent back and a bowed head, from the richer quarter of the town to his own mysterious purlieus of the Fran- ciszkanska. The latter, perhaps, recalled the thoughts of Martin and his heedlessness, the former made her think of — she knew not what. 94 TDB VULTURES. ;,! I *■; m She was looking towards the colonnade that marks the Bite of the King of Saxony's Palace, when Cartonor came through the archway into the garden. She recognized him even at this distance, for his walk was unlike that of the nervous, quick-moving Pole or the lurking Jew. It was more like the gait of a Russian ; but all the Russians in Warsaw wear a uniform. That is why tuey are there. There was evidence of determination in the walk of this Englishman. He came down the wide alley towards her, and then suddenly perceived her. She saw this without actually looking at him, and knew the precise moment when he first caught sight of her. It was presumably upon experience that Wanda based her theory that women see twice as much as men. She saw him turn, without hesitation, away from her down a narrower alley leading to the right. It was his intention to avoid her. But the only turning he could take was that leading to the corner of Kotzebue Street, and Martin was at the other end of it, comino- towards him. Cartoner was thus caught in the narrow alley. Wanda sat still and watched the two men. She suddenly knew in advance what would happen, as it is often vouchsafed to the human understanding to know at a moment's notice the immediate future ; and she had a strange, discomforting sense that these minutes were pre- ordained — that Martin and Cartoner and herself were mere puppets in the hands of Fate, and must say and do that which had been assigned to them in an unalterable scheme of succeeding events. She watched the two men meet and shake hands, in the English fashion, without raising their hats. She could see Cartoner's movement to continue his way, and Martin's detaining hand slipped within the Englishman's arm. AN AQREBMEl^r — TO DIFFER. 95 " What does it matter ? " Martin was saying. " Tliere is no one to see us here, at this hour in the morning. Wc are quite safe. There is Wanda, sitting on the seat, waiting for me. Come back with mc." And Wanda could divine the words easily enough from her brother's attitude u 1 gestures. It ought to have sur- prised her that Cartoner yielded, for it was unlike him. He was so much stronger than Martin — so determined, so uncompromising. And yet she felt no surprise when he turned and came towards her with Martini) hand still within his arm. She knew that it was written that he must come ; divined ^^aguely that he had so^nething to say to her which it was safer to say than to leave to be silently understood and perhaps misunderstood. She gave an impatient sigh. She 'id always ruled her father and brother and the PtUacc Bukaty, and this sense of powerlessness was new to her. While they approached Martin continued to talk in his eager, laughing way, and Cartoner smiled slowly as he listened. " I saw you," he said to Wanda, as he took off his bat, •' and went the other way to avoid you." And, having made this plain statement, he stood silently looking at her. He looked into her eyes, and she met his odd, direct gaze without embarrassment. " Cartoner and J ," Martin hastened to explain, " travelled from Berlin together, and we agreed then that, nuc we might desire it, it would be inconvenient for mc > show him that attention which one would naturally wish to show to an Englishman travelling in Poland. That is why he went the other way when he saw you." Wanda looked at C"Honer with hei quick, shrewd bmile. It would have been the obvious thing to have confirmed ^1 ii ', 96 THE VULTURES. IP m '! i Ii: this explanation. But Cartoner kc}/. si' at. lie had acquired, it seemed, the fatal habit — veiy rare among men and almost unknown in women— of thinking before he spoke. Which habl*^ is deadly for that which is called con- versation, because if one decides not to give speech to the obvious and the unnecessary and the futile, there i^ 'n daily intercourse hardly anything left. " You see," said Martin, who always had plenty to say for himself, " in this Province of Russia we are not even allowed to choose our own friends." "Even in a free country one does not pick one's friends out, like the best strawberries from a basket," said Wanda. "Not p, question to be arranged beforehand," put in Cartoner. " Not even by the Governor-General of Poland ? " asked Wanda, looking thoughtfully at the falling leaves which a sudden gust of wind had showered round them. " Not even by the Czar." " Who, I am told, means well I " said Martin, ironically, and with a gay laugh, for irony and laughter may be associated by the young. " Poor man ! It must be terrible to know that people are saying behind one's back that one means well ! I hope no one will ever say that of me." Wanda had sat down again, and was stirring the dead leaves with her walking-stick. " Martin and I arc going for a tramp," she said. " We like to get away from the noise and the dust — and the uniforms." But Martin sat down beside her and made room for Cartoner. " We attract less attention than if we stand," he explained. AN AGREEMENT — TO DIFFER. 97 And Cartoncr took the seat offered. " Sach hospitalitj as our circumstances allow us to offer you," commented the young prince, gaily, " a clean, stone seat on the aunny side of a public garden." " But let us understand each other," put in Wanda, in her practical way, and looked from one man to the other with those gay, blue eyes that saw so much, " since we are conspiratorL." "The better we understand each other the better con- spirators we shall be," said Cartoner. "I notice you don't ask 'What is the plot?'" said Wanda. "The plot is simple enough," answered Martin, for Cartoner said nothing, and looked straight in front of him. He did not address one more than the other, but explained the situation as it wer?, for the benefit of all whom it lu !^ht concern. He had lighted a cigarette — a little Russian affair, all gold lettering and mouthpiece — and as he onokp he jerked the ash from time to time so that it should .aot fiy in the wind and incommode his sister. " Rightly or wrongly, we arc suspected of being mal- contents. The Bukatys have in the past been known to foster that spirit of Polish nationality which it has been for nearly a century the endeavour of three great countries to suppress. Despite Russia, Prussia, and Austria, there is still a Polish language and a Polish spirit ; despite the Romanoffs, the Habsburgs, and the HohenzoUems, there are still a few old Lithuanian and Ruthenian families extant. And, rightly or wrongly, those in authority are kind enough to blame, among others, the Bukatys for these survivals. Weeds, it seems, arc hard to kill. Whether we ire really to blame or not is of no consequence. It does not matter lo ttie dog whether he deserves his bad name ft 98 THE VULTURES. or not — after he is hanged. But it is not good to bo a Bokaty and live in Poland jnst now, though some of m manage to have a good time despite them all — eh, Wanda ? " And he laid his hand momentarily on his sister's &tm. But she did not answer. She desired before all things that clear understanding which was part of her creed of life, and she glanced quickly from side to side for fear some interruption should approach. " Mr. Cartoner, on the other hand," he continued, in his a'ry way, •' is a most respectable man— in the employ of his cvyuntry. That is -\.ii damns Mr. Cartoner. He is in the employ of his country. And he has a great icputation, to which I take off my hat." And he saluted gaily Car toner's reputation. "It would never do," continued Martin, "for us, the suspects, to be avowedly the friend of the man who is understood to be an envoy in some capacity of his Govern- ment. Whether he is really such or not is of no con- sequence. It matters little to the dog, you remember." " But what are we to do ? " asked Wanda, practically. " Let U8 have a clear understanding. Are we to pass each other in the streets ? " "No," answered Cartoner, speaking at length, without hesitation and without haste — a man who knew his own mind, and went straight to the heart of the question. " We must not meet in the streets." "That may not be so easy as it sounds," said Wanda, " in a small city like Warsaw. Are you so long-sighted that you can always make sure of avoiding us ? " " I can, at all events, try," answered Cartoner, simply. After a pause (the pauses always occurred wher it happened, BO to say, to be Cartoner's turn to speak) he x.se from the AN AGREEMENT— TO DIPPER. 99 stone scat, which was all that the Bukatyg could oflfcr him in Warsaw. " I can begin at once," he said gravely. And he took off his hat and went away. It was done so quickly and quietly, that Wanda and Martin were left in silence on the seat, watching him depart. He went the way he had come, down the broad walk towards the colonnade, and disappeared between the pillars of that building. "A man of action, and not of words," commented Martin, who spoke firs^. "I like him. Come, let us go for our walk." And Wanda said nothing. They rose and went away without speaking, though they usually had plenty to eay to each other. It almost seemed that Cartoner's silence was contagious. He, for his ;iart, went into the Faubourg and crossed to the river side of that wide street. It thus happened that he missed seeing Mr. Joseph Mangles, sunning himself upon the more frequented pavement, and smoking a con- templative cigar. Mr. Mangles would have stopped him had they met. Paul Deulin was not far behind Mr. Mangles, idling past the shops, which could scarcely have had much interest for a Parisian. " Ah I " said the Frenchman to himself, " there is our friend Reginald. He is in one of his silent humours. I can see that from this distance." He turned on the pavement and watched Cartoner, who was walking rather slowly. " If any woman ever marries that man," the Frenchman said to himself, " she will have to allow a great deal to go without saying. But then, women are good at that." And he continued his leisurely contemplation of the dull shop windows. r^st 100 THE VULTUBES. i ft I i IN !' 1 tl Cartoner walked on to his rooms in the Jasna, where he found letters awaiting him. He read them, and then sat down to write one which was not an answer to any that he had received. He wrote it carefully and thoughtfully, and when it was written sealed it. For in Warsaw it is well to seal such letters as are not intended to be read at the post- office. And if one expects letters of importance, it is -^wr not to have them sent to Poland at all, for the post-office authorities are kind enough to exercise a parental censorship over the traveller's correspondence. Cartoner's letter was addressed to an English gentleman at his country house in Sussex, and it asked for an im- mediate recall from Poland. It was a confession, for the first time, that the mission entrusted to him was more than he could undertake. — I i ( 101 ) CHAPTER XII. CABTOKEB V. FATE. It has been said that on the turf, and under it, all men are equal. It is, moreover, whispered that the crooked policy of RoBsia forwards the cause of horse-raciog at Warsaw by every means within its power, on the theory that even warring nationalities may find themsehes reconciled by a common sport. And this dream of peace, pursued by the successor of that Czar who said to Poland : " Gentlemen — no dreams," seems in part justified by the undeniable fact that Russians and Poles find themselves brought nearer together on the racecourse than in any other social function in Warsaw. " Come," cried Paul Deulin, breaking in on the solitude of Cartoner's rooms after luncheon one day towards the end of October, " come, and let us bury the hatchet, and smoke the cigarette of peace before the Grand Stand at the Mokotow. Everybody will be there. All Poland and his wife, all the authorities and their wives, and these ladies will peep sideways at each other, and turn up their noses at each other's toilettes. To such has descended the great strife in Eastern Europe." "You think so?" ♦* Yes, I think so, or I pretend to think so, which cornea 102 THE VULTURES. i:- to the mme thing, and makes it a more amasing world for those who have no stake in it. Come with mo, and I will show yon this little world of Warsaw, where the Russians walk on one bide and the Poles pass by on the other ; where these fine Russian officers glance longingly across the way, only too ready to take their hearts there and loso them—but the Czar forbids it. And, let mo tell yon, there is nothing more dangerous in the world than a pair of Polish eyes." He broke off suddenly ; for Oartoner was looking at him with a speculative glance, and turned away to the window. "Come," he said. "It is a fine day— St. Martin's summer. It is Sunday, but no matter. All you English- men think that there is no recording angel on *'".'' Con- tinent. You leave him behind at Dover." "Oh, I have no principles," said Cartoner, rising from hiM chair, and looking round absent-mindedly for his hat. " You would be no friend of mine if you had. There is no moderation in principles. If a man has any at all, he always has some to spare for his neighbours. And who wants to act up to another man's principles ? By the way, are you doing any good here, Cartoner ? " "None." "Nor I," pursued Deulin; "and I am bored. That is why I want you to come to the races with me. Besides, it would be more marked to stay away than to go — especially for an Englishman and a Frenchman, who lead the world in racing." ♦• That is why I am going," said Cartoner. " Then you don't like racing ? " " Yes, I am very fond of it," answered the Englishman, in the same absent voice, as he led the way towards the door. OARTONBR V. PATE. 108 'M In tho Josna they found a drosky, where there is alwaji one to bo foond at tho comer of the Bqaare, and they d'i not speak daring the drive np tho broad Marszalkowska lO tho rather barren snburb of the Mokotow (where bricks and mortar are still engaged in emphasizing the nakedness of the land), for the simple i iason that speech is impossible while driving through the streets of the worst-paved city in Europe. Which is a grudge that the traveller may bear against Russia, for if Poland had been a kingdom she would assuredly have paved the streets of her capital. The racecourse is not more than fifteen minutes' drive from the heai-t of tho town, and all Warsaw was going thither this sunny afternoon. At the entrance a crowd was slowly working its way throngh the turnstiles, and Deulin and Oartoner passed in with it. They had the trick, so rare among travellers, of doing this in any country without attracting und ic attention. It was a motley enough throng. There were Polish ladies and gentlemen in the garb of their caste, which is to-day the same all tho world over though in some parts of Ruthenia and Lithuania one may obill come across a Polish gentleman of the old school in his frogged coat and top boots. German tradesmen and their families formed here and there one of those domesticated and homely groups which the Frtherland sends out into the world's trading centres. And moving amid these, as quiet > and unobtru- sively as possible, the Russian officers, whu virtually had the management of the course— tall, fair, clean men, with sunburnt faces and white skins— energetic, refined, and strong. They were mostly in white tunics with gold shoulder-straps, bias breeches, and much gold 1'' o. Here and there a Cossack officer moved with long free strides in his dressing-gown of a coat, heavily ornamented with silver, 104 THE VULTURES. M 1 i s I 'SS. .1 ■ I carrying high his astrakhan cap, and looking round him with dark eyes that had a gleam of something wild and un- tamed in them. It was a meeting-ground of many races, one of the market-places where men may greet each other who come from different hemispheres and yet owe allegiance to one flag. These are sons of the Empire which to-day gather within one ring-fence the North, the South, the East, and the West. " France amuses me, England commands my respect, but Russia takes my breath away," said Deulin, elbowing his way through the medley of many races. On all sides one heard different languages— German, the singsong Russian —the odd, exclamatory tongue which three emperors cannot kill. "And Germany?" inquired Cartoner, in his low, curt voice. " Bores me, my friend." He was pushing his way gently through into the paddock, where a number of men were congregated, but no ladies. "The Fatherland," he added, "the heavy Fatherland! I killed a German once, when I was in the army of the Loire — a most painful business." He was still shaking his head over this reminiscence when they reached the gateway of the paddock. He was passing through it when, without turning towards him, he grasped Cartoner's arm. " Look ! " he said, " look 1 " There was a sudden commotion in the well-dressed crowd in the paddock, and above the grey coats and glossy hats the tossing colours of a jockey. The head of a startled horse and two gleaming shoes appeared above the heads of men for a moment. A horse had broken away with its jockey only half in the saddle. CARTONER V. PATE. 105 The throng divided, and dispersed in either direction like sheep before a dog — all except one man, who, walking with two sticks, could not move above a snail's pace. Then, because they were both quick men, with the instincts and a long practice of action in moments calling for rapid decision, Deulin and Cartoner ran forward. But they could not save the catastrophe which they knew was imminent. The horse advanced with long, wild strides, and knocked the crippled old man over as if he were a ninepin. He came on at a gallop now, the jockey leaning forward and trying to catch a broken bridle, his two stirrups flying, his cap off. The little man was swearing in English. And he had need to, for through the paddock gate the crowd was densely packed, and he was charging into it on a maddened horse beyond control. Deulin was nearer, and therefore the first to get to the horse ; but Cartoner's greater weight came an instant later, and the horse's head was down. " Let go I let go ! " cried the jockey through his teeth, as Cartoner and Deulin, one on each side, crammed the stirrups over his feet. ♦' Let go ! I'll teach him 1 " And they obeyed him, for the horse interested them loss than the Prince Bukaty, lying half stunned on the turf. They were both at his side in a moment, and saw him open his eyes. " I am unhurt," he said. " Help me up. No ! ah— h I No, nothing is broken ; it is that confounded gout. No, I cannot rise yet I Leave me for a minute. Go, one of you, and tell Wanda that I am unhurt. She is in box No. 18, in the Grand Stand." He spoke in French, to Deulin more particularly. "Go and tell her," said the Frenchman, over his shoulder, in English. " Some busy fool has probably started off by \l I i 1 ; 1^ : 106 THE VULTURES. this time to tell her that her father is killed. You will find OS in the Olnb honse when you come back." So Cartoner went to the Grand Stand to seek Wanda there, in the face of all Warsaw, with his promise to avoid her still fresh in his memory. As ho approached he saw her in the second tier of boxes. She was dressed in black and white, as she nearly always was. It was only the Russians and the Germans who wore gay colours. He could see the surprise on her face and in Martin's eyes as he appi cached, and knew that there were a hundred eyes watching him, a hundred ears waiting to catch his words when he spoke. "Princess," he said, "the prince has had a slight accident, and has sent me to tell yon that he is unhurt, in case you should hear any report to the contrary. He was unable to avoid a fractious horse, and was knocked down. Mr. Deulin is with him, and they have gone to the Club pavilion." He spoke rather slowly in French, so that all within earshot could understand and repeat. " Shall we go to him ? " asked Wanda, rising. " Only to satisfy yourself. I assure you he is unhurt, princess, and would come himself were he able to wa^'.." Wanda rose, and turned to take her cloak from the back of her chair. " Will you take us to him, monsieur ? " she said. And the three quitted the Grand Stand together in a rather formal silence. The next race was about to start, and the lawn, with its forlorn, autumnal flower-beds, was less crowded now as they walked along it towards the paddock. " It was very good of you to come to tell us," said Martin, in English, " with the whole populace looking on. 4 OARTONER V. FATE. 107 It will do yoa no good, you know, to do a kindness to people under a cloud. I suppose it was true what you said about the prince being unhurt ? " " Almost," answered Cartoner. ** He is rather badly shaken. I think you will ''nd it necessary to go home, but there is no need for anxiety." "Oh, no!" exclaimed Martin. "He is a tough old fellow. You cannot come in here, you know, Wanda. It is against the Jockey Club laws, even in case of accidents." He stood at the gate of the Club enclosure as he spoke. " Wait here," he said, " with Cartoner, and I will be back in a few minutea." So Cartoner and Wanda were left in the now deserted paddock, while the distant roar of voices announced that the start for the next race had been successfully accom- plished. Wanda looked rather anxiously towards the little square pavilion into which her brother was hurrying, and Cartoner only looked at Wanda. He waited till she should speak, and she did not appear to have anything to say at that moment. Perhaps in this one caae that clear understanding of which she waa such a pronounced advocate was only to be compassed by silence, and not by speech. The roar of voices behind them came nearer and ^eaxev as the horses approached the winning-post. The members of the Club stood rigid beneath the pavilion awning, some with field- glasses, others with knitted brows and glittering eyes. All eyes were turned in the one direction, except Wanda's and Cartoner's. Then, when the race was over and the roar had subsided, Martin came hurrying back, and one glance at his face told them that there was no need for anxiety. " He is laughing in there over a glass of cognac. He ii I 108 THE VULTURES. /' refuses absolutely to go home, and he wants me to help him up the stairs. He will sit under the awning, he says. And we are to go back to the Grand Stand," Martin said, as he ap^Toached. "See," he added, pointing to the paddock where the crowd was hurrying to gather round the winning horse. " See, it is abeady a thing of the past. And he wants it to be so. He wants no fuss made about it. It is no good advertismg the fact of the existence of a dog with a bad name, h ? Thank you aU the same, Cartoner, for your good offices. You and Daulin, they say, a^-'^rted a cata- strophe. The incident is over, my dear Wanda. It is forgotten by all except us. Wait here a minute and I will come back to you." With a nod to Cartoner, as if to say, " I leave her to your care," he turned and left th'im again. Then at length Wanda spoke. " You see," she said, " you are n:)u so strong as " "As what ? " he asked, seeing that she sought a word. "As Fate, I suppose," she answered, and her eyes were grave as she looked across the mournful level land towards the west, where the sun was sinking below parallel bars of cloud to the straight line of the horizon. Sunset over a plain is one of Nature's tragic moments. "Is it Fate ? " she asked, with a sudden change of manner. " Even Fate can be hampered in its movements, princess," answered Cartoner. "By what?" " By action. I have written for my recall." He was looking towards the pavilion. It seemed that it was he, and not his companion, who was now anxious for Martin to return. Wanda was still looking across the course towards the sinking sun. CABTONER V. PATE. 109 m id le le e. it id d ir i- is 11 [T ' You have asked to be recalled from Warsaw? ? " she said. " Yes." " Then," she said, after a pause, " it would have been better for you if we had not met at Lady Orlay's, in London. Monsieur Deulin once said that you had never had a check in your career. This is the first check. And it has come through— knowing us." Cartoner made no answer, but stood watching the door of the pavilion with patient, thoughtful eyes. " You cannot deny it," she said. And he did not deny it. Then she turned her head, and looked at him with speculative keenness. "Why have you asked for your recall?" she asked, slowly. And still Cartoner made no answer. He was without rival in the art of leaving things unsaid. Then Martin came to them, laughing and talking. And across the course, amid the tag-rag and bobtuil of Warsaw, the eyes of the man called Kosmaroff watched their every movement. 110 THE VULTURES. ' ■ 1 »I; M! CHAPTER XIII. THE WHEELS OP CHANCE. When Martin and Wanda returned to the Grand Stand they found the next box to theirs, which had hitherto been empty, occupied by a sedate party of foreigners. Miaa Mangles had come to the races, not because she cared for sport, but because she had very wisely ar ,ued in her mind that one cannot set about to elevate human nature without a knowledge of those depths to which it sometimes descends. "And this," she said, when she had settled herself on the chair commanding the best view, " this is the turf." "That," corrected Mr. Mangles, pointing down to the lawn with his umbrella, " is the turf. This is the Grand Stand." "The whole," stated Miss Mangles, rather sadly, and indicating with a graceful gesture of her card, which was in Russian and therefore illegible to her, the scene in general, " the whole constitutes the turf." Joseph P. Mangles sat corrected, and looked lugubriously at Netty, who was prettily and quietly dressed in autumnal tints, which set off her delicate and transparent complexion to perfection. Her hair was itself of an autumnal tint, and her eyes of the deep blue of October skies. "And these young men are on it," concluded Miss THE WHEELS OP CHANCE. Ill Mangles, with her usual decision. One privilege of her sex she had not laid aside— the privilege of jumping to con- clusions. Netty glanced beneath her dark lashes in the direction indicated by Miss Mangles' inexorable finger ; but some of the young men happening to look up, she instantly became interested in the Russian race card which she could not read. " It is very sad," she said. Miss Mangles continued to look at the young men severely, as if making up her mind how best to take them in hand. *• Don't see the worst of 'em here," muttered Mr. Mangles, dismally. "It isn't round about the Grand Stand that young men come to grief — on the turf. That contingent is waiting to be called up into the boxes, and reformed— by the young women." Netty looked gently distressed. At times she almost thought Uncle Joseph inclined to be coarse. She looked across the lawn with a rather wistful expression, eminently suited to dark blue eyes. The young men below were still glancing up in her direction, but she did not seem to see them. At this moment Wanda and Martin returned to their box. Wanda was preoccupied, and sat down without noticing the newcomers. Several ladies leant over the low partitions and asked questions, which were unintelligible to Netty, and the news was spread from mouth to mouth that the Prince Bukaty was not hurt. Joseph P. Mangles looked at the brother and sister beneath his heavy brows. He knew quite well who they were, but did not consider himself called upon to transmit the information. " Even the best people seem to lend their countenance to this," said Miss Mangles, in an undertone. 112 THE VULTURES. iH " You are right, Jooly." Bub Miss Mangles did not hear. She was engaged in bowing to Paul Deulin, who was coming up the steps. She was rather glad to see him. For the feeling had come over her that she was quite unknown to all these people. This is a feeling to which even the greatest are liable, and it is most unpleasant. For the heart of the celebrated is apt to hunger for the nudge of recognition, and the surreptitious sidelong glance which conveys the gratifying fact that one has been recognized. Paul Deulin would serve to enlighten these benighted people, and some little good might yet be done by a distinct and dignified attitude of disapproval towards the turf. " One would hardly expect to see you here, Mr. Deulin," she said, shaking hands, with a playful nod of the head. "Since you are hero," he answered, "there can be no harm. It is only a garden-party, after all." And he bowed over Netty's head with an empressement which must have conveyed to any one more versed in the ways of men the reason why he had come. " Do you bet, Mr. Deulin ? " inquired Jooly. " Never, unless I am quite sure," he answered. " There is," observed Miss Mangles, who was inclined to be gracious, " there is perhaps less harm in that." "And less risk," explained Deulin, gravely. "But surely," he said in a lower tone, turning to Netty, "you know the Princess Wanda ? Did you not meet her at Lady Orlay's ? " Netty had already displayed some interest in Martin Bukaty, which was perhaps indiscreet. For a young man's vanity is singularly alert, and he was quite ready to return the interest with interest, so to speak. " Yes," she replied, " we met her at Lady Orlay's. But THE WHEELS OP CHANCE. 113 I think she does not remember— thoagh she seemed to recollect Mr. Cartoncr, whom she met at the same time." Denlin looked at her with his quick smile as he nodded a little comprehending nod, and ^ etty's eyes looked into his innocently. " Be assured," he answered, " that she has not seen you, or she would not fail to remember you. You are sitting back to back, you observe. The princess is rather distraite with thoughts of her father, who has just had a slight mishap." Ho bent forward as he spoke and touched "Wanda on the shoulder. •'"Wanda," ho said, " this young lady remembera meeting you in London." "Wanda turned and, rising, held her hand over the low barrier that divided the two boxes. " Of course," she said, " Miss Cahere. You must excuse my sitting down so near to you without seeing you. I was thinking of something else." " I hardly expect you to recollect me," Netty hastened to say. "You must have met so many people in London. Is it not odd that so many who were at Lady Orlay's that night should be in Warsaw to-day ? " "Yes," answered Wanda, rather absently. "Are there many ? " " Why, yes. Mr. Denlin was there, and yourself, and the Prince, and we three, and— Mr. Cartoner." She looked round as she spoke for Cartoner, but only met IVIartin Bukaty's eyes fixed upon her with open admiration. When speaking she had much animation, and her eyes were bright. " 1 am sure you are here with your brother. The likeness is unmistakable. I hope the prince is not hurt .' " she said, in her little, friendly, confidential way to Wanda. I 114 THE VULTURES. i-»* m ^Ir *'No, ho is not hurt, thank you. Yes, that is my brother. May I introduce him ? Martin. Miss Caherc— my brother." And the introduction was effected, which was perhaps what Netty wanted. She did not take much notice of Martin, but continued to talk to Wanda. " It must be so interesting," she said, " to live in Warsaw and to be able to help, the poor people who are so down- trodden." " But I do nothing of that sort," replied Wanda. " It is only in books that women can do anything for the people of their country. All I can do for Poland is to see that one old Polish gentleman gets what ho likes for dinner, and to housekeep generally— just as you do when you i.rc at home, no doubt." " Oh," protested Netty, " but I am not so useful as that. That is what distresses me. I seem to be of no usa to any- body. And I am sure I could never housekeep." And some faint line of thought, suggested perhaps by the last remark, made her glance in passing at Martin. It was so quick that only Martin saw it. At all events, Paul Deulin appeared to be looking rather vacantly in another direction. " I suppose Miss Mangles does all that \/hen you are afc home ? " said Wanda, glancing towards the great woman, who was just out of earshot. " My dear Wanda ! " put in Deulin, in a voice of gravest protest, "you surely do not expect that of a lady who housekeeps for all humanity. Miss Mangles is one of our leaders of thought. I saw her so described in a prominent journal of Smithville, Ohio. Miss Mangles, in her care for the world, has no time to think of an individual house- hold." TUB WHEELS OF CHANCE. 115 "Besides," said Netty, "wo hovo no settled homo in America. We live differentlj. Wo have not tho comfort of Eoropcan life." And she gave a little sigh, looking wistfnlly across tho plain. Martin noticed that she had a pretty profile, and tho tenderest little droop of the lips. At this moment a race, tho lost on tho card, pat a stop t'j further conversation, and Netty refused, very properly, to deprive Martin of tho nso of his field-glasses. "I can see," she sdd, in her confidential way, "well enough for myself with my own eyes." And Martin looked into the eyes, so vaunted, with much interest. "I am sure," she said to Wanda, when the race was over, " that I saw Mr. Cartoner a short time ago. Has he gone ? " " I fancy he has," was the reply. " He did not see us. And we quite forgot to tell him the number of our box. I only hope ho was not offended. We saw a great deal of him on board. Wo crossed the Atlantic in the same ship, you know." "Indeed!" " Yes. And one becomes so intimate on a voyage. It is quite ridiculous." Dculin, leaning against the pillar at the back of the box, was thoughtfully twisting his grizzled moustache as he watched Netty. There was in his attitude some faint suggestion of an engineer who has set a machine in motion and is watching the result with a contemplative satis- faction. Martin was reluctantly making a move. One or two carriages were allowed to come to the gate of the lawn, and of these one was Prince Bukaty's. 116 THE VULTURES. " Come, Wanda," said Martin. •♦ We magi not keep him waiting. I can see him, with his two sticks, coming oat of the Oinb enclosure.*' " I will go with you to make snro that he is none the worse," said Deulin, " and then return to the assistance of these ladies." He did not speak as thoy moved slowly through the crowd. Nor did he explain to Wanda why he had re- introduced Miss Cahere. He stood watching the carriages after they had gone. "The gods forbid," he said piously, to himself, "that I should attempt to interfere iu the projects of Providence 1 But it is well that Wanda should know who are her friends and who her enemies. And I think she knows now, my shrewd princess." And he bowed, bareheaded, in response to a gay salutation of the hand from Wanda as the carriage turned the comer and disappeared. He turned m his heti, io find himself cut off from the Grand Stand by a dense throng of people moving rather confusedly towards the exit. The sky was black, and a shower was impending, "Ah, well!" he muttered philosophically, "they are capable of taking care of themselves." And he joined the throng making fc the gates. It appeared, however, that he gave more CKlit than was merited, for Netty was carried along by a stream of people whose aim was an exit to the left of the great gate ; and though she saw the hat of her uncle above the hats of the other men, she could not make her way towards it. Mr. Mangles and his sister passed out of the large gateway, and waited in the first available space beyond it. Netty was carried by the gentle pressure of the crowd to the smaller gate, and having passed it, decided to wait till her THE WHEELS OP CHANCE. 117 nncle, who undonbtcdly most have seen her, ahonld come in search of her. She was not uneasy. All through licr life she had always found people, especially men, ready, nny, anxious, to be kind to her. She was looking round for Mr. Mangles when a man came towards her. He was only a workman in his best suit of working clothes. He had a narrow, sunbnnt face, and there was in his whole being a not unpleaaan earing of the Bcafarin," life. " I am afraid,'* he said in perfect English, as he raised his cap, *' that you have lost the rest of your jiarty. You are also in the wrong course, so to speak. We are the commoner people here, you see. Can I help you to find your father ? " " Thank yon," answered Netty, without concealing her surpris-i. " I think my uncle went out of the larger gate, and it seems impossible to get at him. Perhaps " " Yes," answered Kosmaroff, " I will show you another way with pleasure. Then that tall gentleman is not your father ? " " No. Mr. Mangles is my uncle," replied Netty, follow- ing her companiop. " A'l, that is Mr. Mangles I An American, ia he not ? '* " Yes. We are Americans." " A diplomatist ? " " Yes, my uncle is in the service." •* And you are at the Europe. Yes, I have heard of Mr. Mangles. This way ; we can pass through this alley and come to the large gate." '• But yon— you are not a Pole ? It is so kind of you to help me," said Netty, looking at him with some interest. And Kosmaroff, perceiving this interest, slightly changed his manner. " Ah ! you are looking at my clothes," he said, rather 118 THE VULTURES. M less formally. "In Poland things are not always what they seen mademoiselle. Yes, I am a Pole. I am a boat- man, and keep my boat at the foot of Bednarska Street, just above the bridge. If you ever want to go on the river --it is pleasant in the evening— you and your party, you will perhaps do me the great honour of selecting my poor boat, mademoiselle ? " "Yes, I will remember," answered Netty, who did not seem to notice that his glance was, subtly, less distant than his speech. "I knew at once— at once," he said, "that you were English or American." " Ah I Then there is a difference " said Netty, look- ing round for her uncle. " There is a difference — ^yes, assuredly." " WL.it is it ? " asked Netty, with a tone of expectancy in her voice. "Your mirror will answer that question," replied KosmaroflF, with his odd one-sided smile, « more plainly than I should ever dare to do. There is your uncle, mademoisello. and I must go." Mr. Mangles, perceiving the situation, was coming forward with his hand in his pocket, when KosmarofT took off his cap and hurried away. " No," said Netty, laying her hand on Mr. Mangles' arm, " do not give him anything. ITe was rather a superior man, and spoke a little English." ( 119 ) CHAPTER XIV. SENTENCED. Like the majority of Englishmen, Cartoner had that fever of the horizon which makes a man desire to get out of a place as soon as he is in it. The average Englishman is not content to see a city ; he must walk out of it, through its suburhs and beyond them, just to see how the city lies. Before he had been long in Warsaw, Cartoner hired a horse and took leisurely rides out of the town in all directions. He found suburbs more or less depressing, and dusty roads innocent of all art, half paved, growing wider with the lapse of years, as in self-defence the foot-passengers eacroached on the fields on either side in search of a cleaner thoroughfare. To the north he found that great fort which a Russian Emperor built for Warsaw's good, and which in case of emergency could batter the city down in a few hours, but could not defend it from any foe whatever. Across the river he rode through Praga, of grimmest memory, into closely cultivated plains. But more often he rode by the river banks, where there are trees and where the country is less uniform. He frequently rode south- ward by the Vistula, and knew the various roads and paths that led to Wilanow. 120 hi »| 4.- Mil THE VULTURES. One evening, when clouds had been gathering all day and the twilight was shorter than usual, he was benighted in the low lands that lie parallel with the Saska Island. He knew his whereabouts, however, and soon struck that long and lonely riverside road the Czemiakowska, which leads into the manufacturing districts where the sugar refineries and the iron foundries are. It was inches deep in dust, and he rode in silence on the silent way. Before him loomed the chimney of the large ironworks, which clang and rattle all day in the ears of the idlers in the Lazienki Park. Before he reached the high wall that surrounds these works on the land side he got out of the saddle and care- fully tried the fojr shoes of his horse. One of them was loose. He loosened it further, working at it patiently with the handle of his whip. Then he led the horse forward and found that it limped, which seemed to satisfy him. As ho walked on with the bridle over his arm, he consulted his watch. There was just light enough left to show him that it was nearly six. ^ The iron foundries were quiet now. They had been closed at five. From the distant streets the sound of the traffic came to his ears in a long, low roar, like the breaking of surf upon shingle far away. Cartoner led his horse to the high double door that gave access to the iron foundry. He turned the horse very exactly and carefully, so that the animal's shoulder pressed against that half of the door which opened firat Then he rang the bell, of which the chain swung gently in the win*' It gave a solitary clang inside the deserted works. Aftei • few moments there was the sound of rusted bolts being slowly withdrawn, and at the right moment Cartoner touched the horse with his whip, so that it started forward against the door and thrust it open, despite the efforts of _Jy. SEKTENCED. 121 the gatekeeper, who staggered back into the dimly lighted yard. Cartoner looked quickly round him. All was darkness except an open doorway, from which a shaft of light poured out, dimly illuminating cranes and carts and piles of iron girders. The gatekeeper was hurriedly bolting the gate. Cartoner led his horse towards the open door, but before he reached it a number of men r^n out and fell on him like hounds upon a fox. He leapt back, abandoning his horse, and striking the first comer full in the chest with his fist. He charged the next and knocked him over ; but from the third he retreated, leaping quickly to one side. " Bukaty 1 " he cried ; *' don't you know me ? " "You, Cartoner!" replied Martin. He spread out his arms, and the men behind him ran against them. He turned and said something to them in Polish, which 'oner did not catch. " You here I " he said. And there ring in the gay, rather light voice, which the English- iflan had never heard there before. But he had heard it in other voices, and knew the meaning of it. For his work had brought him into contact with refined men in moments when their refinement only serves tj harden that wilder side of human nature of which half humanity is in happy ignorance, which deals in battle and sudden death. " It ia too risky," said some one, almost in Martin's ear, in Polish, but Cartoner heard it. " "We must kill him and be done with it." There was an odd silence for a moment, only broken by the stealthy feet of the gatekeeper coming forward to join the group. Then Cartoner spoke, quietly and collectedly. His nerve was so steady that he had taken time to reflect 122 THE VULTURES. w m 'IRIi: as to which tongue to make use of. For all had dis- advantages, but Bilence meant death. " This near fore-shoe," he said in French, turning to his horse, "is nearly off. It has been loose all the way from Wilanow. This is a foundry, is it not ? ^^here must be a hammer and some nails about." Martin gave a sort of gasp of relief. For a moment he had thought there was no loophole. Cartoner look ♦.owards the door, and the light fell full upon his patient, t^, Jxtful eyes. The faces of the men standing in a half-circle in front of him were in the dark. " Good ! He's innocent I " muttered the man who had spoken in Martin's ear. It was Kosmaroff . And he stepped back a pace. "Yes," said Martin, hastily, « this is a foundry. I can get you a hammer." His right hand was opening and shutting convulsively Cartoner glanced at it, and Martin put it behind his back. He was rather breathless, and he was angrily wishing that he had the Englishman's nerve. " You might tell these men," he said in French, " of my mishap ; perhaps one of them can put it right, and I can get along home. I am desperately hungry. The journey has been so slow from "Wilanow." He had already perceived that KosmaroGF understood both English and French, and that it was of him that Martin was afraid. He spoke slowly, so as to give Martin time to pull himself together. Kosmaroff stepped forward to the horse and examined the shve indicated. It waa nearly off. Martin turned, and explained in Poh'sh that the gentleman had come for a hammer and some naila— that his horse had SENTENCED. 123 nearly lost a shoe. Cartoner had simply forced him to become his ally, and had even indicated the line of conduct he was to pursue. " Get a hammer— one of you," said Kosmaroff, over his shoulder, and Martin bit his lip with a sudden desire to speak — ^to say more than was discreet. He took his cue in some way from Cartoner, without knowing that wise men cease persuading the moment thpy ha\'e gained consent. Never comment on your own victory. Never had Cartoner's silent habit stood him in such good stead a^ during the following moments, while a skilled workman replaced the loose shoe. Never had he observed so skilled a silence, or left unsaid such dangerous words. For Kosmaroff watched him as a cat may watch a bird. Behind, were the barred gates, and in front, the semicircle of men, whose faces he could not see, while the full light glared through the open doorway upon his own counte- nance. Two miles from Warsaw — a dark autumn night, and eleven men to one. He counted them, in a mechanical way, as persons in face of death nearly always do count, with a cold deliberation, their chances of life. He played his miserable little cards with all the skill he possessed, and his knowledge of the racial characteristics of humanity served him. For he acted slowly, and gave his enemies leisure to see that it would be a mistake to kill him. They would see it in time ; for they were not Frenchmen, nor of any other Celtic race, who would have killed him first and recognized their mistake immediately afterwards. They were Slavs — of the most calculating race the world has produced — a little slow in their calculations. So he gave them time, just as Russia must have *' le ; but she will reach th: summit eventually, when her far-sighted policy is fully evolved— long, long after reader and writer are dust. 1 P I "i: : I f i •' ■ =■ i [ I « . » ■ 124 THE VULTURES. Cartoner gave the workman half a rouble, which was accepted with a muttered word of thanks, and then he turned towards the high doors, which were barred. There was another pause, while the gatekeeper looked inquiringly at Kosmaroflf. " I am very much obliged to you," said Cartoner to Martin, who went towards the gate as if to draw back the bolt. But at a signal from Kosmaroflf the gatekeeper sprang forward and opened the heavy doors. Martin was nearest, and instinctively held the stirrup, while Cartoner climbed into the saddle. " Saved your life I " he said, in a whisper. " I know," answered Cartoner, turning in his saddle to lift his hat to the men grouped behind him. He looked over their heads into the open doorway, but could see nothing. Nevertheless, he knew where were concealed the arms brought out into the North Sea by Captain Cable in the Minnie. "More than I bargained for," he muttered to himself, as he rode away from the iron foundi-y by the river. He put his horse to a trot and presently to a canter along the deserted, dusty road. The animal was astonishingly fresh, and went off at a good pace, so that the man sent by Kosmaroflf to follow him was soon br^athlewi, and forced to give up the chase. Approaching the town, Cartoner rode at a more lei- surely pace. That his life had hung on a thread since sunset did not seem to aflfect him much, and he looked about him with quiet eyes, while the hand on the bridle was steady. He was, it seemed, one of those fortunate wayfarers who seo their road clearly before them, and for vhom the barriers of duty and honour, which stand on either side of J^ SENTENCED. 125 every man'a path, present neither gap nor gate. He had courage and patience, and was content to exercise both, without weighing the chances of reward too carefully. That he read his duty in a different sense to that under- stood by other men was no doubt only what this tolerant age calls a matter of temperament. "That Cartoner," Deulin was in the habit of saying, "takes certain things so seriously, and other things — social things, to which I give most careful attention — he ignores. And yet we often reach the same end by diflferent routes." Which was quite true. But Deulin reached the end by a happy guess, and that easy exercise of intuition which is the special gift of the Gallic race, while Cartoner worked his way towards his goal with a steady perseverance and slow, sure steps. " In a moment of danger give me Cartoner," Deulin had once said. On more than one occasion Cartoner had shown quite clearly, without words, that he underatood and appreciated that odd mixture of heroism and frivolity which will always puzzle the world and draw its wondering attention to France. The two men never compared notes, never helped each other, never exchanged the minutest confidence. Joseph P. Mangles was different. He spoke quite openly of his work. " Got a job in Russia," he had stolidly told any one who asked him. " Cold, unhealthy place." He seen ' 1 to enter upon his duties with the casual interest of the amateur, and in a way exactly embodied the attitude of his country towards Europe, of which the many wheels within wheels may spin and whir or halt and grind without in any degree affecting the great Republic. America can afford to content 120 THE VULTURES. m * herself with the knowledge of what has happened or is happening. Countries nearer to the field of action must know what is going to happen. Cartoner rode placidly to the stable where ho had hired his horse, and delivered the beast to its owner. He had no one in Warsaw to go to and relate his adventures. He was alone, as he had been all his life— alone with his failures and his small successes— content, it would seem, to be a good servant in a great service. He went to the restaurant of the Hotel de France, which is a quiet place of refreshment close to the Jasna, having no political importance, like the restaurant of the Europe^ and there dined. The square was deserted as he stumbled over the vile pavement towards his rooms. The concierge was sitting at the door of the quiet house where he had taken an apartment. All along the street the dvornik of every house thus takes his station at the half-closed door at nightfall. And it is so all through the town. It is a Russian custom, imported among others into the free king- dom of Poland, when the great Empire of the North CMt the shadow of its ^^rotecting wing over the land that is watered by the Vistula. So, no man may come or go in Warsaw without having his movements carefully noted by one who is directly responsible to the authorities for the good name of the house under his care. " The post is in. There is a letter upstairs," said the doorkeeper to Cartoner, as he passed in. Cartoner's servant was out, and the lamps were turned low when he entered his sitting-room. He knew that the letter must be the reply to his application for a recaU. He turned up the lamp, and, taking the letter from the table, where it lay in a iwominent position, sat down in a deep chair to read it at leisure. li SENTENCED. 127 lb boro no address, and prattled of the cro^vi. Some of it seemed to be nonsense. Cartoner read it slowly and care- fully. It was an order, in brief language, to stay where he was and do the work entrusted to him. For a man who writes in a code must perforce avoid verbosity. 128 TUE VULTURES. CHAPTER XV. A TALE ILVLF TOLD. The heart soon accustoms itself to that existence which is called living upon a volcano. Prince Bukaty had indeed known no other life, and to such as had daily intercourse with him he was quite a peace fnl and jovial old man. lie had brought up his children in the same atmosphere of strife and peril, and it is to be presumed that the fit had survived, while tha*. unfit princess, his wife, had turned her face to the wall quite soon, not daring to meet the years in which there could be no hope of alleviation. The prince's friends were not in Warsaw. Many were at the mines. Some lived in Paris ; others were exiled to distant parts of Russia. His generation was slowly passing away, and its history is one of the saddest stories untold. Yet he sat in that bare drawing-room of a poor man and read his FUjaro quite placidly, like any bourgeois in the safety of the suburb, only glancing at the clock from time to time. " He is late," he said once, as he folded the paper, and that was all. It was nearly eleven o'clock, and Martin had been expected to return to dinner at half-past six. Wanda was working, and she, too, glanced toinrards the clock at intervals. A TALE HALF TOLD. 12D She WM alr-'ys nneasy abont Martin, wboso daring was rothor of the reckless type, whose genius lay more in leader- ship than in strategy. As to her father, ho had come throQgh the Sixties, and had survived the pcrsccntion and the dangers of Wielopolski's day— he conld reasonably bo expected to take care of himself. With regard to herself, he had no fear. Hers was the woman's lot of watching others in a danger which she could not share. It was nearly half-past eleven when Martin came in. He was in riding costume, and was covered with dirt. His eyes, rimmed with dus^, looked out of a face that was pale beneath the sunburn. He threw himself into a chair with an exclamation of fatigue. " Had any dinner ? " asked his father. Wanda looked at her brother's face, and changed colour herself. There were the tints of the wild rose in Wanda's face, with its delicate, fleeting shades of pink ani. white, while the slim strength of her limbs and carriage rather added to a characteristic which is essentially English or Polish. For American girls suggest a fuller flower on a firmer stem. *' Something has happened," said Wanda, quietly. " Yes," replied Martin, stretching out his slight legs. The prince laid aside his newspaper, and looked up quickly. When his attention was thus roused suddenly his eyes and his whole face were momentarily fierce. Some one had once said that the history of Poland was written on '/-se deep-lined features. " Anythiiig wrong ? " he asked. " Nothing that affects affairs," replied Martin. " Every- thing is safe " Which seemed to be catch-words, for Kosmaroff had made use of ahnost identical phrases. *1 1^ ^^ 130 THE VULTURES. Ill *' I am quite confident that there is no danger to afTaiM,*' continued Martin, speaking with the haste and vehemence of a man who is anzious to convince himself. '* It was a mere mischance, but it gave us all a horrid fright, I can tell you — especially me, for I was doubly interested. Car- toner rode into our midst to-night." " Cartoner ? " repeated the prin( ;. " Yea. He rang the bell, and when the door was opened — we were expecting some one else — ho led his horse into onr midst, with a loose shoe. " Who saw him ? " asked the prince. " Every one." " KosmarolT ? " " Yea. And if I had not been there it would have been all up with Cartoner. You know what Kosmarof! is. It was a very near thing." "That would have been a mistake," said the prince, reflectively. "It was the mistake they made last time. It has never paid yet to take life in driblets." "That is what I told Kosmaroff afterwards, when Cartoner had gone. It was evident that it could only have been an accident. Cartoner could not have known. To do a thing like that, he must have known all — or nothing." " He could not have known all," said the prince. " That is an impossibility." " Then he must have known nothing," put in Wanda, with a laugh, which at one stroke robbed the matter of much of its importance. "I do not know how much he perceived when he was in — as to his own danger, I mean — for he has an excellent neiTe, and was steady ; steadier than I was. But he knows that there was something wrong," said Martin, wiping the ^1. f A TALE HALF TOLD. 131 dnat from bis face with his pocket-handkerchief. His hand Bhook a little, as if ho had ridden hard, or had been badly frightened. "Wo had a bad half-hour after he left, especially with KoBmaroff. The noan is only ha'f tamed ; that is the troth of it." "That is more to his own danger than to any one else's,*' pnt in Wanda again. She spoke lightly, and seemed qnite determined to make as little of the incident as possible. " Then how do matters stand ? " inqnircd the prince. " It comes to this," answered Martin, " that Poland is not big enough to hold both Kosinaroif and Cartoner. Cartoner must go. He must be told to go, or eke •• Wanda had taken up her work again. As she looked at it attentively, the colour slowly faded from her face. " Or else— what ? " she inquired. Martin shn^gged his shoulders. " Well, Kosmaroff is not a man to stick at trifles." "You mean," said Wanda, who would have things plainly, " that he would assassinate him ? " Wanda glanced at hor father. She knew that men hard pressed are no sticklers. She knew the story of the last insurrection, and of the wholesale assassination, abetted and encouraged by the anonymous National Government of which the members remain to this day unknown. The prince made an indifferent gesture of the hand. " We cannot go into those small matters. We are playing a bigger game than that. It has always been agreed that no individual life must be allowed to stand in the way of success." " It is upon that principle that Kosmaroff argues," said Martin, uneasily. "Precisely; and as I was nob present when this 132 THE VULTURES. ,i: happened — ae it is, moreover, not my department — I cannot, personallj, act in the matter." " Eosmaroff will obey nobody elae." " Then warn Cartoner," the prince said, in a final voice. His had always been the final word. He woald 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 W-ada— "Paul Deulin." " Deulin could do it," said the prince, thoughtfully. " But I never talk to Deulin of these matters. Politics arc a forbidden subject between us." " Then I will go and see him 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 shoQld be wise to recollect, that whatever Cartoner may know or may not A TALE HALF TOLD. 133 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 I'Europe, two beneath the great archway on the Faubonig, where the carriages pass through into the courtyard— where Hermani was assassinated — where the people carried in the bodies of those historic five, whose mutilated corpses were photo- graphed 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. Wanda mounted the stairs along the huge corridor. She passed Netty's room, and asceucled to the second story. All fell out as she had wished. At the head of the second stall ultse there is a little glass-partitioned room, where the servants sit when they are unemployed. In this room, reading a French newspaper, she found Paul Deulin's servant, a well-trained person. And a well-trained French servant is the best servant in the world. He took it for granted that Wanda had come to see his master, and led the way to the spacious drawing-room occupied by Deulin, who always travelled en prince. " I am given for my expenses more money than I can spend," he said, in defence of his extravagant habits, " and the only people to whom I want to give it are those who will not accept it." 134 THE VULTURES. 'Pi . l,Ts ! f^i Deulia was not in the room, bat he came in almost as soon as Wanda had found a chair. She was looking at a book, and did not catch the flash of surprise in his eyes. " Did Jean show you in ? " he said. "Yes." ** That is all right He will keep everybody else oat. And he wUl lie. It would not do, you know, for yon to be talked about We all have enemies, Wanda. Even plain people have enemies." Wanda waited for him to ask her why she had come. *' Yes," he said, g-lancing at her and drawing a chair up to the table near which she was sitting. " Yes I What is the matter ? " «An unfortunate incident," answered Wanda, "that is all." " Good. Life is an unfortunate incident if we come to that. I hope I predicted it. It is so consoling to have predicted misfortune when it comes. Your father ? " "No." "Martin?" "No." "Cartoner?" said Deulin, dropping his voice half a dozen tones, and leaning both elbows on the table in a final way, which dispensed with the necessity of reply. " AUons. What has Cartoner been doing ? " " He has found out something." " Oh, la 1 la 1 " exclaimed Deulin, in a whisper — ^giving voice to that exclamation which, as the cultured reader knows, French people reserve for a really serious mishap. " I should have thought he knew better." " And I cannot tell you what it is." "And I cannot gaess. I never find oat things, and A TALE HALF TOLD. 135 know Dothiiig. Aa ignorant Frenchman, you know, ignores more than any other man.*' "It came to Martin's knowledge," explained Wanda, looking at him across the table, with frank eyes. Bnt Deolin did not meet her glance. " Look a man in the eyes when yoa tell him a lie," Deulin had once said to Gartoner, " but not a woman." " It came to Martin's knowledge by chance, and he says that " Wanda paused, drew in her lips, and looked round the room in an odd, hurried way — " that it is not safe for Mr. Cartoner to remain any longer in Warsaw, or even in Poland. Mr. C rtoncr was very kind to us in London. We all like him. Martin cannot, of course, say anything to him. My father won't " Deulin was playing a gay little air with his fingers ou the table. His touch was staccato, and he appeared to be taking some pride in his execution. "Years ago," he said, after a pause, "I once took it upon myself to advise Gartoner. He was quite a young man. He listened to my advice with exemplary patience, and then acted in direct contradiction to it — and never explained. He is bad at explanation. And he was right, and I was wrong." He finished his gay little air with an imaginary chord, played with both hands. " Voila ! " he said. " I can do nothing, fair princess." " But surely you will not stand idle and watch a man throw away his life?" said Wanda, looking at him in surprise. He raised his eyes to hers for a moment, and they were starllingly serious. They were dark eyes, beneath grey lashes. The whole man was neat and grey and — shallow, as some thought. 136 THE VULTURES. : f f i "My dear Wanda," he said. "For forty years and more, I have watched men— and women— do worse than throw their lives away. And it has quite ceased to affect my appetite." Wanda rose from her chair, and Deulin'a face changed again. He shot a sidelong glance at her and bit his lip. His eyes were keen enough now. " Listen I " he said, as he followed her to the door. " I will give him a little hint— the merest ghost of a hint- will that do ? " " Thank you," said Wanda, going more slowly towards the door. " Though I do not know why we should, any of us, trouble about this Englishman." Wanda quickened her pace a little, and made no answer. "There are reasons why I should not accompany you," said Deulin, opening the door. " Try the right-hand stair- case, and the other way round." He closed the door behind her, and stood looking at the chair which Wanda had just vacated. "Only the third woman who knows what she wants," he said, " and yet I have known thousands— thousands." ' ( 137 ) CHAPTER XVI. MUCH— OB NOTHING. If we contemplate our neighbour's life with that calm indifference to his good or ill which is the only true philosophy, it will become apparent that the gods amuse themselves with men as children amuse themselves with flies. Most lives are marked by a series of .events, a long roll of monotonous years, and perhaps another series of events. In some the monotonous years come first, while others have a long breathing space of quiet remembrance before they go hence and are no more seen. A child will take a fly and introduce him to tue sugar- basin. He will then pull off his wings in order to see what he will do without them. The fly wanders round beneath the sugar-basin, his small mind absorbed in a somewhat justifiable surprise, and then the child loses all interest in him. Thus the gods — with men. Cartoner was beginning to experience this numb surpris«. His life, set down as a series of events, would have made what the world considers good reading nowadays. It wonld have illustrated to perfection ; for it had been full of incident, and Cartoner had acted in these incidents — as the hero of the serial sensational novel plays his monthly part — with a mechanical energy calling into activity only one half of his being. He had always known what he 138 THE VULTURES. ii wanted, and had usually accompliahed his desires with the subtraction of that discount which is necessary to the f uliilment of all human wishes. The gods liad uot helped him ; but they had left him alone, which is quite as good, and often better. And in human aid this appUes as well, which that domestic goddess, the managing female of the family, would do well to remember. The gods had hitherto not been interested in Cartoner, and, like the fly on the nursery window that has escaped notice, he had been allowed to crawl about and make his own small life, with the result that he had never found the sugar-basin and had retained his wings. But now, without apparent reason, that which is called Pate had suddenly accorded him that gracious and inconsequent attention which has for ever decided the sex of this arbiter of human story. Cartoner still knew what he wanted, and avoided the common error oi* wanting too much. For the present he was content with the desire to avoid the Princess "Wanda Bukaty. And this he was not allowed to do. Two days after the meeting at the Mokotow— the morning following the visit paid by Wanda to the Hotel de I'Europe-^ Cartoner was early astir. He drove to the railway station in time to catch the half-past eight train, and knowmg the ways of the country, he took care to arrive at ten mmutes after the hour.l He took his ticket amid a crowd of peasants— wild-looking men in long coats and high boots, rough women in gay shades of red, in short skirts and top^ boots, Uke their husbands. This was not a fashionable train, nor a through train to one of the capitals. A religious feU at a village somo miles out of Warsaw attracted the devout from all parts, and the devout are usually the humble in Koman Catholic i MUCH— OB NOTHINQ. 139 countries. Railways are still conducted in some ports 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 un- guardedly 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." "v'e 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 awaiting 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-rooma was a long way away, and could not hear them even if he 140 THE VULTURES. I understood English, which was improbable. There were BO 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. If 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 nor 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 knew something of the danger into which you had unwittinf'ly run." *' "Not unwittingly," said Cartoner, and Wanda turned to look at him. He r ' ^ so little, that his meaning needed careful search. " I cannot teU you much " she began, and he inter- rupted her at once. "Stop," he said, "you must teU me nothing. It was not unwitting. I am here for the purpose. I am here to learn everything—but not from you." "Martin hinted at that," said Wanda, slowly, "but I did not believe him." And she looked at Cartoner with a sort of wonder in her eyes. It was as if there were more in him— more of him— than she had ever expected. And he returned her glance with a simplicity and directness which were baffling enough. He looked down at her. He was taller than she, which was as It should be. For half the trouble of this troubled world comes from the fact that, for one reason or another, women are not always able to look up to the men with whom they have dealings. MUCH— OR NOTHING. 141 <* It is trno raongh," he said ; '' Fate Las made us cnemiea, princess." " Ton said that even the Czar conid not do that, ho is stronger than Fate— in Poland. Besides " "Yes." "Yon, who say so little, were indiscreet enough And to confide something in jonr enemy. You told me you had written for your recall." And again her eyes brightened, with an anticipating gleam of relief. " It has been refused." " But you must go — you must go ! " she said, quickly. She glanced at the great clock upon the wall. She had only ten minutes in which to make him understand. He was an eminently sensible person. There were gleams of grey in his closely cut hair. " Yon must not think that we are alarmists. If there is any family in the world who knows what it is to live peaceably, happily — quite gaily" — she broke off with a light laugh — ** on a volcano — it is the Bukatys. We have all been brought up to it. Martin and I looked out of our nursery window on April the eighth, 1861, and saw what was done on that day. My father was in the streets. And ever since we have been accustomed to unsettled times." " I know," said Oartoner, " what it is to be a Bukaty." And he smiled slowly as she looked at him with gay, fearless eyes. Then suddenly L?r manner, in a flash, was different. "Then you will go?" she pleaded softly. And when he turned away his eyes from hers, as if he did not care to meet them, she gtenced again, hurriedly, at the clock. There is a cunning bred of hatred, and there is another cunning, much deeper. " Say you will go I " h ' i !, 142 THE VULTURES. And, Bternlj economical of words, he shook his head. "I do not thinV you understand," she went on, changing her manner and her ground again. And, to each attack, he could only oppose his own stolid, dumb form of defence. *' You do not understand what a danger to us your presence here is. It is needless to tell you that all this"— with a gesture she indicated the well-ordered railway station, the hundred marks of a high state of civilization — "is skin deep. That things in Poland are not at all what they seem. And, of course, we are implicated. We live from day to day in uncertainty. And my father ia such an old man; he has had such a hopeless struggle all his life. You have only to look at his face " " I know," admitted Cartoner. "It would be very hard if anything should happen to him now, after he has gone through so much. And Martin, who is 80 young in mind, and so happy and reckless I Ho would be such an easy prey for a political foe. That is why I ask you to go." "Yes, I know," answered • irtoner, who, like many people reputed clever, wag qu : a simple person. "Besides," said Wanda, w.b that logic which men, not having the wit to follow it, call no Icgic at all, "you can do no good here, if all your care and attention are required for the preservation of your life. Why have they refused your recall ? It is so stupid." " I must do the best I can," replied Cartoner. Wanda shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and tapped with her foot on the ground. Then suddenly her manner changed again. " But we must not quarrel," she said gently. " We must not misunderstand each other," she added, with a quick and uneasy laugh, "for wo have only five minutes in all the world." ,t t MUCH— OR NOTHING. 143 "Here and now," he corrected, with a plance at the clock, " we have only five minatea. Bat the wurld is lar^/* " For yon," she said qnickly ; " but not for me. My world is Warsaw. Yon forget I am a Rnssian subject." But he had not forgotten it, as she could see by the sadden hardening of his face. "My presence in Warsaw," he said, as if the train of thought needed no elucidating, "is in reality no scarce of danger to you — to your father and brother, I mean. Indeed, I might be of some nse. I or Denlin. Do not misunderstand my position. I am of no political impor- tance. I am nobody — nothing but a sort of machine that has to report upon events that are past. It is not my business to prevent events or to make history. I merely record. If I choose to be prepared for that which may come to pass, that is merely my method of preparing my report. If nothing happens, I report nothing. I have not to say what might have happened — life is too short to record that. So you see my being in Warsaw is really of no danger to your father and brother." " Yes, I see — I see I " answered Wanda. She had only three minutes now. The door giving access to the plat- form had long been thrown open. The guard, in his fine military uniform and shining top-boots, was strutting the length of the train. " But it was not on account of that that we asked Paul DenUn to warn you. It does not matter about my father and Martin. It is required of them — a sort of family tradition. It is their business in life — almost their pleasure." "It is my business in life — aknost my pleasure," said Cartoner, with a smile. "But is there no one at home — in England — that you ought to think of ? " in an odd, .harp voice. 144 THE VULTURES. h Nobody," ho replied, in one word, for he wag chary 01 • iforination respecting himielf. V» inda had walked towards the platform. Immediately •PI iite to her stood a carriage with tii-^ door thrown open. /• I 'lose days there were no . jrridor carriages. Two m u ea nc. ..8t .t be seen together on the platform," she am only going to the next station. We have a ..im there, and some old servants whom I go to ^v sai'l sm ii WCVm She str,od wlf,hin the open doorway, and seemed to wait for him to speak. " Thank yon," be said, " for warning me." And that was all. " Yon mnst go," he added, af*^«r a moment's pause. Still she lingered. "There is so much to liay," she said, half to herself. " There is so much to say." The train was moving when Cartoner stepped into a carriage at the back. He was alone, and he leant back with a look of doubt in his eyes, as if he were questioning whether she were right — whether there was mach to say — or nothing. ( 145 ) CHAPTER XVII IX TUK SENATORSKV. "It is," said ILiss Jalie Mangles, "in the Francifizkanska that one lays one's hand on the true heart of the p*io^ le." " That's as may be, Jooly," replied her brother ; " but I take it that the hearts of the women go 4,0 the Senatorska." For Miss Mangles, on the advice of a polyglot concierge, had walked down the length of ti at silent street the Franciszkanska, where tb Jews ply thtir mysterious trades and where every shutter is paiated with ■ nght images of the wares sold within the hou.e. The b f all thejr have attempted and have failed to do." Jooeph waa Ikteniog at his end of the table, with a kindly smile on hiii lined face. He had, perliaps, a soft place in that cTnical aii} dry heart for his nieoe, and liked to hear her simpl'^ iuik. Cartoner was listening, with a greater attention flian the words deserved. Ue waa weig' 'ng them witti a greater nicety than experienced social experts urc in the habit< of exercising over dinner- table talk. And Dculin was talki^r; hard, as usual, and listening at ihc saui tim - ; v iuuh is uot by any means an easy thing to do. "I always thiuk," - ".tinutl Netty, "that t' 3 Princess has a story. There must, I mean, be some one at the mines or in Siberia, or somewhere terrible like that, of whMn she is always thinking." And Netty's eyes were quite soft with a tender sympathy, as she glanced at Cartoner. "Perhaps," put in Deulin, hastily, between two c' Julie's bol(ann utterances, "perhaps she is thinkir .' her brother — Prince Martin. He is always getting mto scrapes— ce jeune horn me." But Netty shook her head. She did not mean that soi't of thought Rt aU. "It is your romantic heart," raid Deulin, "that makes you see so much that perhaps do( .ot exist." " If yon want a story," put in Joseph Mangles, suddenly, in his deep voice, " I can tell you one." And because Joseph rarely spoke, he waa accorded a silence. "'waiter's a liun, and says he doesn't undersbfad English ? " began Mangles, looking interrogatively tA Denlin, beneath his great eyebrows. 160 THE VULTURES. " Which I believe to be the truth," assented the French- man. " Gartoner and Deulin probably know the story,*' con- tinued Joseph, "but they won't admit that they do. There was once a nobleman in this city who was like Netty ; he had a romantic heart. Dreamt that this country could be made a great country again, as it was in the past— dreamt that the peasants could be educated, could be civilized, could be turned into human beings. Dreamt that when Russia undertook that Poland should be an independent kingdom with a Polish Governor and a Polish Parliament she would keep her word. Dreamt that when the Powers, headed by France and England, promised to see that Russia kept to the terms of the treaty, they would do it. Dreamt that somebody out of all that crew would keep his word. Comes from having a romantic heart." And he looked at Netty with his fierce smile, as if to warn her against this danger. " My country," he went on, " didn't take a hand in that deal. Bit out of breath and dizzy, as a young man would be who had bad to fight his own father and whip him." And he bobbed his head, apologetically, towards Cartoner, as representing the other side in that great misunder- standing. "Ever heard the Polish hymn?" he tisked abruptly. He was not a good story-teller, perhaps. And while slowly cutting his beef across and across, in a forlorn hope that it might, perchance, not give him dyspepsia this time, he recited in a singsong monotone — •' * Lord, who, for so many centuries, didst surround Poland with the magnificence of power and glory ; who JOSEPH'S STORY. 161 didst cover her with the shield of Thy protection when our armies overcame the enemy; at Thy altar we raise our prayer : deign to restore us, Lord, our free country I ' " He paused, and looked slowly round the tahle. *• Jooly— pass the mustard," he said. Then, having helped himself, he lapsed into the mono- tone again, with a sort of earnest unction that had surely crossed the seas with those Pilgrim Fathers who set sail in quest of lilwrty. " * G ive back to our Toiand her ancient splendour 1 Look upon fields soaked with blood I When shall peace and happiness blopsora among us? God of wrath, cease to punish us I At Thy altar we raise our prayer : deign to restore us, Lord, our free country 1 ' " And there was an odd silence, while Joseph P. Mangles ate sparingly of the beef. "That is the first verse, and the last," he said at length. " And all Poland was shouting them when this man dreamed his dreams. They are forbidden now, and if that waiter's a liar, I'll end my days in Siberia. They sang it in the churches, and the secret police put a chalk mark on the backs of those who sang the loudest, and they were arrested when they came out— women and children, old men and maidens." Miss Julie P. Mangles made a little movement, as if she had something to say, as if to catch, as it were, the eye of an imaginary chairman, but for once this great speaker was relegated to silence by universal acclaim. For no one seemed to want to hear her. She glanced rather ira patiently at her brother, who was always surprising her by knowing more than she had given him credit for, and by interesting her, despite herself. "The dreamer was arrested," lie continued, pushing lii 162 THE VULTURES. away his plate, "on some trivial excnso. He was not dangerous, but he might be. There was no warrant and no trial. The Czar had been graciously pleased to give his own personal attention to this matter which dispensed with all formalities and futilities ... of Justice. Siberia I Wife with great difficulty obtained permission to follow. They were young — ^laat of the family. Better that they should be the last— thought the paternal Government of Russia. But she had influential relatives— so she went. She found him working in the mines. She had taken the precaution of bringing doctor's certificates. Work in the mines would inevitably kill him. Could he not obtain indoor work ? He petitioned to be made the body-servant of the governor of his district — man who had risen from the ranks — and was refused. So he went to the mines again— and died. The wife had in her turn been arrested for attempting to aid a prisoner to escape. Then the worst happened — she had a son, in prison, and all the care and forethought of the paternal Government went for nothing. The pestilential race was not extinct after all. The ancestors of that prison brat had been kings of Poland. But the Government was not beaten yet. They took the child from his mother, and she fretted, and died. He had nobody now to care for him, or even to know who he was, but his foster-father— that great and paternal Government." Joseph paused, and looked round the table with a humorous twinkle in his eyes. " Nice story," he said, " isn't it ? So the brat was mixed up with other brats so effectually that no one knew which was which. He grew up, in Siberia, and was drafted into a Cossack raiment. And at last the race was extinct; for no one knew. No one, except the recording angel, who JOSEPH'S STORY. 163 is a bit of a genealogist, I guess. Sins of the fatbers, you know. Somebody most keep accoant of 'om." The dessert was on the table now ; for the story had taken longer in the telling than the reading of it would require. " Cartoner, help Netty to some grapes," said the host, "and take some yourself. Story cannot Interest you— must be ancient history. Well— after all, it was with the recording angel that the Russian Government slipped up. For the recording angel gave the prison brat a face that was historical. And if I get to heaven, I hope to have a word with that humorist. For an angel, he's uncommon playful. And the brat met another private in a Cossack regiment who recognized the face, and told him who he was. And the best of it is that the Government has weeded out the dangerous growth so carefully that there are not half a dozen people in Poland, and none in Russia, who would recognize that face if they saw it now." Joseph poured out a glass of wine, which he drank with outstretched chin and dogged eyes. " Man's loose in Poland now," he added. And that was the end of the story. i ; 1^ in PI ■ III ' 164 THE VULTURES. CHAPTER XIX. THE HIQH-WATEB MARK. Netty did not smoke. She confessed to being rather an old-fashioned person. Which was usually accounted to her for righteousness by men, who, so far as women are con- cerned, are intensely conservative— those men, at all events, whose opinion it is worth a woman's while to value. Miss Mangles, on the other hand, made a point of smoking a cigarette from time to time in public. There were two reasons. The ostensible reason, which she gave freely when asked for it, and even without the asking — namely, that she was not going to allow men to claim the monopoly of tobacco. There was the other reason, which prompts so many actions in these blatant times — the un- conscious reason that, in going counter to ancient prejudices respecting her sex, she showed contempt for men, and meted out a bitter punishment to the entire race for having consistently and steadily displayed a complete indifference to herself. Miss Mangles announced her intention of smoking a cigarette this evening, upon which Netty rose and said that if they were not long over their tobacco they would find her in the drawing-room. The Mangles' salon was separated from the dining-room THE HIGH-WATER MARK. 165 by Joseph's apartment— a simple room in no way beauti- fied by his Spartan articles of dress and toilet. The drawing-room was at the end of the passage, and there was a gas-jet at each comer of the corridor. Netty went to the drawing-room, but stopped short on the threshold. Contrary to custom, the room was dark. Tne old-fashioned chandelier in the centre of the large, bare apartment glittered in the light of the gas-jet in the passage. Netty knew that there were matches on the square china stove opposite to the door, which stood open. She crossed the room, and as she did so the door behind her, which was on graduated hinges, swung to. She was in the dark, but she knew where the stove was. Suddenly her heart leapt to her throat. There was some one in the room. The soft and surreptitious footstep of a person making his way cautiously to the door was un- mistakable. Netty tried to speak— to ask who was there. But her voice failed. She had read of such a failure in books, but it had never been her lot to try to speak and to find herself dumb until now. Instinctively she turned and faced the mysterious and terrifying sound. Then her courage came quite suddenly to her again. Like many diminutive persons, she was naturally brave. She moved towards the door, her small slippers and soft dress making no sound. As the fugitive touched the door-handle she stretched out her hand and grasped a rough sleeve. Instantly there was a struggle, and Netty fought in the dark with some one infinitely stronger and heavier than herself. That it was a man she knew by the scent of tobacco and of rough working-clothes. She had one band on the handle, and in a moment turned it and threw open the door. The light from without flooded the room, and the man leapt back. 166 THE VULTURES. Mi !« m It was Kosmaroff. His eyes were wild ; ho was breath- less. For a moment he was not a civilized man at all. Then he made an effort, clenched his hands, and bit his lips. His whole demeanour changed. " Yon, mademoiselle I " he said, in broken English. " Then Heaven is kind — Heaven is kind ! *' In a moment he was at her feet, holding her two hands, and pressing first one and then the other to his lips. He was wildly agitated, and Netty was conscions that his agitation in some way reached her. In all her life she had never known what it was to be really carried away until that moment. She had never felt anything like it- had never seen a man like this — at her feet. She dragged at her hands, but could not free them. " I came," he said— and all the while he had one eye on the passage to see that no one approached — *' to see you, because I could not stay away I You think I am a poor man. That is as may be. But a poor man can love as well as a rich man — and perhaps better I " "You must go !— you must go I " said Netty. And yet she would have been sony if he had gone. The worst of reaching the high-water mark is that the ebb must neces- sarily be dreary. In a flash of thought she recollected Joseph Mangles' story. This was the sequel. Strange if he had heard his own story through the door of communication between Mangles' bedroom and the dining-room. For the other door, from the salon to the bedroom, stood wide open. " Yon think I have only seen you once," said Kosmaroff. " I have not. I have seen you often. But the first time I saw you — at the races — was enough. I loved you then. I shall love you all my life ! " ♦' You must go I — you must go ! " whispered Netty, dragging at her liands. ill THE HIQH-WATER MARK. 167 I "I won't unless yon promise to come to the Saski Gardens now — for five minntcs. I only ask five minutes. It is quite safe. There are many passing in and out of the large door. No one will notice you. The streets are full. I made an excuse to come in. A man I know was coming to these rooms with a parcel for you. I took the parcel. See, there is the tradesman's box. I brought it. It will take me out safely. But I won't go till you promise. Promise, mademoiselle 1 " " Yes I " whispered Netty, hurriedly. " I will come I " Firstly, she was frightened. The others might come at any moment. Secondly — it is to be feared — she wanted to go. It was the high-water mark. This man carried hur there and swept her off her feet — this working man, in his rough clothes, whose ancestors had been kings. " Go and get a cloak," he said. " I will meet you by the great fountain." And Netty ran along the corridor to her room, her eyes alight, her heart beating as it had never beaten before. Kosmaroff watched her for a moment with the strange smile that twisted his mouth to one side. Then he struck a match and turned to the chandelier. The globe was still warm. He had turned out the gas when Netty's hand was actually on the handle. "It was a near thing," he said to himself in Russian, which language he had learnt before any other, so that he still thought in it. " And I found the only way out of that hideous danger." As he thus refiected he was putting together hastily the contents of Joseph Mangles' writing-case, which were spread all over the table in confusion. Then he hurried into the bedroom, closed one or two drawers which he had left open, put the despatch-case where he had found it, ni I 1G8 THE VULTURES. I :^'i and, with a few deft touches, set the apartment in order. A moment later he lounged out at the great doorway, dangling the tradesman's box on his arm. It was a fine moonlight night, and the gardens were peopled by shadows moving hither and thither beneath the trees. The shadows were mostly in couples. Others had come on the same errand as Kosmaroff— for a better motive perhaps, or a worse. It was the very end of St. Martin's brief summer, and when winter lays its quiet mantle on these northern plains lovers must needs seek their opportunities indoors. Kosmarofif arrived first, and sat down thoughtfully on a bench. He was one of the few who were not muflBed in great coats and wraps against the autumn chill. He had endured a greater cold than Poland ever knew. " I suppose sho will come," he said in his mind, watching the gate through which Netty must enter the gardens. " It matters little if she does not. For I do not know what I shall say when she does come. Must leave that to the in- spiration of the moment— and the moonlight. She is pretty enough to make it easy." In a few momenta Netty passed through the gate aud came towards him— not hurriedly or fartiveiy, as some maiJon in a book to her first clandestine iiieeting— but with h< Lead thrown back, and with an air of having bosines.^ to transact which was infinitely safer and less likely to attract the attention of the idle. It was she who spoke first. "I am going back at once," she said. "It was very wrong to come. But you frightened me so. Was it very wrong ? Do you think it was wrong of me to come, and despise me for it ? " " Yon promised," he whispered eagerly ; •' yon promised il THE HIGH-WATER MARK. 1C9 inc five minatcs. Ont of a whole lifetime, what is it ? For I am going away from Warsaw soon, and I shall never sco yon again, perhaps, and shall have only the memory of these five minntes to last me all my life — these five minutes and that minute — that one minute in the hotel.'* And he took her hand, which was quite near to him some* how, on the stone bench, and raised it to his lips. " We are going away, too," she said. She was thinking oIbo of that one minute in the doorway of the sahn, when she had touched high-water mark. '• We are on our way to St. Petereburg, and are only waiting here till my uncle has finished some business affairs on which he is engaged." " But he is not a business man," said Kosmaroff, suddenly interested. " What is he doing here ? " *' I do not know. He never talks to me of his aifairs. I never know whether he is travelling for pleasure, or on account of his business in America, or for political purposes. He never explains. I only know that we are going on to St. Petersburg." •' And I shall not see you again. What am I to do all my life without seeing you ? And the others— Monsieur Deulin and that Englishmp.n, Cartoner — are they going to St. Petersburg, too ? " " I do not know," answered Netty, hastily withdrawing her hand, because a solitary promenader was passing close by them. " They never tell me either. But " "But what? Tell me all you know, because it wi^I enable me, perhaps, to see you again in the distance. Ah 1 if you knew ! If you could only see into my huart 1 " And he took her hand again in the masterful way that thrilled her, and waited for her to answer. " Mr. Cartoner will not go away from Warsaw if he can help it." lilt IM'' 170 THE VULTURES. ■fc^ " Ah I " said Kosmaroff. " Why— tell mo why ? " Bot Netty shook her head. They were gcing into a side issao, and she hiA not come here to stray into side isdues. With that skill which came no donbt with the inspiration of the rnomcnt in which Kosmaroff troated ho got back into the straight path again at one bound— tho sloping, pleasant pjitli in which any fool may wander and any wise man lose himself. " It is for you that he stays here," he said. " How blind I was not to see that I How could he know you, and bo near you, and not love you ? '* '* I think he has found it quite easy to do it,** answered Netty, with an odd hiugh. "No, it is not I who keep him in Warsaw, but somebody who i^ clever and beautiful.'* *' There is no one more beautiful than you in Warsaw.'* And for a moment Netty was silenced by she knew not what. " You say that to please me,** she said at lost. And her voice was quife different — it was low and uneven. " I say it because it is the truth. There is no one more beautiful than you in all the world. Heaven knows it.*' And he looked up with flashing black eyes to that Heaven in which he had no faith. ♦• But who is there in Warsaw,** he asked, " whom any one could dream of comparing with you ? ** " I have no doubt there are hundreds. But there is one whom Mr. Cartoner compares with me — and even you must know that she is prettier than I am." " I do nob know it,** pretested Kosmaroif, again taking her hand. " There is no one in bH the world." "There is the Princesa Turda Bukaty," said Netty, curtly. THE HIOH-WATEB MARK. 171 '* Ah ! Does Oartoner admiro her ? Do the/ know each other? Tea, I remember I saw them together at the races/' "They knew each other in London," said Netty. **They knew each other when I first saw them together at Lady Orlay's there. And they have often met hero since." Kosmaroff seemed to be hardly listening. He was staring in front of him, his eyes narrow with thought and suspicion. He seemed to have forgotten Netty and his love for her as suddenly as he had remembered it in the salon a few minntes earlier. " Is it that he has fallen in love — or is it that he desires information which she alone can give him ? " he asked at length. Which was, after all, the most natural thought that could come to him at that moment and in that place. For every man must see the world through his own eyes. Before she could answer him the town clock struck ten. Netty rose hastily, and drew her cloak round her. " I must go," she said ; " I have been here much more than five minutes. Why did you let me stay ? Oh — why did yon make me come ? " And she hurried towards the gate, Kosmaroff walking by her side. " You will come again," he said. " Now that you have come once — ^you cannot be so cruel. Now that yon know. I am nearly nJways at the river, at the foot of the Bcdnarska. You might walk past, and say a word in passing. You might even come in my boat. Bring that woman with the black hair, your aunt, if necessary. It would be safer, perhaps. Do you speak French ? " " Yes— and she does not." " Good— then we can talk. I must not go beyond the MICROCOPY RESOWTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) ^ /APPLIED IIVMGE li nc 1653 East Main Street Rochester, Ne» York 14609 USA (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288- 5989 - Fok ' 172 THE VULTURES. gate. Good-bye— and remember that I love you— always always!" ^ ' He stood at the gate and watched her hurry across the square towards the side door of the hotel, where the con- cierge was so busy that he conld scarcely keep a note of all who passed in and out. "It is all fair— all fair," said Kosmaroff to himself, seeking to convince himself. «• Besides— has the world been fair to me ? " Which argument has made the worst men that walk the earth. ( m ) CHAPTER XX. A LIGHT TOUCH. Soon after ten o'clock Miss Mangles received a message that Netty, having a headache, had gone to her room. Miss Cahere had never given way to that weakness, which is, or was, euphoniously called the emotions. She was not old- fashioned in that respect. But to-night, on regaining her room, she was conscious, for the first time in her life, of a sort of moral shakiness. She felt that she might do or say something imprudent. And she had never felt like that l)efore. No one in the world could say that she had ever been imprudent. That which the lenient may call a schoolgirl escapade — a mere flight to the garden for a few minutes — was scarcely sufficient to account for this feeUng. She must be unwell, she thought. And she decided, with some wisdom, not to submit herself to the scrutiny of Paul Deulin again. Mr. Mangles had not finished his excellent c'gar ; and although Miss Mangles did not feel disposed for another of those long, innocent-looking Russian cigarettes offered by Deulin, she had still some views of value to be pressed upon the notice of the inferior sex. Deulin had been glancing at the clock for some time, and, suspiciously soon after learning that they were not to see 174 THE VULTURES. Netty again, he announced with regret that he had letters to write, and must take hia leave. Cartoner made no excuse, but departed at the same time. " I will come down to the door with you," said Denlin, in the passage. He was always idle, and always had leisure to follow his sociable instincts. At the side door, while Cartoner was putting on his coat, he stepped rather suddenly ovt into the street, and before Cartoner had found his hat was back again. " It is a moonlight night," he said. " I will walk with you part of the way." He turned as he spoke, towards his coat and hat and stick, which were hanging near to where Cartoner had found his own. He did nob seem to think it necessary to ask the usual, formal permission. They knew each other too well for that. Cartoner helped the Frenchman on with his thin, light overcoat ; and, reaching out his hand, took the stick from the rack, weighing and turning it thoughtfully in his hand. «' That is the Madrid stick," said the Frenchman. *' You were with mo when I bought it." " And when you used it," added Cartoner, with a curt iaugh, as he led the way to the door. " Generally keep your coat in the hall ? " he inquired casually, as they descended the steps. " Sometimes," replied Dculin, glancing at the questioner sideways, beneath the brim of his hat. It was, as he had said, a beautiful night. The moon was almost full and almost overhead, so that the s' s were, in most instances, without shadow at all ; for th^y nearly all run north and south, as does the river. " Yes," said Deulin, taking Cartoner's arm, and leading hiin to the right instead of the left ; for Cartoner was A LIGHT TOUCH. 175 going towards the Cracow Faubourg, which was the simplest but not the shortest way to the Jasna. *' Yes— let us go by the quiet streets, eh ? We have walked the pavement of some queer towns in our day, you and I. The typical Englishman, so dense, so silent, so unobservant — who sees nothing and knows nothing and never laughs — but is him- self the laughing-stock of all the Latin races, and the piece de resistance of their comic papers. And I, at your service, the typical Frenchman ; all shrugs and gesticulations and moustache — of a politeness that is so insincere — of a heart that is so unstable. Ah 1 these national characteristics of comic journalism— how the stupid world trips over them on to its vulgar face ! " As he spoke, he was hurrying Cartoner along, ever ifuicker and quicker, with a hasto that must hiwe been unconscious, as it certainly was unnatural to one who found a thousand trifles to interest him in the streets whenever he walked there. Cartoner made no answer, and his companion expected none. They were in r. narrow street now — between the backs of high houses— and had left the life and traffic of frequented thoroughfares behind them. DeuKn turned once, and looked over his shoulder. They were alone in the street. He released Cartoncr's arm, through which he had slipped his left hand in an effusive French way. He was fingering his stick with his right hand in an odd manner, and walked with his head half turned, as if listen- ing for footsteps behind him. Suddenly, he swung round on his heels, facing the direction from which they had just come. Two men were racing up the street, making but little noise on the pavement. •'/ny coming from the other side .^ " asked Deulin. 176 THE VULTURES, "No." "In the doorwiy," whispered the Freachman. He was very quick and quite steady. And there is nothing more dangerous on earth than a steady Frenchman, who fights with his brain as well as his ai-m. Deulin was pushing his companion back with his left hand iuto a shallow doorway that had the air of being little used. The long, thin blade of a sword-stick, no thicker at the hilt than the blade of a sailor's shcuth-knifc, and narrowing to nothing at the point, glittered in the moonlight. " Here," he said, and thrust the empty stick into Car- toner's hand. " But you need not use it. There are only two. Ah ! ah I " With a sharp little cry of delight, he stepped out into the moonlight, and so quick were his movements in tho next moments, that the eye could scarcely follow them. Those who have seen a panther in liberty, know that there is nothing so graceful, so quick, so lithe and noiseless in animal life. And Deulin was like a panther at that moment. He leapt across the pavement to give one man a stinging switch athwart the cheek with the flat of the blade, and was back on guard in front of Cartoner like a flash. He ran right round the two men, who stood bewildered together, and did not know where to look for him. Once he lifted his foot and planted a kick in the small of his adversary's back, sending him staggering against the wall. He laughed, and gave little sharp cries of " Ah I " and "La!" breathlessly. He did a hundred tricks of the fencing-floor— performed a dozen turns &ad sleights of hand. It was a marvel of agility and quickness. He struck both men on shoulder, arm, hand, head, and leg; forwards, back-handed, from above and from below. He never awaited their attack — but attacked them. "Was it A LIGHT TOUCH. 177 not Napoleoa who said that the surest way to defend is to attack ? The wonder was that, wielding so keen a point, he never hurt the men. The sword might have been a lady's riding-whip, for its bloodlessnoss, from the stinging cuts he inflicted. But the whistle of it through the air was not the whistle of leather ; it was the high, clear, terrifyin<' note of steel. The two men, in confusion, backed across the road, and finally ran to the opposite pavement, where they were half hidden by a deep shadow. Without turning, Deulin backed towards Cartoner, who stood still in the doorway. "Even if they are armed," said Deulin, "they won't fire. They don't want the police any more than we do. Can tell you, Cartoner, it would not suit my book at all to get into trouble in Warsaw now." While he spoke, he watched the shadows across the road. " Both have knives," he said, •• but they cannot get near me. Stay where you are." "All right," said Cartoner. "Haven't ^^ad a chance yet." And he gave a low laugh, which Deulin had on^y heard once or twice before in all the years that they had known each other. " That's the best," he said, half to himself, " of dealing with a man who keeps his head. Here they come, Cartoner — here they come." And he went out to meet them. But only one came forward. They knew that unless thsy kept together, Deulin could not hold them both in check. The very fact of their returning to the attack- thus, with a cold-blooded oourage — showed that they were Poles. In an instant, Deulin divined their intention. He K 178 THE VULTURES. Ivt ran forward, his blade held out in front of him. Even at this moment, he could not lay aside the little flonrish— the quick, stiff pose— of the fencer. His sword made a dozen turns in the air, and the point of it came down lightly, like a butterfly, on the man's shoulder. He lowered it further, as if seeking a particular spot, and then, deliberately, he pushed it in as if into a cheese. "Voili, mon ami," he said, with a sort of condescension as if he had made him a present. As, indeed, he had. He had given him his life. The man leapt back with a little yelp of pain, and his knife clattered on the stones. He stood in the moonlight, looking with horror-struck eyes at his own hand, of which the fingers, like tendrils, were slowly curling up, and he had no control over them. " And now," said Deulin in Polish, " for you." He turned to the other, who had been moving surrep- titiously round towards Cartoner, who had, indeed, come out to meet him ; but the man turned and ran, followed closely by his companion. Deulin picked up the knife, which lay gleaming on the cobble-stones, and came towards Cartoner with it. Then he turned aside, and carefully dropped it between the bars of the street gutter, where it fell with a muddy splash. "He will never use that hand again," he said. "Poor devil ! I only hope he was well paid for it." " Doubt it." Deulin was feeling in the pocket of his top-coat. " Have you an old envelope ? " he inquired. Cartoner handed him what he asked for. It happened to be the envelope of the letter he had received a few days A LIGHT TOUCH. 179 I earlier, denying him his recall. And Dciilin carefully wiped the blade of the sword-stick with it. He tore it into pieces and sent it after the knife. Then he polished the bright steel with his pocket-handkerchief, from the evil point to the hilt, where the Government mark and the word ** Toledo " were deeply engraved. " Unless I keep it clean, it sticks," he explained. " And if you want it at all, yon want it in a hnrry— like a woman's heart, eh ? " He was looking np and down the street as he spoke, and shot the blade back into its sheath. He turned and examined the ground, to make sure that nothing was left there. " The light was good," he said appreciatively, " and the ground favourable for — for the autumn manoeuvres." And he broke into a gay laugh. "Come," he said. "Let us go back into tl norc frequented streets. This back way was not a success— nly proves that it never does to turn tail." "How did you know," asked Cartoner, "that this was coming off ? " " Quite simple, my friend. I was at the window when you arrived at the Europe. You were followed. Or, at all events, I thought you were followed. So I made np my mind to walk back with you, and see. Veni, vidi, vici — you understand ? " And, again, his clear laugh broke the silence of that back street, while he made a pass at an imaginary foe with his stick. " I thought we might escape by the quieter streets," he went on. " For it is our business to seek peace and ensue it. But it was not to be. Neither could I warn you, because we have never interfered in each other's business. 5 180 THE VULTURES. •X ■ ■ii i i you and 1. That is why wc have continued, through many chances and changes, to be friends." They walked .>n in silence for a few moments. Then Cartoner spoke, saying that which he was bound to say in his half inaudible voice. " It was like you, to come like that and take the risk," he said, " and say nothing." But Deulin stopped him, with a quick touch on his arm. "As to that," ho said— " silence, my friend. Wait. Thank me, if yoa will, five years hence— ten years hence when the time comes. I will f^ll you then why I did it." "There can only ba one reason why you did it," muttered the Englishman. " Can there ? Ah I my good Cartoner, jou are a fool— the very best sort of fool— and yet, in the matter of intellect you are as superior to me as I am superior to you ... in swordsmanship." And he made another pass into thin air with his stick. " I should like to fight some one to-nigl " he said. " Some one of the very first order. I feel in the vein. I could do great things to-night— and the angels in heaven are talking of me." In his light-hearted way, he bared his head, and looked up to the sky. But there was a deeper ring in his voice. It almost seemed as if he were sincere. As he stood there bareheaded with his coat open and his shirt gleaming in the moonlight, a carriage rattled past, and stopped immediately behind them. The door was' opened from within, and the only occupant, alighting quickly, came towards them. " There is only one man in "Warsaw who would apostro- phize the gods Uke that," he said. The speaker was Prince Martin Bukaty. A LIGHT TOUCH 181 I — " you, lie rcc jnucd Cartoncr at this moment. " You," Le said, and there was a sharp note in his voice Cartoncr — what are you doing in the streets at this time of night ? " "We have been dining with Mangles," explained Deulin. " And we do not quite know what we are doing, or where we are going," added Cartoner. " But we think we arc going home." " Yon seem to be in search of adventure," said Martin, with a laugh in his voice, and none in his eyea "We are," answered Deulin. " Come," said Martin, turning to send away the carriage. " Come — ^your shortest way is through our place now. My father and Wanda are out at a ball, or something, bo I am airaid you will not see them. But come in out of these streets." " Do it," whispered Deulin's voice from behind. And Cartoner followed Martin up the narrow passage that led to the garden of the Bukaty Palace. ■ 182 TUB VULTURES. CHAPTER XXr. u I !K • A CLEAE UNDEBSTAKDINO. Martin led the way without speaking. He opened the door with a key, and passed through first The garden was dark ; for the trees in it had grown to a great height, and, protected as they were from the wild winds that sweep across the central plain of Europe, they had not shed their leaves. A few lights twinkled through the branches from the directjrin of the house, and the shape of the large conserva- tory was dimly outlined, as though there were blinds within partially covering the glass. * "Yes," said Martin, carefully closing the door behind iiim. » You find me in sole possession. My father and sister have gore to a reception; a semi-political affair at winch tbej ' ».ompelled to put in an appearance. It only began a. half -past nine. They wiU not be home till mid- night. Mind those branches, Cartoner 1 You will come in of course." ' And he hurried on again to open the next door. •* Thank you ; for a few minutes," answered Denlin, and seeing a movement of dissent on Cartoner's rirt. he laid nis hand on his arm. " It is better," he said, in an undertone. « It wUl put A CLEAR UNDER8TAMDIN0. 188 them completely off the accnt. There are sure to be more than two in it." So, reluctantly, Cartoncr folIo' i Martin into the Bukaty Palace, for the first time. ** Come," said the young prince, " iuto the drawing-roc . I see the> have left the lights on there." He pushed open the door of the long, bare room, aua stood an' 1- to allow his guests to pass. *' Holloa I" ho cxchimcd, an instant later, following them into the room. At the far end of it, where twi large folding doors opened on to the conservatory, half turning to see who came, stood Wanda. She had some flowers in her hand, which she had just taken from her dress. " Back again already ? " asked Mai-tin, in surprise. " Yes," answered Wanda. •' There were some people there "^e did not want *o meet, so v came away again ai; once." •'But I thought they could lot pos. .-j be there." " They arrived," answeicd "^v^iida, " by some ill chance, from Petersburg, jn=*. in time " And as she spokt >l ^ shook ii mds with Cartoner. " It is not such an ill chance after all," said Deulin, " since it gives us the opportunity of seeing you. Where is your father ? " " He is in his study." " I rather want to see him," said Deulin, looking at Martin. •' Come along, then," was the answer. " He will be gkd to see you. It will cheer him up." And Wanda and Cartonr were left alone. It had all come about quickly and simply — so much quicker and simpler than human plans, are the plans of Heaven. 184 H * THE VULTUREa M Wanda, sfciU standing in the doorway of the conservatory, of which the warm, scented air swept ont past her into the room, watched her brother and Deulin go and close the door behind them. She turned to Cartoner with a sm^e as if about to speak ; but she saw his face, and said nothing, and her own slowly grew grave. He came towards her, upright, and watchful. She tZ T^ '".^ ^°'^'^ '^ ^'' ^^^^ q'^^^t' i^membering "I was wrong," he said, "when I said that Fate could be hampered by action. Nothing can hamper it. For Fate has brought me here again." He stood before her, and the attitude in some way con- veyed that by the word « here " he only thought ani meant, near to her There was a strange look in her eyes o suspense and fear, and something else which needs no ln,^°% .1 ^\^r '''" '^' "^^ ^*°«°t be conveyed in words to those who have not. "A clear understanding," he said, abruptly, recalling her own words. " That is your creed " «»iimg ner thflr' Vv!"i' °°'^' ^;^ ''"^ ^°"^^ P^' ^^ towards tln.r.w \ 7', '""^"^^'^^ eye«. One would have thought that she had done something wrong which was being brought home to her. "I made another mistake," he said. " Have been acting I dreamt, I suppose, of an embassy-of a viceroyalt^, perhaps-when I was quite young, and thought the world was easy to conquer. AU that . . . vanish^ when I saw you. If It comes, well and good. I should like it. Not for my own sake." kJL ink A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING. 185 She made a little movement, and her ejelids flickered. Ah 1 that clear understanding which poor humanity cannot put into words. •*If it doesn't come"— he paused, and snapped the finger and thumb that hung quiescent at his side — " well and good. I shall have lived. I shall have known what life is meant to be. I sh^U have been the happiest man in the world." He spoke slowly in his gently abrupt way. Wanda shook her head with a passing smile, but made no answer. "There has never been anybody else," he continued. "All that side of life was quite blank. The world was empty until you came and filled it, at Lady Orlay's, that afternoon. I had come half round the world — you crossed Europe. And Fate had fixed that we should meet there. At first I did not believe. I thought it was a mistake — that we should drift apart again. Then came the order to leave for Warsaw. I knew then that you would inevi- tably return. Still I tried to get out of it — fought against it — tried to avoid you. And you know what it all came to." She nodded again, and still did not meet his eyes. She had not spoken to him since he entered the room. "There can never be anybody else," he said. "How could there be ? " And the abrupt laugh that followed the question made her catch her breath. She had, then, the knowledge given to few, that so far as this one fellow-creature was con- cerned she was the whole earth — that he was thrusting upon her the greatest responsibility that the soul can carry. For to love is as difficult as it is rare, but to be worthy of love is infinitely harder. " I knew from the first," he continued, " that there is 186 THE VULTURES. 11 no hope. Whichever way we turn there is no hope. lean spare you the task of telling me that." She turned her eyes to his at last. " You knew ? " she asked, speaking for the first time. "I know the history of Poland," he said quietly. " The country must have your father— your father needs you. I could not ask you to give up Poland— you know that." ' They stood in silence for a few moments. They had had so little time together that they must have learnt to understand each other in absence. The friendship that grows in absence and the love that comes to life between two people who are apart, are the love and friendship which raise men to such heights as human nature is permitted to attain. " If you asked me," said Wanda, at length, with an illegible smile, « I should do it." " And if I asked you I should not love you. If you loved me, you would one day cease to do so ; for you would re- member what I hr ' asked you. There would be a sort of flaw, and you wo u discover it— and that would be the end." " Is it so delicate as that ? " she asked. " It is the frailest thing in the world— and the strongest," he answered, with his thoughtful smi'?. « It is a very delicate sort of-thought, which is giren to two people to take care of. And they never seem to succeed in keep- ing it even passably intact ; and not one couple in a million carry it through life unhurt. And the injuries never come from the outer world, but from t Uemselves." "Where did you learn aU that ? " she asked, looking at him with her shrewd, smiling eyes. "You taught me." A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING. 187 i " But you have a terribly high ideal." "Yes." ** Are you sure you do not expect the impossible ? " "Quite." Shts shook her head doubtfully. ♦' Are you sure you will never have to compromise ? All the world compromises." "With its conscience," said Cartoner. "And look at the result." " Then you are good," she returned, looking at him with a speculative gravity, "as well as concise — and rather masterful." "It is clear," he said, "that a man who persuades a woman to marry against her inclination, or her conviction, or her conscience, is seeking her unhappiness and his own." "Ah ! " she cried, " but you ask for a great deal." " I ask for love.'* "And," she said, going past that question, " no obstacles." " No obstacles that both could not conscientiously face and set aside." "And if one such object — quite a small one— should be found?" " Then they must be content with love alone." Wanda turned from him, and fell into thought for some moments. They seemed to be feeling their way forwara on that difficult road where so many hasten and such numbers fall. " You have a way," she said, " of putting into words — so few words — what others only half think, and do not half attempt to act up to. If they did — there would, perhaps, be no marriages." " There would be no unhappy ones," said Cai toner. " And it is better to be content with love alone ? " " Content," was his sole answer. i '.i 188 THE VULTURES. i*^ m llh a l\. Again she thought in silence for quite a long time, although their moments were so few. A clock on the mantelpiece struck half-past ten. Cartoner had bidden Joseph P. Mangles good-night only half an hour earlier, and his life had been in peril— he had been down to the depths and up to the heights since then. When the gods arrive they act quickly. "So that is your creed," she said, at length. "And there is no compromise ? " " None," he answered. And she smiled suddenly at the monosyllabic reply. She had had to deal with men of no compromise more than the majority of villa-dwelling women have the opportunity of doing, and she knew, perhaps, that such are the backbone of human nature. "Ah I" she said, ^ith a quick sigh, as she turned and looked down the length of the long, lamplit room. " Yon are strong— you are strong for two." He shook his head in negation, for he knew that hers was that fine steely strength of women which endures a strain all through a lifetime, of which the world knows nothing. Then, acting up to her own creed of seeking always the clear understanding, she returned to the point they had left untouched. "And if two people had between them," she suggested, wonderingly, "that with which you say they might be content— if they had it, and were sure they had it, and had with it a perfect trust in each other— but knew that they could never have more, could they be happy ? " " They could be happier than nearly everybody else in the world," he answered. " And if they had to go on all their lives— and if one lived in London and the other in Warsaw— Warsaw ? " A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING. 189 *' They could stUl be ' ippy." " If she— alone at one end of Europe " asked Wanda, with her worldly-wise searching into detail, "if she saw slowly vanishing those smaK ittractions which belong to youth ; for which he might ca. , perhaps ? " " She could still be happy." " And he ? If he experienced a check in his career, or had some misfortnne, and felt lonely and disappointed — and there was no one near to— to take care of him ? " " He could still be happy — if " "If ?" "If he knew that she loved him," replied Cartoner, slowly. Wanda tiurned and looked at him with an odd little laugh ; and there were tears in her eyes. *'0h ! you may know that," she said, suddenly descend- ing from the uncertain heights of generality. " You may be quite sure of that If thai is what you want" "That is what I want." As he spoke he took her hand, and slowly raised it to his lipi). She looked at his bent head, and when her eyes rested on the grey hairs at his temples, they lighted sr.d- denly with a gleam which was strangely protecting and dimly maternal. " I want you to go away from Warsaw," she said. " I would rather you went even if you say — that you a^-e afraid to stay." " I cannot say that." " Besides," she added, with a light laugh, " they would not believe you, if you did." " I promise you," he ans—ied, " not to run any risks ; to take every care. But we must not see each other. I may have to go away without seeing you." 190 THE VULTURES. She gave a little nod of comprehension, and held her lips between her teeth. She was looking towards the door ; for she had heard voices in that direction. "I should like," she said, "to make you a promise in return. It would give me great satisfaction. Somt day you may, perhaps, be glad to remember it." The \oio€8 were approaching. It was Deulin's voice, and he seemed to be speaking unnecessarily loudly. "I promise you," said Wanda, with unfathomable eyes, "never to marry anybody else." And the door opened, giving admittance to Deulin, who was laughing and talking. He came forrrard looking, not at Wanda and Cartoner, but at the clock. " To your tents, Israel I " he said. Cartoner said good-night at once, and went to the door. For a moment, Deulin was left alone with Wanda. He went to a side-table, where he had laid his sword-stick. He took it up, and slowly turned it in his hand. "Wanda," he said, "remember me in your prayers to-night I" ^ ( 191 ) CHAPTER XXII. THE WHITE FBATHEll. It is to be presumed that che majority of people are willing enough to seek the happiness of others ; which desire leads the individosl to interfere in her neighbour's affairs, while it burdens society with a thousand associations for the welfare of manL. id or the raising of the masses. Looking at the question from the sttlotly common-sense point of ^ew. 't would appear to the observer that those who do tliv most good or the least harm are the un- charitable. Better than the eager, verbose man, is he who stands on the shore cynically watching a landsman in a boat without proffering advice as to how the vessel should be navigated, who only holds out a cold and steady hand after the catastrophe has happened, or, if no catastrophe supervenes, is content to walk away in that silent wonder which the care of Providence for the improvident must ever evoke. Paul Deulin was considered by his friends to be a cynic ; and a French cynic is not without cruelty. He once told Wanda that he had seen men and women do much worse thwU throw their lives away, which was probably the un- varnished truth. But there must have been a weak spot in his (^idsm. There always is a weak spot in the vice . I 6 F 192 THE VULTURES. 11; Wn. , ^pp"""""'- ^*^' ^" «"' *^°°« '" ti« room at the Hotel de I'Europe. at Warsaw, long into the night, smoldne cigarette after cigarette, and thinking thoughts S he would at any other Jancture have been fhe fi«t tJ condemn He was thinking of the affairs of otheTand into his thoughts there came, moreover, the aS not of individuals, but of nations. A fellow-countrym^'once ^ve It as his opinion that so long as the tminsCprc ^a!ly and meab were served at regular intervals.Te could perceive no difference between one form of Government and another And i: t ,e majority of instances theTateo nations rarely affects the Uves of individuals Deulin. however, was suddenly made aware of his own vicinity and which were affecting the lives of those around hmi. More than any other do Frenchmen herd together m exile, and Deulin knew all his fellow-countrymen and women in Warsaw, in whatsoever station of life they happened to move. He had a friend behind the comiter of the small feather-cleaning shop in the Jerozolimska. This lady was a French Jewess, who had by some underimrent of Judaism drifted from Paris to Waiw agar'nTS herself once more among her own people^ The w^tern world IS Ignorant of the strength of J^y in Poland Deulin made a transparent excuse fop his visit to the ckaner s shop. He took with him two or three pal o those lavender gloves which Englishmen have hanJv ceased to wear by day. "appiiy " One likes," he said to the stout Jewess, " to talk one's own tongue in a foreign land." And he sat down quite affably on the hither side of the tT a'nd T"*'r "' ^°^'^^ «^-^^ between hi two, and an hour slipped past before Deulin quitted the ■U THE WHITE FEATHER. 193 little shop. It was still early ia the day, and ho hurried to Cartoncr'u rooms in the Jasna. He bought a flower at the corner of the Jerozolimska as he went along, and placed it in his buttonhole. He wore his soft felt hat at a slight angle, and walked the pavement at a pace and with an air belonging to a younger generation. " Ah I " he cried, at the sight of Cartoner, pipe in moutI«, at his writing-table. "Ah I if you were only idle, as I am "—he paused, with r. si. irp little sigh—" if you only could be idle, how much happier you would be." " A Frenchman," replied Cartoner, without looking up, " thinks that noise means happiness." "Then you are happy— you pretend to happiness?" inquired Deulin, sitting down without being invited to do BO, and drawing to-yards him a cigarette-case that lay upon the table. " Yes, thank you," replied Cartoner, lightly. He seemed, too, to be cheerful this morning. "Don't thank me— thank the gods," replied Deulin, with a sudden gravity. "Wer," said Cartoner presently, without ceasing to write, " what do you want ? " Deulin glanced at his friend with a gleam of suspicion. " What do I want ? " he inquired, innocently. " Yes. You want something. I always know when ym' want something. When you are most idle you are most occupied." "Ah!" Cartoner wrote on while Deulin lighted a cigarette and smoked half of it with a leisurely enjoyment of its bouquet. ■ " There is a certain smell in the Rue Royale, left-hand side looking towards the Column— the shady side, after the 194 THE VULTURES. < I m. m Btrcct has been watered— that my soul desires," said the Frenchman, at length. " When are yon going ? " asked Cartoner, softly. " I am not going ; I wish I were. I thought I was last rl?ht. I thought I had done my work here, and that it would be unnecessary to wait on indefinitely for " "For what?" "For the upheaval," oxpUinod Deulin, with an airy wave of his cigarette. "This morning "he began. And then he waited for Cartoner to lay aside his pen and lean back in his chair with the air of thoughtful attention which he seemed to wear towards that world in which ho moved and had his being. Cartoner did exactly what was expected of him. "This morning I picked up a scrap of information." He drew towards him a newspaper, and with a pencil made a little drawing on the margin, The design was made in three strokes. It was not unlike a Greek cross, Deulin threw the paper across the table. " You know that man ? " " I do not know his name," admitted Cartoner. " No ; no one knows that," replied Deulin. "It is one of the very few mysteries of the nineteenth century. All the others are cleared up." Cartoner made no answer. He sat looking at the design, thinking, perhaps, with wonder of the man who in this notoriety-loving age was still content to be known only by a mark. " Up to the present I have not attached much importance to those rumours which, happily, have never reached the newspaper," said Deulin, after a pause. " One has supposed that, as usual, Poland is ready for an upheaval. But the THE WHITE FEATHER. 195 upheaval does not come. That has been the statu$ quo for manj years here. Suppose— snppose, my friend, that they manufacture their own opportunity, or agree with some other body of malcontents as to the creaUng of an opportunity." "Anarchy ? »' inquired Cartoncr. "The ladies of the party caU it NihUism," replied the Ircnchman, with an imitablo gesture, conveying the fact that he was not the man to gainsay a lady. "Bakaty would not stoop to that. Remember, they are a patient people. They waited thirty years." "And struck too hastily after aU," commented Deulin. "Bukaty would not link himself with thee others, who talk so much and do so little. But there are others besides Bukaty, who are younger, and can afford to wait longer, and are therefore less patient— men of a more modern' stamp, without hia educational advantages, who are never- theless sincere enough in their way. It may not be a gentlemanly way '» "The man who goes by the name of Kosmaroff is a gentleman, according to his lights," interrupted Cartoner. "Ah I since you say so," returned Deulin, with a eigni- ficant gesture, "yes." ''Bon sang;' said Cartoner, and did not trouble to com- plete the saying. «« He is too much of a gentleman to herd with the extremists." But Deulin did not seem to be listening. He was follow- ing his own train of thought. "So you know of Kosmaroff?" he said, studying his companion's face. " You know that, too. What a lot you faiow behind that ddl physiognomy. W^here is Kosmaroff ? Perhaps you know that." " In Warsaw," guessed er. 196 THF VULTURES. il'.i^ ** Wrong. He has gone towardi Berlin— towards London, hj ibe lame token." Dealin leant acroM the table and tapped the symbol that he had drawn on the margin of the ncwipipcr, daintilj, with his fiogcr-nail. "That parishioner is in London, too," ho said in hid own tongac — and the word means more in French. Cartoncr bIowIj tore the margin from the newspaper and rcdnccd the drawing to small pieces. Then ho glanced ut the clock. •* Trying to get mo out of Warsaw," he said. " Giving me a chance of gracefully showing the white fettht*'." Deulin smiled. He had seen the glance, and he v .j iiuicker than most at guessing that which might bw passing in another man*s mind. The force of habit is so strong that few even think of a train without noting the time of day at the same moment. If Cartoner was thinking of a train at that instant, it could only be the train to Berlin on the heeU of Kosmaroff, and Deulin desired to get Cartoner away from Warsaw. "The white feather," he said, "is an emblem that neither you nor I need trouble our minds about. Don't get nan'ow-mindcd, Cartoner. It is a national fault, remember. For an EngUshman, you used to be singularly independent of the opinion of the man in the street or the woman at the tea-table. Afraid ! What does it matter who thinks we are afraid ? " And he gave a sudden staccato laugh which had a subtle ring in it of envy, or of that heaviness which is of a life that is waxing old. "Look here," he said, after a pause, and he made a little diagi-am on the table, " here is a bonfire, all dry and crackling — here, in Warsaw. Here — in Berlin or in London THE WHITE PEATHER. 197 —is the man with tbo match that will set it alight. You and I have happened on a great event, and stand in the uliodow that it casta before it, for the second— no, for the third, time in our lives. 'S.'o work together again, I suppose. "Wo have alwajs done so when it was possible. On 3 must watch the drj wood, the other mast know the movements of the man with the kindling. Take your choice, since your haraonr ia so odd. You stay or you go- but remember that it is in the interests of others that yon go " " Of others ? " *' Yes — of the Bukatys. Your presence here is a danger to them. Now go or stay, a"* yor like." Cartoner glanced at his companion with watchful eye^. He was not deliborating ; for 1": had made up his mind long ago, and was now weighing that decision. "I will go," he said, at length. And Deulin leant back ill his chair with a half-snppressed yawn of indifference. It was, as Cartoner had observed, wh' he was most idle that this gentleman had important business in hand. lie had a light, easy touch on life, and, it is to be supposed, never set much store upon the gain of an object. It seemed that he must have played the game in earnest at one time, must har- thrown down his stake and lost it, or won it, perhajB, and then had no use for his ; in, which is a bitterer end than loss can ever be. " I dare say you are right," he said. •' Aud, at all events, you will see the last of this sad city." Then he changed the subject easily, and began to talk of some trivial matter. From one question to anoth he passed, with that air of superficiality which Northern men can never hope to understand, and here and there he touched upon those grave events which wise men foresaw at this period in European history. 198 THE VULTURES. 11. "I smell," he said, "something in the atmosphere. Strangers passing in the street look at one with a question- ing air, as if there were a secret which one might perhaps be party to. And I, who have no secrets." He spread ont his hands with a laugh. " Because," he added, with a sudden gravity, " there is nothing in life worth making a secret of— except one's income. There are many reasons why mine remains un- confessed. But, my friend, if anything should happen — anything— anywhere— we keep each other advised. Is it not so ? " " Usual cypher," answered Cartoner. "My salutations to Lady Orlay," said Deulin, with a nod. " That woman who can keep a secret." " I thought you had none." "She knows the secret — of my income," answered the Frenchman. " Tell her— no I Do not tell her anything. But go and see her. When will you leave ? " " To-night." " And until then ? Come and lunch with me at the Russian Club. No? Well, do as you like. I will say good-bye now. Heavens ! how many times have we met and said good-bye again in hotels and railway stations and hired rooms ? We have no abiding city and no friends. We aro sons of Ishmael, and have none to care when we furl our tents and steal away." He paused, and looked round the bare room, in which there was nothing but the hired furniture. " The police will be in here five minutes after you are out," he said curtly. " You have no message " He paused to pick up from the floor a petal of his flower that had fallen. Then he walked to the window and looked out. Standing there, with his back to Cartoner, he went on : " No message to any one in Warsaw ? " A THE WHITE FEATHER. 199 " No," answered Cartoncr. " No — ^you wouldn't have one. You arc not that sort of man. Oad I you are hard, Cartoner — hard as nails." Cartoner did not answer. He waa already putting together his possessions — already furling his solitary tent. It was only natural that he was loth to go ; for he was turning his back on danger, and few men worthy of the name do that with alacrity, whatever their nationality may be ; for gameness is not solely a British virtue, as is supposed in English public schools. Suddenly Deulin turned round and shook hands. *' Don't know when we shall next meet. Take care of yourself. Good-bye." And he went towards the door. But he paused on the threshold. "The matter of the white feather you may leave to me. You may leave others to mo, too, as far as that goes. The sons of Ishmael must stand together." And, with an airy wave of the hand and his rather hollow laugh, he was gone. lr>: 200 THE VULTURES. CHAPTER XXIII. CCEUR VOLANT. In that great plain which ia known to geographew as tlie Central European Depression the changes of the weather are very deliberate. If rain is coming, the cautious receive fall warning of its approach. The clouds gather slowly, and disperse without haste when their work is done. For some days it had been looking like rain. The leaves on the trees of the Saski Gardens were hanging limp and life- less. The whole world was dusty and expectant. Cartoner left Warsaw in a deluge of rain. It had come at last. In the afternoon Denlin went to call at the Bukaty Palace. He was ushered into the great drawing-room, and there left to his own devices. He did an unusual thing. He fell into a train of thought so absorbing that he did not hear the door open or the soft sound of Wanda's dress as she entered the room. Her gay laugh brought him down to the present with a sort of shock. " You were dreaming," she said. " Heaven forbid ! " he answered fervently. " Dreams and white hairs No, I was listening to the rain." He turned, and looked at her with a sudden defiance in his eyes, as if daring her to doubt him. " I was listening to the rain. The summer is gone, Wanda— it is gone." i-l £ . C(EUR VOLANT. 201 He drew forward a chair for her, and glanced over his shoulder towards the large folding doors, through which the conservatory was visible in the fading light. The rain drummed on the glass roof wit! a hopeless, slow per- sistency. " Can you not shut that door ? " he said. " Bon Dieu ! what a suicidal note that strikes— that hopeless rain — a northern autumn evening 1 There was a chill in the air as I drove down the Faubourg. If I were a woman I should have tea, or a cry. Being a man, I curse the weather and drive in a hired carriage to the pleasantest place in Warsaw." Without wait!ng for further permission, he went and closed the large doors, shutting out the sound of the rain and the sight of the streaming glass, with sodden leaves stuck here and there upon it. Wanda watched him with a tolerant smile. Her daily life was lived among men ; and she knew that it is not only women who have un- accountable humours, a sudden en? )r or a quick and passing access of tenderness. There was a shadow of un- easiness in her eyes. He had come to tell her something. She knew that. She remembered that when this diplo- matist looked most idle he was in reality about his business. "There," he said, throwing himself back in an easy chair, and looking at her with smiling lips, and eyes deeply, tragically intelligent. " That is more comfortable. Can yon tell me nothing that will amuse me? Do you not see that my sins sit heavily on me this evening ? " " I do not know if it will anuse you," answered Wanda, in her energetic way, as if taking him at his word and seeking to rouse him, *' but Mr. Mangles and Sliss Cahere are coming to tea this evening." >, ^ Ui ;'f Ji?i 202 THE VULTURES. Dealia made a grimaca and glanced at the clock. If he had anything to say, he seemed to be thinking, he must say it quickly. "Wanda was, perhaps, thinking *.he same. ! " Separately they are amusing enough," he said slowly, " but they do not mingle. I have an immense respect for Joseph P. Mangles." "So has my father," put in Wanda, rather significantly. " Ah 1 that is why you asked them. Your father knows that in a young country events move by jerks— that the man who is nobody to-day may be somebody to- rrow. The mammon of unrighteousness, Wanda." "Yes." " And you are above that sort of thing." " I am not above anything that they deem necessary for the good of Poland," she an8wer«,d gravely. « They give everything. I have not much to give, you flee." * I suppose you have what every woman has— to sacrifice upon some altar or another— your happiness I " Wanda shrugged her shoulders and said nothing. She glanced across at him. He knew something. But he had learnt nothing from Cartoner. Of that, at least, she was sure. " Happiness, or a hope of happiness," he went on, reflec- tively. " Perhaps one is as valuable as the other. Perhaps t'ley are the same thing. If you gain a happiness you lose a hope, remember that. It is not always remembered by women, and veiy seldom by men." " Is it so precious ? It is common enough, at all events." "What is common enough ? " he asked absent-mindedlv. " Hope." ' " Hope I Connais pas ! " he exclaimed, with a sudden laugh. " Yon must ask some one who knows more about it. I am a man of sorow, Wanda ; that is why I am so gay." And his laugh was indeed light-hearted enough. C(EUR VOLANT. 20S " The rain makes one feel lonely, thai, is all," he rent on, as if seeking to explain his own humour. " Rain and cold and half a dozen drawhacks to existence lose their terrors if one has an indoor life to turn to, and a fire to sit by. That is why I am here." And he drew his chair nearer to the burning logs. Wanda now knew that he had something to tell her — that he had come for no other purpose. And, that he should be delicate and careful in his approach, told her that it was of Cartoner he had come to speak. While the delicacy and care showed her that he had guessed something, it also opened up a new side to his character. For the suscepti- bilities of men anu women who have passed middle-age are usually dull, and often quite dead, to the sensitivcress of younger hearts. It almost seemed that he divined that Wanda's heart was sensitive and sore, like an exposed nerve, though she showed the world a quiet face, such as the Bukatys had always shown through as long and tragic a family histoiy as the world has known. *' Do you not ever feel lonely in this great room ? " he asked, looking round at the are walls, which still showed the dim marks left by the lits that had gone to grace an Imperial gallery. •• No, I think not," answered Wanda. She followed his glance round the room, wondering, perhaps, if the rt:t of her life was to be weighed down by the sense of loneliness which had come over her that day for the first time. Deulin, like the majority of Frenchmen, had certain mental gifts, usually considered to be the special privilege of women. He had a feminine way of skirting a subject — of walking round, as it were, and contemplating it from irious side issues, as if to find out the best approach .)it. :. r 20-1 THE VULTURES. " The woi-st of Warsaw," ho s; i, " is its dulness. Tlie theatres are deplorable. You must admit that. And of society, there is, of course, none. I have even tried a travelling circus out by the Mokotow. One must amuse one's self." He looked at her furtively, as if he were ashamed of having to amuse himself, and remembered too late how much the confession might mean. " It was sordid," he continued. " One wondered how the performers could be content to risk their lives for the benefit of such a small and such an undistinguished audience. There was a trapeze troupe, however, who interested me. There was a girl with a stereotyped smile— like cracking nuts. There was a young man whose concf't took one's breath away. It was so hard to reconcile such preposterous vanity with the courage that he must have had. And there was a large, modest man who interested me. It was really he who did all the work. It waa he who caught the others when they swung across the tent in mid-air. He was very Bteady and he was usually the wrong way up, hanging by his heels on a swinging trapeze. He had the lives of°the others in his hands at every moment. But it was the others who received the applause— the nut-cracker girl who pirouetted, and the vain man who tapped his chest and smiled condescendingly. But the big man stood in the background, scarcely bowing at all, and quite forgetting to smile. One could see from the expression of his patient face that he knew it did not matter what he did, for no one was looking at him— which was only the truth. Then, when the applause was over, he turned and walked away, heavy- shouldered and rather tired— his day's work done. And, I don't know why, I thought— of Cartoner." She expected the name. Perhaps she wished for it, C(EUR VOLANT. 205 thongh she never would have spoken it herself. She had yet to learn to do that. "Yes," said Denlin, after a pause, pursuing, it would appear, his own thoughts, " the world would get on very Avcll without its talkers. No great man has ever been a great talker. Have you noticed that in history ? " Wanda made no answer. She was still waiting for the news that he had to tell her. The logs on the fire fell about with a crackle, and Deulin rose to put them in order. While thus engaged he continued his monologue. " I suppose that is why I feel lonely this afternoon. In a sense, I am alone. Cartoner has gone, you know. He has left Warsaw." Deulin glanced at the mirror over the mantelpiece, and if ho had had any doubts, they were now laid aside, for there was only gladness in "Wanda's face. It was good news, then. And Deulin was clever enough to know the meaning of that. " Gone I " she said. " I am very glad." " Yes," answered Deulin, gravely, as he returned to his chair. "It is a good thing. I left him this morning, placidly preparing to depart at half an hour's warning. Ho was packing, with the repose of manner which you have perhaps noticed. Better than Vespers, better than absolu- tion, is Cartoner's repose of manner — for me, h'e.i enlendu. But then, I am not a devout man." "Then you have done what I asked yon to do," said Wanda, " some time ago, and I am very grateful." " Some time ago ? It was only yesterday." " Was it ? It seems more than that," sa'd Wanda. And Deulin nodded his head »?lowly. " I was able to give him some information which made him change his plans quite suddenly," he explained. " So f II . i ' 206 THE VULTURES. if he packed up aad went. He had not much to pack. We travel light — he and I. We have no despatch-boxes or notebooks or diaries. What we remember and forget we remember and forget in onr own heads. Though I doubt whether Carfconer forgets anything." " And you ? " asked Wanda, turning upon him quickly. "I I Oh, I do my best," he said lightly. « But if you desire to forget anything you should begin early. It is not a habit acquired in later life." He rose as he spoke and looked at the clock. He had a habit of peering and contracting his round brown eyes which made many people think that he was short-sighted. " I do not think I will wait for the Mangleses," he said. " Especially Julie. I do not feel in the humour for Julie. By the way " He paused, and contemplated the firo thoughtfully. " You never talk politics, I know. With the Mangleses you may go further, and not even talk of poli- ticians. It is no affair of theirs that Cartoner may have quitted Warsaw — you understand ? " "I should have thought Mr. Joseph Mangles the incarnation of discretion," said Wanda. " Ah I You have found out Mangles, have you ? I wonder if you have found us all out. Yes, Mangles is discreet, but Netty is not. I call her Netty— well, because I regard her with a secret and consuming passion." ♦' And have an equally secret and complete contempt for her discretion." "Ah ! " he exclaimed, and turned to look at her again. " Have I concealed my admiration so successfully as that ? Perhaps I have overdone the concealment." " Perhaps you have overdone the contempt," suggested Wanda. " She is probably more discreet than you think, but I shall not put her to the test." CCEUB VOLANT. 207 " You sec," said Deulin, in an explanatory way, " Cartoner may have had reasons of his own for leaving without drum or trumpet. You and I are the only persons in Warsaw who know of his departure, except the people in the pass- port office— and the others, whose business it is to watch us all. You have a certain right to know ; because in a sense you brought it about, and it concerns the safety of your father and Martin. So I took it upon myself to tell you. I was not instructed to do so by Cartoner. I have no message of politeness to give to any one in "Warsaw. Cartoner merely saw that it was his duty to go, and to go at once ; so ho went at once. And with a characteristic simplicity of purpose, he ignored the little social bye-laws which the majority of mankind know much better than they know their Bible, and follow much more closely. Ho was too discreet to call and say good-bye — knowing the ways of servants in this country. He will be much too discreet to send a conge card by post, knowing, as he does, the Warsaw post-office." He took up his hat as he sat, and broke suddenly into Lis light and pleasant laugh. "You are wondering," he said, "why I am taking this unusual course. It is not often, I know, that one speaks well of one's friend behind his back. It is sue for Cartoner and half a dozen for myself. To begin with, Cartoner is my friend. I should not like him to be misunderstood. Also, I may do the same at any moment myself. We are here to-day and gone to-morrow. Sometimes we remember our friends and sometimes we forget them." " At all events," said Wanda, shaking hands, " you are cautious. You make no promises." "And therefore we break none," he answered, as he crossed the threshold. 208 THE VULTURES. Ho had hardly gone before Netty entered the room, followed closely by Mr. Mangles. She wa3 prettily dressed. She appeared to be nervous and rather shy. The two girls shook hands in silence. Joseph Mangles, standing well in tho middle of the room, waited till the first greeting was over, and then, with that solemn air of addressing an individoal as if he or she were an ussembly, he spoke. ♦• Princess," he said, " ray sister begs to bo excused. She is unable to take tea this afternoon. Last night she con- sidered herself called upon to make a demonstration in the cause that she has at heart. She smoked two cigarettes towards the emancipation of your sex, princess. Just to show her independence — to show, I surmise, that she dida't care a — that she did not care. She cares this afler joon. She has a headache." And he bowed with the courtesy with which some old- fashioned men still attempt to oppose the p/ogrcss of women. ( 209 ) CHAPTER XXIV. IN THE WEiT INDIA DOCK ROAD. It is not only in name that this great thorougbfure Las the sound of the sea, the suggestion of a tarry atmosphere, and that mystery which hangs about the lives of simple sailor men. To thousands and thousands of foreigners the word London means tlie West India Dock Road, and nothing more. There are sailors sailing on every sea who cherish the delusion that they have seen life and London when they have passed the portals of one of the large public-houses of the West India Dock Road. There are others who arc not sailors, speaking one of the half-dozpn tongues of Eastern Europe, of which the average educated Briton does not even know the name, whose lives are bounded on the west by Aldgate Pump, on the east by the Dock Gates, on the north by Houndsditch, and on the south by St. Katherine's Dock and Tower Hill. A man who would wish to knock at any door in this district, and speak to him who opened it in his native tongue, would have to pass five years of his life between the Baltic and the Black Sea, the Carpathians and the Caucasus. Galician, Ruthenian, Polish, Magyar would be required as a linguistic basis, while variations of the same added to Russian and German for those who have served in one army or another, would probably be useful. 1^ 210 THE VULTURES. m There are many odd trades in the West India Dock Road, and none of them, it would Bcem, so profitable as the fleecing of Bailors. Bnt by a queer coincidence the callings mostly savour of the same painful process. They run to leather for the most part, and the mannfactore of those •' articles-de-luxc," which are chiefly composed of coloured morocco and gum. There is also a trade in furs. Half- way down the West India Dock Road, whore the shops are most sordid, and the bird-fauciers congregate, there is quite a large fur store, of which the window, clad in faded red, is adorned by a white rabbit skin, laid flat upon a fly-blown newspaper, and a stuffed sea-gull with a singularly knowing squint. There was once a name above the shop, but the owner of it, for reasons of his own, or so soon, perhaps, as he realized that he was in a country where no one wants to know your name, or carc3 about your business, had carelessly painted it out with a pot of black paint and a defective brush, which had last been used for red. On each side of the shop window is a door, one leading to the warehouse and workshop at the back. Through this door there passes quite a respectable commerce. The skin of the domestic cat drawn hither on coster ca;*8 from the remoter suburbs passes in to this door to cmergo from it later in neat wooden cases addressed to enterprising mer- chants in Trondhjcm, Bergen, Berlin, and other northern cities from which tourists are in the habit of carrying homo mementoes in the shape of the fur and feather of the coun- try. There is also a email importation of American fur to be dressed and treated and re-despatched to the Siberian fur dealers from whom the American globe-trotter prefers to buy. A number of unhealthy workpeople, men, women, anl ancient children, also use this door, entering by it in IN THE WEST INDIA DOCK ROAD. 211 tho morning, and only coming into the air again after dark. They have yellow faces and duaty clothes. A long companionship with fur has made them hirsute ; for tho men aro unshaven, and tho women's heads arc burdened with heavy coils of black hair. Tho other door, 7hich is little used, seems to bo tho entrance to tho d; 'ing-house of the nameless foreigner. On the left-hand doorpost is nailed a small tin tablet, whereon aro inscribed in the Russian character thrco words which, being transkted, read :— " Tho Brothers of Liberty." As no one of importance in the West India Dock Road reads the Russian character, there is no harm done, or else some disappointment would necessarily be experienced by the passer-by to think that any one so nearly related to Liberty should choose to live in that spot. Neither would the Trafalgar Square agitator be pleased were ho called upon to suppose that the siren whom he pursues with such ardour on rainy Sunday afternoons could ever take refuge behind the dingy Turkey-red curtain that hides the inner par«s of the furrier's store from vulgar gaze. " That's their lingo," said Captain Cable to himself, with considerable emphasis, one dull winter afternoon when, after much study of the numbers over the shop doors, he finally came to a stand opposite the furrier's shop. He stepped back into the road to look up at the house, thereby imperilling his life amid the .raffle. A coster- monger taking cabbages from the Borough Market to Lime- house gave the captain a little piece of his mind in the choicest terms then current in his daily intercourse with man, and received in turn wingt^ words of such a forcible and original nature as to send him thoughtfully eastwards behind his cart. Ui r '. 1 212 THE VULTURES. ■ V' iBf^'-l "That's their lingo, right enough," said the captain, examining the tin tablet a second time. " That's Polish, or I'm a Dutchman." He was, as a matter of fact, wrong, for it was Russian, but this was, nevertheless, the house he sought. He looked at the dingy buildings critically, shrugged his shoulders, and tilting forward his high-crowned hat, he saratchcd bis head with a grimace indicative of disappointment. It was not to come to such a house as this that he had put on what be called his " suit ; " a coat and trousers of solid pilot cloth designed to be worn as best i:i all climates and at all times. It was not in order to impress such people as must undoubtedly live behind those faded red curtains thav he had unpacked from the state-room locker bis shore-going hat, high, and of fair round shape, such as is only to be bought in the shadow of Limehouse steeple. The house was uninviting. It had a furtive, dishonest look about it. Captain Cable saw this. He was a man who studied weather and the outward signs of a man. He rang the bell all the louder, and stood squarely on the threshold until the door was opened by a dirty man in a dirty apron, who looked at him in lugubrious silence. " Name of Cable," said the captain, turning to expectorate on the pavement, after the manner of far-sighted sailors who are about to find themselves on carpet. The man made a silent grimace, and craned forward with an inter- rogative ear held ready for a repetition. " Name of Cable," repeated the captain. " Dirty ! " ho added, just by way of inviting his bearer's attention, and adding that personal note without which even the shortest conversation is apt to lose interest. This direct address seemed to have the desired effect, for the man stool aside. 'N THE WEST INDIA DOCK ROAD. 213 "1 cave aliead I' he said, pointing to an open door. For to culy Englit i he knew was the English they speak in the '^uU-c. Tho captain cocked his bright blue eye at him, his attention caught by the familiar note. And he stumped along the passage into the dim room at the end. It was a small square room, with a window opening upon some leads, where discarded bottles and blackened moss surrounded the remains of a sparrow. The room was full of men— six or seven foreign faces were turned towards the new-comer. Only one, however, of these faces was familiar to Captain Cable. It was tho face of the man known on the Vistula as Kosmaroff. The captain nodded to him. He had a large nodding acquaintance. It will be remembered that he claimed for his hands a cleanliness which their appearance seemed to define as purely moral. In his way he was a proud man, and stand-offish. He looked slowly round, and found no other face to recognize. But he looked a second time at a small dark man with gentle eyes, whose individuality must Lave had something magnetic in it. Captain Cable was accustomed to judge from outward things. He picked out the ruling mind in that room, and looked again at its possessor as if measuring himself against him. " Take a chair, captain," said Kosmaroff, who himself happened to be standing. He was leaning against the high, old-fashioned mantelpiece, which had seen better days— and company— and smoked a cigarette. He was clad in a cheap ready-made buit ; for his heart was in his business, and he scraped and saved every kopeck. But the cheap clothing could not hide that ease of movement which bespeaks a long descent, nor conceal the slim strength of limb which is begotten of the fine, clean, hard bone°of a fighting race. ;f ti n 214 THE VULTDRE3. The captain looked round, and sought his pocket-hand- kerchief, with which to dust the proffered seat, mindful of his " suit." " Do you speak German, captain ? " inquired Kosmaroff. And Captain Cable snorted at the suggestion. "Sailed with a crew of Germans," he answered. "I understand a bit, and I know a few words. I know the German for * d n your eyes,' and handy words like that." " Then," said Kosmaroff, addressing the gentle-eyed man, ** wc had better continue our talk in German. Captain Cable is a man who likcT plam dealing." Ho himself spoke in the language of the Fatherland, and Captain Cable stiffened at the sound of it as all good Britons should. " "We have not much to say to Captain Cable," replied the man who seemed to be a leader of the Brothers of Liberty. He spoke in a thin tenor voice, and was what the French call cheUf in appearance— a weak man, fighting against physical disabilities and an indifferent digestion. " It is essential in the first place," he continued, " that we should understand each other ; we the conquerors and you the conquered." With a gesture, he divided the party assembled into two groups, the smaller of which consisted only of Kosmaroff and another. And then he looked out of the window with his womanUke, reflective smile. "We the Russians, and you the Poles. I fear I have not made myself quite clear. I understand, however, that we are to trust the last comer entirely, which I do with the more confidence since I perceive that he understands very little of what we are saying." Captain Cable's solid, weather-beaten face remained rigid as a figure-head. He looked at the speaker with an IN THE WEST INDIA DOCK ROAD. 215 ill-concealed pity for one who could not express himself in plain English, and be done with it. " ®nr circumstances are such that no correspondence is possible," continued the speaker. " Any agreement, there- fore, must be verbal, and verbal agreements should be quite clear— the human memory is so liable to be affected by circumstances— and should be repeated beveral times in the hearing of several persons. I understand, therefore, that, after a period of nearly twenty years, Poland , , , is ready again." There was a short silence in that dim and quiet room. ♦' Yes," said Kosmaroff, deliberately, at length. *' And is only awaiting her opportunity." "Yes." One of the Brothers of Liberty, possibly the secretary of that ^dy, which owned its inability to put anything into wii "id provided a penny bottle of ink and a sticky- look jd penholder. The speaker took up the pen suspiciously, and laid it down again. He rubbed his finger and thumb together. HissusT^lcions had apparently been justifiable. It was a sticky Cue. Then he lapsed into thought. Perhaps he was thinking of the penholder, or perchance of the history of the two nations represented in that room. He had a thoughtful face, and history is a fasciuating study, especially for those who make it. And this quiet man had made a little in his day. "An opportunity is net an easy thing to define," he said, at length. " Any event may turn out to be one. But, so far as we can judge, Poland's opportunity must lie in two or three possible events at the most. One would be a war with England. That, I am afraid, I cannot bring about just yet." He spoke quite seriously, and he had not the air of a t! 216 THE VULTURES. li^ man subject to the worst of blindnesses— the blindness of vanity. "We have all waited long enough for that. "We have done our best out on the frontier and in the E" "Ish Press — but cannot bring it about. It is useless to wait any longer. The English are fiery enough — in print, and ready enough to fight— in Fief* Street. In Russia we have too little journalism — in Eh^, • ' *hey have much too much." Captain Cable yawned at .ais juncture with a maritioio frankness. " Another opportunity would be a social upheaval," eaid the Russian, drumming on the table with his slim fingers. " The time has not come for that yet. A third alternative is a mishap to a crowned head — and that wc can offer to you." Kosmaroff moved impatiently. " Is that all ? " he exclaimed. " I have heard that talk for the last .en years. Have you brought me across Europe to talk of that ? " The Russian looked at him calmly, stroking his thin black moustache, and waited till he had finished speaking. "Yes— that is all I have to propose to you — but this time it is more than talk. You may take my word for that. This time we shall succeed. But, of course, we want money, as usual. Ah ! what a different world this would be if the poor could only be rich for one hour. Wc want five tuousand roubles. I understand, you have control of ten times that amount. If Poland will ai'.vance us five thousand roubles, she shall have her opportunity— and a good one — in a month from now." He held up his hand to command silence— for Kos- maroff, with eyes that suddenly blazed in anger, had stepped forward to the table, and was about to interrupt. Hi -J.. IN THE WEST INDIA DOCK ROAD. £17 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 arc content to run. We have our reasons, and we seek tho 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. " \nd in exchange I give you the date— so that Poland may be ready." "Thank you," said Kosmaroff, who hud 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 him.Jf 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. 1-t 218 THE VULTURES. " Captaia Cable," said Kosmaroff, "yon and I have met before, and I learnt enough of you then to tell you now that this is no place for you, and these men no company for us. 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 Kosma- roff, 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 linger, and made a design on the door. It was not unlike a Greek cross. "That is who he is," he said. Captain Cable followed the motion of his companion's finger. "I've heard of him," he said. "And I heard his voice — sort of soft-spoken — on Hamburg quay one night, a few weeks ago. That is why I refused the job, and came out with you." ( 219 ) CHAPTER XXV. TUB captain's story. More especially in northern countries Nature lays licr veto upon the activity of men, and winter calls a truce even to human strife. Cartoner awaited ordera in London, for all the world was dimly aware of something stirring in the North, and no one knew what to expect or where to look for the unexpected. It was a cold winter that year, and the Baltic closed early. Captain Cable chartered the Minnie in the coasting trade, and after Christmas he put her into one of the cheaper dry-docks down the river towards Kotherhithc. His ship was, indeed, in dry-dock when the captain opened with the Brothers of Liberty those negotiations which came to such a sudden and untoward end. Paul Deulin wrote one piteous letter to Cartoner, full of abuse of the cold and wet weather. " If the winter would only set in," he said, "and dry things up and freeze tT 'i river, which has overflowed its banks almost to the St. Petersburg Station, on the Praga side, life would perhaps be more endurable." Then the silence of the northern winter closed over him too, and Cartoner wrote in vain, hoping to receive some small details of the Bukatys and perhaps a mention of Wanda's name. But his letters never reached Warsaw, or m i Hi 220 THE VULTURES. if they tMvellccl to tho banks of the Vistula, they wore absorbed into that playful post-office where little goes .n and less comes out. There were others besides Cartoner, wintering in London, who likewise laid aside their newspaper with a sigh half weariness, half relief, to find that their parts of the world wore still quiet. "History is assuredly at a standstill," said an old traveller one evening at the club, as he paused at Cartoner's table. "The world must be quiet indee'l with you here in London, all the winter, eating your head off." " I am waiting," replied Cartoner. " What for ? " " I do not know," he said placidly, continuing his dinner. Later on he returned to his rooms in Pall Mall. He was a great reader, and was forced to follow the daily events iu a dozen different countries in as many different languages. He was surrounded by newspapers, in a deep armchair by the table when that came for which he was waiting. It came in the form of Captain Cable in his shore-going clothes. The little sailor was ushered in by the well-trained servant of this bachelor household without surprise or comment. Cartoner made binj welcome with a cigar and an offer of refreshment, which was refused. Captain Cable knew that as you progress upward in the social scale the refusal of refreshment becomes an easier matter until at last you can really do as you like and not as etiquette dictates, while to decline the beggar's pint of beer is absolute rudeness. "We've always dealt square by each other, you and I," said the csptain, when he had lighted his cigar. Then he fell into a reminiscent humour, and presently broke into a chuckling laugh. m^ THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 221 " If it hada'b been for you, them Dons would have Lad mo up against the wall and shot me, gure as fate," he suid, bringing his hand down on his knee with a keen sense of cnjomont " That was ten years ago last November, when the Minnie had been out of the builder's yard a matter of six montlis." ♦• Yes," said Cartoner, putting the dates carefully together in his mind. It seemed that the building of the Minnie was not the epoch upon which he reckoned his periods. "She's in Morrison's dry-dock now," said the captain, who in a certain way was like a young mother. For him all topics were but a number of by-ways leading ultimately to the same centre. "You should go down and see her, Mr. Canoner. It's a big dock. You can walk right round her in the mud at the bottom of the dock and see her finely." Cartoner said he would. They even arranged a date on which to cany out this plan, and included in it an inspection of the Minnie's new boiler. Then Captain Cable remember^ 1 what he had come for, and the plan was never carried out after all. "Yes," he said, "you've got a reckoning against me, Mr. Cartoner. I have never done you a good turn that I know of, and you saved my life, I believe, that time— you and that Frenchman who talks so quick, Moonseer Deulin — that time, over yonder." A..d he nodded his head towards the south-west with the accuracy of one who never loses his bearings. For there are some people who always know which is the north ; and others who, if asked suddenly, do not know their left hand from their right ; and others, again, who say— or shout— that all men are created equal. "I've been done, Mr. Cartoner— that is what I've come , ■ I i It V I, im it- ^ > !< i HI: ^22 THE VULTURES. to tell 70a. Mc, Ibat has always been so smart and lias dealt straigut by otbcr men. Done, hoodwinked, tricked — same as a Sunday-school teacher. And I can do you a good turn by telling you about it ; and I can do the other man a bad turn, which is what I want to do. Besides its dirty work. Me, that has always kept me bands " , He looked at his hands, and decided not to pursue the subject. . " You'll say that for me, Mr. Cartoner— you, that has known me ten years and more." " Yes, I'll say that for you," answered Cartoner, with a lauga. " They did me ! " cried the captain, leaning forward and 1 i •ging his hand down on the table, " 'ith the old trick of a bill-of-lading lost in the post and a man in n gold-laced hat that came aboard one night and said he was a Government official from the Arsenal come for the Government stuff. And it wasn't Government stuff, and he wasn't a Government official. It was " Captain Cable paused and looked carefully round the room. He even looked up to the ceiling, from a long habit of living beneath deck skylights. " Bombs 1 " he concluded. " Bombs t " Then he went farther, and qualified the bombs in* terms ^vhich need not be set down here. "You know me and you know Mie Minnie, Mr. Cartoner ! " continued the angry sailor. *' She was specially built with large hatches for machinery and — well, guns. She was built to carry explosives, and there's not a man in London will insure her. Well, we got into the way of carrying war material. It was only natural, being built for it. But you'll bear me out, and there are others to bear me out, that we've only carried clean stuff up to now TnE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 223 —plain, honest, fighting stuff for one sido or the other. AlwajB honest— revolutions and the like, and an open tight. But bombs " And here again the captain made nse of nautical terms Tvhich have no phice on a polite page. ♦'Thcic's bombs about, and it's me that has been carrying them," he concluded. " That is what I have got to tell yon." " How do you know ? " asked Cartoner, in his gentle and soothing way. The captain settled himself in his chair, and crossed one leg over the other. "Know the Johannis Bulwark, in Hamburg ?" Cartoner nodded. •* Know the Seemannshaus, there ? " •' Yes. The house that stands high up among the trees overlooking the docks." "That's the place," said Captain Cable. "Well, one night I was up there, on the terrace in front of the house where the sailors sit and smoke all day waiting to be taken on. Got into Hamburg short-handed. I was picking up a crew. Not the right time to do it, you'll say, after dark, as times go and forecastle hands pan out in these days. "Well, I had my reasons. You can pick up good men in Hamburg if you go about it the right way. A man comes up to me. Remembered me, he said ; had sailed with me on a voyag ' hen we had machinery from the Tyne that was too big for us, and we couldn't get the hatches on. "We sailed after nightfall, I recollect, with hatches off, and had the seas slopping in before the morning. He remem- bered it, he said. And he asked me if it was true that I was goin*- well, to the port I was bound for. And I said it was God's truth. Then he told me a long yam of two 224 TOE VULTURES. 11 cases oatshippcd that was Ijing down at the wharfi Transhipment goods on a through bill-of-ladin?. And the bill-of -lading gone a missing in the post. A long storj, all lies, as I ought to have known at the time. He hod a man with him ; forwarding a^cnt, ho called him. This chap couldn't speak English, but ho spoke German, and the other man translated as we went along. I couldn't rightly see the other man's face. Little dark man — with a queer, soft voice, like a woman wheedlin' 1 Too d d innocent, and I ought to have known it. Don't you ever be wheedled by a woman, Mr. Cartoner. Got a match ? " For the captain's cigar had gone out. Dm he felt quite at home, as he always did — this unvarnished gentleman from the sea — and asked for what he wanted. "Well, to make a long yarn short, I took the cases. Two of them, size of an orange box. We were full, so I had them in the state-room alongside of the locker where I lie down and get a bit of sleep when I feel 1 want it. And they paid me well. It was Government stuff, the soft-spoken man said, and the freight would come out of the taxes and never bo missed. We went into heavy weather, and, as luck would have it, one of the cases broke adrift and got smashed. I mended it myself, and had to open it. Then I saw that it was explosives. Lie number one 1 It was packed in wadding so as to save a jar. It was too small for shells. Besides, no Government scndi loaded shells about, 'cepting in war time. At the moment I did not think much about it. It was heavy weather, and I had a new crew. There were other things to think abont. And, I tell you, when I got to port, a chap with gold lace on him came aboard and took the stuff away." Cartoner's attention was aroused now. There was some- thing in this story, after all. There might be everything THE CAPTAlirS STORY. 225 In it when tho capUin told what had brouRht hese rast events back to his recollection. n "/'"' "^'^S"'"? ^° ^" 30a the port of discharge," said Captam Cable, "because in doing that I should run foul of other people who acted square by me, and I'll act square by them. Ill tell you one thiug, though. I sighted the fJcaw light on that voyage. You can have that bit of mformation-you, that's half a sailor. You can put that in your pipe uud smoke it." Aud ho glanced at Cartoner's cigarette with the satis- faction of a conversationalist who has puUed oflf a irood simile. *• "S'afternoon," he continued, " I went to sec some people about a little job for the 31mme. She'll be out of dik m a fortnight. You will not forget to come down and see her ? " " I should like to sec her," said Cartonjr. " Go on with your story." " Well, this afternoon I went to see some parties that had a charter to offer mc. Foreigners— every man Jack of them. Spoke in German, out of politeness to me. The Lord knows what they would have spoken if I hadn't been there. It was bad enough as it was. But it wasn't the lingo that got me ; it was the voice. • Where have I heard that voice ? ' thinks I. And then I remembered. It was at the Seemannshaus, at Hamburg, one dark night. ♦ You're a pretty Government official,' I says to myself, sitting quiet all the time, like a cat in the engine-room. I wouIdn°t have taken the job at any rate, owing to that voice, which I had never forgotten, and yet never thought to hear again. But while the parley voo was btill going on, up jumps a man- the only man I knew there— name beginning with a K- doa't quite rememkr it. At any rate, up he jumps, 226 THE VULTURES. and says that that room was no place for mc nor yet fur Llin. Dare say you know the man, if I could remember his name. Sort of thin, dark man, with a way of carrying his head — quarter-deck fashion — as if he was a king or a Hooghly pilot. Well, we gets up and walks out, proud-like, as if we had been insulted. But blessed if I knew what it was all about. * Who*s that man ? * I asks when we were in the street. And the other chap turns and makes a mark upon the door, which he rub3 out afterwards as if it was a hanging matter. * That's who that is,* he says." Oiirtoner turned, and with one finger made an imaginary design on the soft pile of the tablecloth. Captain Cable looked at it critically, and after a moment's reflection admitted in ar. absent voice that his hopes for eternity were exceedingly small. "You are too much for me," he said, after a pause. ** You, that deal in politics and the like." " And the other man's name is Kosmaroff," said Cartoner. " That's it— a Russian," answered Captain Cable, rising, and looking at the clock. His movements were energetic and very quick for his years. He carried with him the brisk atmosphere of the sea and the hardness of a life which tightens men's muscles and teaches them to steer a clear course through life. " It beats me," he said. " But I've told you all I can— all, perhaps, that you want to hear. For it seems that you are putting two and two together already. I think I've done right. At any rate, i'll stand by it. It makes me nneasy to think of that stuff having been below the Minnis'a hatches." "It makes me uneasy, too," said Cartoner. "Wait a minute till I put on another coat. I am going out. We may as well go down together." THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 227 He came back a moment later, having changed his coat He was attaching the Bmall insignia of a foreign order to the lapel. *• Going to a swarree ? " asked Cable, as betvreen men of the world. " I am going to look for a man I want to see to-night and I think I shall find him, as you say, at a aoirie " answered Cartoner, gravely. ' Out ip the street he paused for a moment. A cab was already waiting, having dashed up from the club stand "By the way," ho said, "I shaU not be able to come down and see the Minnie this time. I shall be off by the eight o clock train to-morrow morning." " Going foreign ? " asked the captain. "Yes, I am going abroad again," answered Cartoner, and there was a sudden ring of exultation in his voice lor this was, after all, a man of action who had strayed mto a profession of which the strength is to sit still I 1 iffii ll 1 ' ' ^ ^ ■ 1 1 1 • 228 THE VULTURES. i-i CHAPTEx. XXVI. IN THE SPEIXG. The Manglcses passed the winter at Waisavr, and there learnt the usual lesson of the traveller ; that countries reputed hot or cold are neither so hot nor so cold as they are repre- sented. The winter was a hard one, and Warsaw, of all European cities, was, perhaps, the last that any lady would select to pass the cold months in. " I have my orders," said Mangles, rather ruefully, " and I must stay here till I am moved on. But the orders say nothing about you or Netty. Go to Nice if you like." And Jooly seemed half inclined to go southward. But for one reason or another — reasons, it may be, put forward by Netty in private conversation with her aunt — the ladies lingered on. "The place is dull for you," said Mangles, "now that Curtoner seems to have left us for good. His easy and sparkling conversation would enliven any circle." And beneath his shaggy brows he glanced at Netty, whose smooth cheek did not change colour, while her eyes met his with an affectionate smile. " You seemed to have plenty to say to each other coming across the Atlantic," she said. "I always found yoa with your heads close together whenever I came on deck n IN THE SPBINQ. 229 " Don't think we sparkled much," said Joseph, with his under lip well forward. " It is very kind of Uncle Joseph," said Nettj, after- wards, to Miss Mangles, "to suggest that we should go south, and, of course, it would be lovely to feel the sun- shine again ; but we could not leave him, could we ? You roust not think of me, auntie ; I am quite happy here', and should not enjoy the Riviera at all if we left undo all alone here." Julie had a strict sense of duty, which, perhaps, Netty was cognizant cf ; and the subject wa never really brought under discussion. During a spell of particularly bad weather, Mr. Mangles again and again suggested that he should be left at Warsaw, but on each occasion Netty came forward with that complete unselfishness and sweet forethought for others which all who knew her learnt to look for in her every action. Warsaw, she admitted, was dull, and the surrounding country simply impossible. But the winter could not last for ever, she urged, with a little shiver. And it really was quite easy to keep warm if one went for a brisk walk in the morning. To prove this she pat on the new furs which Joseph had bought her, and which were very becoming to her delicate colouring, and set out full of energy. She usually went to the Saski Gardens, the avenues of which were daily swept and kept clear of snow ; and as often as not, she accidentally met Prince Martin Bukaty there. Sometimes she crossed the bridge to Praga, and occasionally tnrned her steps down the Bednarska to the side of the river, which was blocked by ice now, wintry and desolate. The sandworkers were still labouring, though navigation was, of course, at a standstill. Netty never saw Kosmaroff, however, who had gone as 230 THE VULTURES. ■xU^i.. ..^ . Buddenlj as he came — had gone out of her life as abruptly as he burst into it, leaving only the memory of that high- water mark of emotion to which he had raised her. Leaving also, that blankest of all blanks in the feminine heart, an unsatisfied curiosity. She could not understand Kosmaroff, Hiiy more than she could understand Cartoncr. And it was natural that she should, in consequence, give much thought to them both. There was, she felt, something in both alike which she had not got at, and she naturally wanted to get at it. It might be a sorrow, and her kind heart drew her attention to any hidden thought that might be a sorrow. She might bo able to alleviate it. At any rate, being a woman, she, no doubt, wanted to stir it up as it were, and sec what the result would be. Prince Martin was quite different. He was comparatively easy to understand. She knew the symptoms well. She was so unfortunate. So many people had fallen in love with her, through no fault of her own. Indeed, no one could regret it more than she did. She did not, of course, say these things to her Aunt Julie, or to that dear old blind stupid, her uncle, who never saw or understood anything, and was entirely absorbed in his cigars and his newspapers. She said t' em to herself, and, no doubt, found herself quite easy to convince, as other people do. Princs Martin was very gay and light-hearted, too. If he was in love, he was gaily, frankly, openly in love, and she hoped that it would be all right— whatever that might mean. In the meantime, of course, she could not help it, if she was always meeting him when she went for her walk in the Saski Gardens. There was nowhere else to walk, and it was to be supposed that he was passing that way by accident. Or if he had found out her hours and came there on purpose, she really could not help it. '-^i , IN THE SPRING. 231 Deulin came and went during the winter. He seemed to have bnginess now at Cracow, now at St. Petersburg. He was a bad correspondent, and talked much about himself, without ever saying much ; which is quite a different thing. He had the happy gift of imparting a wealth of useless' information. When in Warsaw he busied himself on behalf of the ladies, and went bo far as to take Miss Mangles for a drive in his sleigh. To Netty he showed a hundred attentions. "I cannot understand," she said, " why everybody is so kind to me." "It is because you are so kind to everybody," he answered, with that air of appearing to mean more than he said, which he seemed to reserve for Netty. "I do not understand Mr. Deulin," said Netty to her uncle one day. " Why docs he stay here ? What is he doing here ? " And Joseph P. Mangles merely stuck his chin forward,' and said in his deepest tones — " You had better ask him 1 " " But he would not tell me." "No." " And Mr. Cartoner," continued Netty, " I understood he was coming back, but he does not seem to come. No one seems to know. It is so difficult to get information about the merest trifles. Not that I care, of course, who comes and who goes." " 'Course not," said Mangles. After a pause, Netty looked up again from her work. " Uncle," she said, " I was wondermg if there was any- thing wrong in Warsaw." " What made you wonder that ? " " I do not know. It feels, sometimes, as if there were 232 THE VTLTURES. something wrong. Mr. Cartoner went away so snddenlj. The people in the streets are so odd and quiet. And down- stairs, in the restaurant, at dinner, I see them exchange glances when the Russian officers come into the room. I distrust the quietness of the people, and— uncle— Mr. Deulin's gaiety — I distrust that, too. And then you ; you so often ask us to go away and leave you here alone." Mangles laughed, curtly, and folded his newspaper. " Because it is a dull hole," he said, •♦ that is why I want you to go away. It has got on your nerves. It is because you have not lived in a conquered country before. All conquered countries are like thi^." Which was a very long explanation for Joseph Mangles to make. And he never again proposed that Netty and her aunt should go to Nice. But Netty's curiosity was not satisfied, and she knew that Deulin would answer no question seriously. Why did not Kosmaroff come back ? Why did Cartoner stay away ? As soon as etiquette allowed, she called at the Bukaty Palace. She made an excuse in some illustrated English and American magazines which might interest the Princess Wanda. But there was no one at home. She understood from the servant, who spoke a little German, that they had gone to their country house, a few miles from Warsaw. The next morning Netty went for a walk in the Saski Gardens. The weather had changed suddenly. It was quite mild and spring-like. At last the grip of winter seemed to be slackening. There were others in the gardens who held their faces up to the sky, and breathed in the softer air with a sort of expectancy ; who seemed to wonder if the winter had really broken, or if this should only prove to be a false hope. It was one of the first days in March— a month wherein all nature slowly stirs after her long sleep, IN THE SPRING. 233 and men pull themselves together to new endeavour. The majority of great events in the world's history have taken place in the spring months. Are not the Ides of March written large in the story of this planet ? Netty had not been many minutes in the gardens, when Prince Martin came to her. He had laid aside his fur coat for a lighter cloak of English make, which made him look thinner. His face, too, was thin and spare, like the face of a man who is working hard at work or sport. Bub he was hght-hearted as ever. Neither did he make any disguise of his admiration for Netty. " It is three days," he said, " since I have seen you. And it seems like three years." Which is t';p sort of remark that can only be ignored by the discreet. Besides, Prince Martin did not go so far as to state why the three days had been so tedious. It miwht be for some other reason, altogether. "My uncle has been pressing us to go away," said Netty, " to the South of France, to Nice, but " "But what?" "Well," answered Netty, after a pause, "you see for yourself— we have not gone." " It is a very selfish hope— but I hope you will stay," said Prince Martin. He looked down at her, and the thought of her possible departure caught him like a vice. He was a person of imprlse, and (which is not usual) his impulse was as often towards good as towards evil. She looked, besides looking pretty, rather smaU and frail, and dependent at that moment ; and all the chivahy of his nature was aroused. It was only natural that he should think that she had all the qualities he knew Wanda to possess, and, of course, in an infinitely higher degree. Which is the difference between one's own sister and' 234 THE VULTURES. another person's. She was good, and frank, and open. The idea of conceahnent between himself and her wag to be treated with scorn. *' I will tell yon," he said, •• if at any time there is any reason why you cannot stay." " But why should there be any reason " she began, and a qnick movement that he made to look round and see who was in sight, who might be within hearing, made her stop. " Oh I I do not want you to tell me anything. I do not want to know," she said, hurriedly. Which was the absolute truth ; for politics bored her horribly. He looked at her with a langh, and only loved her all the more, for persisting in her ignorance of those matters which are always better left to : ^en. "I almost missed," ho said ^ 'elessly, "an excellent opportunity of holding my tongue." " Only " began Netty, as if in continuation of her protest against being told anything. "Only what?" " Only— be careful," she said, with downcast eyes. And, of course, that brought him, figuratively, to her feet. He vowed he would be careful, if it was for her sake. If she would only say that it was for her sake. And at the moment he really meant it. He was as honest as the day. But he did not know, perhaps, that the best sort of men are those who persistently and repeatedly break their word in one respect. For they will vow to a woman never to run into danger, to be careful, to be cowards. And when the danger is there, and the woman is not— their vow is writ in water. Netty tried to stop him. She was very much distressed. She almost had tears in her eyes, but not quite. She put IN THE SPRING. 235 her gloved hands over her ears to stop them, but did not quite succeed in shutting out his voice. The gloves were backed with a dark, fine fur, which made her cheeks look delicate and soft as a peach. " I will not hear you," she said, " I will not. I will not." Then he seemed to recollect something, and he stopped short. " No," he said, "you are quite right. I have no business to ask you to hear me. I have nothing to offer yon. I am poor. At any moment I may be an outlaw. But at any moment I may have more to offer you. Things may j'» well, and then I should be in a very different position." '^ Netty looked away from him, and seemed to be trying to think. Or, perhaps, she was only putting together recol- lections which had all been thought out before. She would be a princess. She remembered that. She had only been in Europe six months, and here was a prince at her feet. But there were terrible drawbacks. Warsaw was one of them, and poverty, that greatest of all drawbacks, was the other. " I can tell you nothing now," he said. « But soon, before the summer, there may be great changes in Poland." Then his own natural instinct told him that position or poverty, wealth or success, had nothing to do with the cause he was pleading. He did not tvcu know whether Netty was rich or poor, and he certainly did not care. " What did you mean ? " he asked. " When you said « Be careful,' what did you mean ? tell me." His blue eyes were serious enough now. They were alight with an honest and good love. Never of a cold and calculating habit, he was reckless of observation. He did not care who saw. He would have taken her hands and 236 THE VULTURES. ! K forced her to faco him had she not held them behind her back. She was singnlarlj calm and self-possessed. People who appear nerrons, often rise to the occasion. •♦ I do not know what I meant,'* she said ; " I do not know. YoQ most not ask mo. It slipped out, when I wns not thinking. Oh I please be generous, and do not ask mc." Bf some instinct she had leapt to the right mark. She bad asked a Bakatj to be gencrons. •* Some day," he said, " I will ask you." And he walked with her to the gate of the gardcus in silence. ( 237 ) CHAPTER XXVII. A SACBIFICE. Though the fine weather did not last, it was a promise of better things, like the letter that precedes a welcome friend. After it the air seemed warmer though snow fell again, and the thermometer went below zero. Wanda and her father did not return to Warsaw, as they had intended. So long as the frost holds, the country is endurable, nay, it is better than the towns on these great plains of Eastern Europe; but when the thaw comes, and each small de- pression is a puddle, every low-lying field a pond, and whole plains become lakes, few remain in the villages who can set their feet upon the pavement. The early spring, so closely associated in most minds with the song of birds and the budding of green things, is in Poland and Russia a period of waiting for the water to drain off the flat land ; a time to look to one's thickest top-boots in these countries, where men and women are booted to the knee, and every third house displays the shoemaker's sign upon its door- post. The Bukaty's country-house, like all else that the past had left them, was insignificant. In olden uays it liad been a farm, one of the smallest, used once or twice daring the 238 I'HE VULTURES. 4 !\ Ml winter vast • BtruC and p.i. the ■* ;. endei bid Jays ance . i :jn.;t'*'- is to ) J dc't< ■• frankly and o^v 9J ooting-lodgc ; for it stood in the midst of Tras not really ancient, for it had been coii- (lays of Sobieski ; when that rough warrior ng bui'^ himself the house in the vallcj of ^rc V - V all his greatntss vanish, and a. brim solitude which is the inherit- ili. The hand of the French architect i. oven in this farm ; for Poland, more viuiisly than the rest of the world, drew all her inspiration and her art from France. Did not France once send her a king ? Was not Sobieski's wife a Frenchwoman, who, moreover, ruled that great fighter with her little finger, stronger than any rod of iron ? If ever a Frenchman was artificially made from other racial materials, lie was the last king of Poland, Stanislaus Augustus Poniatowski. Built on raised ground, the fannhonso was of stone. It had been a plain square building ; but in the days of Poniatowski some attempt had been made at ornamentation in the French style. A pavilion had been built in th-^* garden amid the pine-trees. A sun-dial had been placed on the lawn, which \vas now no longer a lawn, hnt had lapsed again into a meadow. The cows had polished the sun-dial with their rough sides, while the passage of cold winters and wet springs had left the plaster ornamentation mossy and broken. Here, amid a simple people, the Bukatys spent a portion of the year. They usually came in the winter, because it was hi the winter they were needed. The feudal spirit, which was strong in the old prince and weaker in his children, has two sides to it ; but its enemies have only remembered one. The prince took it as a matter of course that it was his duty to care for his peasants, and rel e as A SACRIFICE. 2."JD far fii lay in hia power the distress wLith came apoii tliem annnallj with tho regularity of the recurring bcmods. ^^ 1th a long winter and a wet BpriDg, with a heavy taxation, and a standing bUl at tho village shop kept by a Jew, and the vUIage inn kept by another, these peasants never had any money. And so far as human foresight can perceive, there seems to be no reasun why they ever should. By some chain of reasiming, which assuredly ha ' a Baw in it, the prince seemed to have arrived at the conclusion that he was put into the wcrld to lielp his peasants, and those who were now no longer hU serfs. And, thouhearted enongh. She was yonng and strong. In her veins there flowed the blood of a race that had always been " game," that had always faced the world with unflinching eyes, and had never craved its pity. Her father had lost everything, had lived a life of hardship, almost to privation for one of his rank ; had witnessed the ruin or the downfall of all his friends ; and yet he could laugh with the merry, while with the mourner it was his habit to purse up his lips beneath the grizzled moustache and mutter a few curt words, not o^ condolence, but of stimulation to endure. He liked to see cheerful faces around him. They helped him, no doubt, to carry on to the end of his days that high- handed and dignified fight agamst ill-fortune which he had always waged. " U you have a grievance," he always said to those who brought their tales of woe to his ears, " air it as much as you like, but speak up and do not whine." He had to listen to a great number of such tales, and to the majority of grievances could suggest no cure ; for they were the grievances of Poland, and in these hiter times of Finland also, for which it appears there is no remedy. " I shall make a long round taday," he said to Wanda, when he was m the saddle, with his short, old-fashioned stirrup, his great boots covering his knee and thigh from the wind, and his weather-beaten old face looking out from the fur coUar of his ridmg-coat. «' It may be the last time this winter. The spring must come soon." And he went away at an easy canter. Wanda, left alone for the whole day in the stillnesa of 248 THE VULTURES. this forest farm, Lad her round to do also. She set out on foot soon after her father's departure, bound to a distant cottage in the depths of the pinewoods. The trees were quiet this morning ; for it is only at the time of thaw, when the snow, gathering moisturo from the atmosphere, gains in weight and breaks down the branches, that the woods crack as beneath the tread of some stealthy giant But a frost seems to brace the trees which in the colder weather stand motionless and silent, bearing their burden without complaint. The sky was cloudless and the air quite still. There is no silence like that of a Northern pinewood in winter ; for the creatures living in the twilight there have been given by God silent feet and a stealthy habit— the smaller ones going in fear of the larger, and the beasts of prey ever alert for their natural enemy— man. The birds kept for the most part to the outer fringes of the forest, nearer to the crops and the few, far cottages. Wanda had grown from childhood amid the pines, and the gloomy forest-paths were so familiar as to have lost all power to impress her. In the nursery she had heard tules of wolves and bears, but had never seen them. They might be near or far ; they might be watching through the avenues of straight and motionless stems. In their child- hood it had been the delight of Martin and herself to trace in the snow the footprints of the wolves, near the house, in the garden, right up to the nursery window. T . ■ had graduaUy acquired the indifference of the peasant, who work in the fields, or the woodmen at their labours amid the trees, who are aware that the silent, stealthy eyes are watching them, and work on without fe .r. The prince had taught tho children fearlessness, or, perhaps, it was in their blood, and needed no education. He had taught IN THE PINEWOODS. 240 thom to look upon the beasts of the forests not as enemies, but as quiet, watching friends. Wanda went alone whithersoever she listed, without so much as turning her head to look over her shoulder. The pinewoods were hers ; the peasants were her serfs in spirit, if not in deed. Here, at all events, the Bukatys were free to come tmd go. In cities they were watched, their footsteps dogged by human wolves. There are few paths through the great forests of Poland, of Posen, and of Silesia, and what there are, are usually cut straight and at right angles to each other. There was a path just wide enough to give passage to the narrow timber carts from the farm direct to the woodman's cottage, and so flat is the face of the earth that the distant trees are like the masts of ships half hidden by the curve of the world. It seems as if one could walk on and on for ever, or drop from hunger and fatigue and lie unheeded for years in some forgotten comer. In the better-kept forests the paths are staked and numbereJ, or else it would be impossible to know the way amid such millions of trees —ail alike, all of the same height. But the prince was too poor to vie with the wealthy landowners of Silesia, and his forests were ill-kept. In places the trees had fallen across the original path, and the few passers-by had made a new path to one side or the other. Sometimes a tree had grown outwards towards the light and air, almost bridging the open space. ' "Wanda could not, therefore, see very far in front or behind, and was taken by surprise by the thud of a horse's feet on the beaten snow behind her. She turned, thinking it was her father, who for some reason had returned home, and, learning whither she had gone, had followed her. But it was not the prince. It was Cartoner. Before she had 250 THE VULTUREa qaite realized that it was he, he was on his feet leading his hone towards her. ' She paused and looked at him, half startled ; then, with a curt, inarticulate cry of joy, she hurried towards him. Thus were given to them a few of those brief moments of complete happiness which are sometimes vouchsafed to human beings. Which must assuredly be moments stolen from heaven ; for angels are so chary with them, giving them to a few favoured ones only once or twice in a whole lifetime, and, to the large majority of mankind, never at all. " Why have you come ? " asked Wanda. " To see yon," replied this man of fow words. And the sound of his voice, the sight of his strong face, swept &rfaj all her troubles and anxieties ; as if, with his greater physical strength, he had taken a burden which she could hardly lift, and carried it easily. For he always seemed to know how to meet every emergency and face every trouble. A minute ago she had been xc^ecting with relief that he was not in Poland, and now it seemed as if her heart must break had he been anywhere else. She forgot for the moment all the dangers that surrounded them ; the hopelessness of their love, the thousand reasons why they should not meet. She forget that a whole nation stood between them. But it was only for a moment — a moment borrowed from eternity. •' Is that the only reason ? " she asked, remembering with a sort of shock that this world of glittering snow and still pine-trees was not their real world at all. " Yes," he answered. " But you cannot stay in Poland I You must go away again at once I You do not know " And she stopped short, for their respective positions were such that they IK TBE FINEWOODa 251 always arrired at a point whero only sileuco was left to tbein. " Oh, yes," he answered, with a short langh. " I know. I am going away to-night— to St. Petewbarg." He did not explain that hia immediate departnre was not duo to the fears that she had half expressed. " I am so glad." She broke off, and looked at him with a little smile. " I am so glad you are going away." She tamed away from him with a sharp sigh. For she had now a new anxiety, which, however, like Aaron's rod, had swallowed all the rest. " I would rather know that you were safe in England," she said, " eren if I were never to see you again. But," and she looked up at him with a sort of pride in her eyes — that long-drawn pride of race which is strong to endure — "but you must never be hampered by a thought of me. I want you to be what you have always been. Ah I you need not shake your head. All men say the same of you — they are afraid of you." She looked at him slowly, up and down. " And I am not," she added, with a sudden laugh. For her happiness was real enough. The best sort of happiness is rarely visible to the multitude. It lies hidden in odd comers and quiet places ; and the eager world which, pre- sumably, is seeking it, hurries past and never recognizes it, but continues to mistake for it prosperity and riches, noise and laughter, even fame and cheap notoriety. They walked slowly back towards the farm, and again the gods were kind to them ; for they forgot how .?hort their time was, how quickly such moments fly. Much ihat they had to say to each other may not be expressed on paper, neither can any compositor set it np in type. They were practical enough, however, and as they walked lUi 262 THE TTLTURES. i> ' beneath the sccw-clad pines they drew np a scheme of life which was astonishingly unlike the dreams and aspiratioos of most lovers. For it was devoid of selfishness, and they looked for happiness— not in an immediate gratiflcatioi of all their desires and an instant fulfilment of their hope^ —but in a mutual faith that should survive all separation and bridge the lonf^est span of years. Loyalty was to oe their watchword. Loyalty to self, to duty, and to each other. Wanda did not, like the heroine of a novel, look for a passion that should stride over every obstacle to its object, Lhat should ignore duty which is only another word for honour, and throw down the spectres, Foresight, Common- sense, Respect, which must arise in the pathway of that madness, a brief passion. She was content, it seemed, that her lover should be wise, should be careful for the future, should take her life into his hands with a sort of quiet mastery as if he had a right to do so— a right, not to ruin and debase, such as is usually considered Jie privilege of that which is called a great passion and admired as such— but a right to shape, guard, and keep. Cartoncr had not much to say about his own feelings, which, perhaps, made him rather dififerent from most lovers. He went so far as to consider the feelings of others and to place them before his own, which, of course, is quite unusual. And yet the scheme of life which was his reading of love, and which Wanda extracted from him that sunny March morning and pieced together bit by bit in her own decided and conclusive way, seemed to content her. She seemed to gather from it that he loved her pre- cisely as she wished to be loved, and that, come what might, she had already enough to make her life happier than the lives of most women. IN THE PINBW00D8. 253 And, of course, they hoped. For they were joung, and human, and the Hiring was in the air. But their hope was oue of those thxngB of vrhich ^hey could not apeak ; for it involved knowledge of which W\4oda had become posaeased at the hand of the prince i>nd Martin and Kosmaroff. It touched those things which artoncr had come to Poland to learn, but ^oi from Wanda. The smell of the wood-emoko from liie chimneys of the farm told them thai tboy wore nearin<» th ■ wlge of the forest, and Wanda etopjwd iuoTt. " You must not go any ncur. : ," tLc 'aid. " You arc sure no one saw you when you came ' " •♦No one," ansT jred Carionc'r, wiiom fortune had favooxed as he came. For he had approached the farm through the wood, and ho had seen Wanda's footsteps in the snow. He had often ridden over the same ground on the very horse which he was now riding, and knew every inch of the way 'o Warsaw. He could get there without being seen, might even quit the city again unobserved. For he knew— indeed, Wanda had told him— the dangers that surrounded him. He knew alHO that these dangers \rere infinitely greater for Martin and the prince. " It is only what j on foresaw," she said, " when — when we first understood." *' No, it is worse than I foresaw," he ac red. So they parted, with the knowledge that they must not meet again in Poland when their meetin>7 must mean such imminent risk to others. They could not even write to each other while Wanda shouid b'^ v. ithin the circle of the Russian postal service. Theie v as but the one link between them — Paul Deulin ; and to him neither would impart a confidence. Deulin had brought about this meeting to-day. Warned by telegram, he had met Cartoner at Warsaw 254 THE VULTURES. station, and had connselled him not to go out into the streets. Since he waa only waiting a few hours in Warsaw for the St. Petersburg train, he must either sit in the station or take a horse and go for a ride into the country. The Bukatys, by the way, were not in town, but at their country house. " Go and see them," he added. " A man living on a volcano may surely play with firearms if he wants to. And you are all living on a volcano together. Pah I I know the smell of it. The very streets, my friend, reek of catastrophe." Wanda was brave and Hght-hp.trted to the end. There was French blood in her vein>— that good blood which stained the streets of Paris a hundred years ago, and raised a standard of courage against adversity for aU the world to imitate so long as history shall exist. Cartoner turned once in his saddle, and saw her standing in the sunlight waving him a farewell, with her eyes smiling, and her lips hard pressed. Then he rode on, with that small small Hope to help him throu^u his solitary wanderings which he knew to be identical with the Hope i)f Poland, for which the time was not yet ripe. He was the watcher who sees most of the game, and knew that the time might never ripen till years after Wanda and he had gone hence and were no more seen. ( 255 ) CHAPTER XXIX. JN A BY-WAY. There are few roads in Poland. Sooner or later, Cartoner must needs enter the great highway that enters Warsaw from the west, passing by the gates of the cemetery. Deulin, no donbt, knew this, for Cartoner fonnd him, riding leisurely away from the city, just beyond the burial ground. The Frenchman sat his horse with a straight leg nnd arm which made Cartoner think of those days, ten years earlier, to which Deulin seldom referred, when this white-haired dandy was a cavalry soldier, engaged in the painful business of killing Germans. Deulin did not think it necessary to refer to the object of Cartoner'.! ride. Neither did he mention the fact that he knew this was not the direct way to St. Petersburg. ' •' I hired a horse and rode out to meet you," he said; gaily— he was singularly happy this morning, and there was a light in his eye — " to intercept you. Kosmaroff is back in Warsaw. I saw him in the streets — and he saw me. I think that man is the god in the machine. He is not a nonentity. I wonder who he is. There is blood there, my friend." He turned his horse as he spoke, and rode back toward^ the city with Cartoner. 256 THE VULTURES. " In the meau time," he said, " I have the hunger of a beggar's dog. What are we to do ? It is one o'clock— and I who have the inside of a Frenchman. We are a great people. We tear down monarchies, and build up a new republic which is to last for ever, and doesn't. Wo make history so quickly that ihe world stands breathless— but we always breakfast before midday." He took out his watch, and showed its face to Cartoner, with a gesture which could not have been more tragic had it marked the hour of the last trump. "And we dare not show our faces in the streets. At least, I dare not show mine in the neighbourhood of yours in Warsaw. For they have got accustomed to me there. They think I am a harmless old man— a dentist, perhaps." "My train goes from the St. Petersburg station at three," said Cartoner. " I will have some lunch at the other station, and drive across in a close cab with the blinds down." And he gave his low, gentle laugh. Deulin glanced at him as if there were matter for surprise in the. sound of it. ' " Like a monstrosity goiug to fair," he said. " And I Lhall go with you. I will even lunch with you at the station —on a station steak and a beery table. There is only one room at the station for those who eat, and those who await their trains. So that the eaters eat before a famished audience like Louis XVL, and the travellers sit among th« crumbs. I am with you. But let us be quick— and get it over. Did you see Bukaty ? " he asked, finally, and leaning forward, he sought an imaginary fly on the lower parts of his horse ; for after all he was only a man, and lacked the higher skill or the thicker skin of the gentler Bex, in dealing with certam matters. IN A BY- WAT. 257 "No; I only saw the princees," replied Cartoner. And they rode on in sUence. "You know," said Denlin, at length, gravely, "if that happens which yon expect and I expect, and everybody here is hoping for— I shall seek out Wanda at once, and look after her. I do not know whether it is my duty or not. But it is my inclination ; and I am much too old to put my duty before my incUnation. So if anything happens, and there follows that confusion which you and I have seen once or twice before, when things are stirring and dynasties are crumbling in the streets— when friends and foes are seeking each other in vain— yon need not seek me or think about our friends in Warsaw. You need only think of yourself, remember that. I shall have eloped— with Wanda." *^ And he finished with an odd hugh, that had a tendc riug in it. "Bukaty and I," he went on, after a pause, "do not talk of these things together. But we have come to an understanding on that point. And when the first flurry is over and we come to the top for a breath of air, you have only to wire to my address in Paris to tell me where you are— and I will tell yon where— we are. We are old birds at this sport— you and I— and we know how to take care of ourselves." They were now in the outskirts of the town, among the wide and ill-pavod streets where tall houses are springing up on the site of the huts once occupied by the Jews who are now quartered in the neighbourhood of the Nowiniarska market-place. For the chosen people must needs live near a market-place, and within hearing of the chink of small coin. In those cities of Eastern Europe that have a Jew's quarter, there is a barrier erected between the daily lives 258 THE VULTURES. of the two races, thoagh no more than a narrow street may in reality divide them. Different interests, different hopes, aspirations, and desires are to be found within a few yards ; and neighbours are as far apart as if a frontier lino or the curse of Babel stood between them. Cartoner and Deulin, riding through the Jewish quarter, were as safe from recognition as if they were in a country lane at Wilanow ; for the men hurrying along the pave- ments were wrapped each in his own keen thought of gain, and if they glanced up at the horsemen at all, merely looked in order to apprise the value of their clothes and saddles — as if there were nothing beyond. For them, it would seem, there is no beyond ; nothing but the dumb waiting for the removal of that curse which has lasted nineteen hundred years, and instead of wearing itself out, seems to gain in strength as the world grows older. "We will go by the back ways," said Cartoner, "and need never see any of our world in Warsaw at all." The streets were crowded by men, for the women live an indoor life in an atmosphere that seems to bleach and fatten. The roads were little used for wheel traffic ; for the commerce by which these people live is of so retail a nature that it seems to pass from hand to hand in mys- terious cloth bundles and black stuff bags. The two horse- men were obliged to go slowly through the groups, who never raised their heads, or seemed to speak above a whisper. "What do they talk of— what do they think— all day ? " said Cartoner. And indeed the quiet of the streets had a suggestion of surreptitiousness. Even the children are sad, and stand about in melancholy solitude. "I would sooner be a dog," answered Deulin, with a shake of the shoulders, as if Care had climbed into the saddle behind him, " Sooner a dog.** IN A BT-WAY. 259 . J?i T^'r^'^ ''"^^"^ ^^' «**"o°' a"d there found a mewenger to teke the horses to their stable. All thrS the streete they had passed men in one uniform or anZr who looked stout and well fed. who strode in the i^ddTe laX^T"'''':'^^' ^^' ^"^^' ''^"^ «Jotte« were poor bling boots to make way for the conquVror. Sometimes rt'mor 'r "^^' "*'' "' ""^ »-«i-l-«er who was more offensive than usual, with reflective eyes, as if ma^kmg him m order to know him at a future Li As fl "^S" i P^"' '^ ^« ^^« «°^a»er officials who were Sis f '°''''; ^^J. ""^' Jacks-iu-office from the postal cml servants who wear a sword and uniform unworthily han7thr '^" '^ ^"^P^^ ^"^P^^^^- On the other hand the men m real authority, and notably the officer of the better regiments, sought to conciliate^ politenm and a carefu retention of themselves in the background But these well-mtentioned efforts were of small avaH ?or racial things are stronger than human endeavour oV the careful for^ight of statesmen. Here, in WaL the Muscovite the Pole, the Jew-herding together iX'same streets, under the same roof, obedieul to one J, 1^^ At the street corners the smart, quiet police took note of each foot-passenger, every carriage, eve^ stmu'r ^ing in a hired droski. Cartoner a^fd dS coS from the passmg glance beneath the flat green can th!? ^ey were seen and recognized at every turu.^ On tteM™ to the station, they were watched with a polite preS of looking the other way by two of the higher oSoJ the Russian-speaking police. ^ ^ °^ 260 THE VULTURES. "I do not mind them," said Deulin, passing throngh the doorway to the booking-office. "It is not of them that we need be afraid. "We arc doing no harm, and they cannot send ns ont of the country while oar passports hold out. They have satisfied themselves as to tlwt. For they have been through my belongings twice, in my rooms at the Europe — I know when my things have been touched — they or some one else. Perhaps Eosmaroif, who knows ? " Thus, he talked on in characteristic fashion, saying a hundred nothings as only French men and women can, touching life lightly like a skilled musician, running nimble fingers over the keys, and striking a chord half by accident here and there which was sonorous and had a deeper meaning. He ordered the luncheon, argued with the waiter, and rallied him on the criminal paucity of his menu. " Yes," he said, " let it be beef. I know your mutton. It tastes like the smell of goat. So give us beef— your railway beef, which has travelled so far, but not by train. It has come on foot, to be killed and cut up by a locomotive, to be served by a waiter who is assuredly a stoker in disguise." He sat down as he spoke, and rearranged the small tabic, covered by a doubtful cloth, through which could be felt the chill of the marble underneath. Deulin always took the lead in these small matters, and Cartoner accepted his decision without comment. The Frenchman knew him 80 well, it seemed, that he knew his tastes, or suspected his indifference. While he thus rattled on he glanced sharply from time to time at his companion, and when the waiter was finally sent away with a hundred minute instructions, he turned suddenly to Cartoner. m A BY-WAY. 261 " You are absorbed— what are you thinking about ? " he said. " I was thinking how well you speak Polish. And yet yon have only been here once before," answered the English- man, bluntly. " When I was a young man there were opportunities of learning Polish in Paris," said Deulin. " Yes— I learnt Polish when I was young " He had arranged the table to his satisfaction, had picked up several objects to examine them, and replace them with care on the exact spot from whence he had taken them, and was now looking round the room with large, deep-lined eyes which were always tired and never at rest. " When one is young, one learns so much in a short time, especially if that time is ill spent," he said, airily. " Tliat is why the virtuous are such poor company ; they have no backbone to their past. With the others — mus auires— it is the evil deeds that form a sort of spinal column to our lives, rigid and strong, upon which to lean in old age when virtue is almost a necessity." Finally, he came round in his tour of inspection to the face opposite to him. "Do you know," he said sharply, "you are devilish absent-minded. It is a bad habit. It makes the world think that you have something on your mind. And having nothing on its own mind — or no mind to have anything on — it hates you for your airs of superiority." He took up the bottle of wine wliich the waiter had set upon the table in front of him, inspected the label, and filled two glasses. He tasted the vintage, and made a wry face. Then he raised his shoulders with an air of recon- ciliation to the inevitable. " When I was a young— a very young diplomatist— aa 262 THE VULTURES. w old aconndrel in gold spectacles told me that one of the first rnles of the game was to appear content with that which yon cannot alter. We must apply that rale to this wine. It is onr old friend, Ch&tean la Pompe. It will not hnrt yon. It will not loosen your tongue, my friend, you need not fear that." He spoke so significantly, that Cartoner looked across the table at bira. " What do you mean ? " Deulin laughed and made no answer. " Do you think that my tongue requires loosening ? " And the Frenchman stroked his moustache, as he looked thoughtfully into the steady, meditating eyes. " It is not," he said, " that you assume a reserve which one might think unfair. It is merely that there are so many things which you do not think worth saymg, or wise to speak of, or necessary to communicate, that — well— there is nothing left but silence. And silence is sometimes dangerous. Not so dangerous as speech, I allow — but dangerous, nevertheless." Cartoner looked at him, and waited. Across the little table the two schools went out to meet each other : the old school of diplomacy, all words ; the new, all Si'-Ii. " Listen," said he Frenchman. " I once knew a man into whose care was given the happiness of a fellow being. There is a greater responsibility, by the way, than the well- being of a whole nation, even of one of the two greatest nations in the world. And that is a care which you and I have had upon our shoulders for a brief hour here and there. It was the old story ; for it was the happiness of a woman. God knows the man meant well I But he bungled it. Bon Dieu—hoyf he bungled it I He said too little. IN A BY-WAY. 263 Ever since, he has talked too much. She was a Polish woman, by the ^ay, and that has left a tenderness, nay, a raw place in my heart, which smarts at the sonnd of a Polish word. For I was the man." "Well," asked Cartoner, "what do you want to know?" " Nothing," answered the other, quick as thought. " I only tell you the story as a warning. To you especially who take so much for said that has not been said. You are strong and a man. Remember that a woman — even the strongest — may not be able to bear such a strain as you can bear." Cartoner was listening attentively enough. He always listened with attention to his friend on sucli rare occasions as he chose to be serious. "You know," went on Deulin, after a pause, during which the waiter had set before him a battered silver dish from which he removed the cover with a flourish full of promise. "You know that I would give into your care unreservedly, anything that I possessed, such as a fortune, or — well — a daughter. I would trust you entirely. But any man may make a mistake. And if you make a mistake now, I shall never forgive you — never." And his eyes fla'hed with a sudden fierceness, as he looked at his companion. " Is there anything I can do for you, ray friend ? " he asked curtly. "You have already promised to do the only tiling I would asb you to do in Warsaw," replied Cartoner. Deul'n held up one hand in a gesture commanding silence. " Not another word — they cost you so much, a few words —I understand perfectly." 264 THE VULTURES. Then with a rapid relapse intu his gajfci* mood, ho turned to the diidi before him. " And now let us consider the railway beef. It promises little. But it cannot 1)o so toitgb and indigestible as the memory of a mistake— I tell you that." ' ' ( 265 ) CHAPTER XXX. THE QUIET CITY. The most liberal-minded man in Russia at this time was the Czar. He had chosen his ministers from among the nobles who were at least tolerant of advance, if they did not actnally advocate it. Mach as he hated to make a change, he had in one or two instances parted with old and trusted servants — friends of his boyhood— rather than forego one item of his policy. In other cases he had appealed to the memory of their long friendship in order to bring bis nobles not to his own way of thinking, for he could not do that, but to his own plan of action. " I do not agree with you, but I will serve you," had answered one of these, and the Czar, who did not know where to turn to find the man he needed, accepted such service. For a throne stands in isolation, and no man may judge another by looking down upon him, but must needs descend into the crowd, and, mingling there on a lower level, pick out for himself the honest man or the clever man — or that rare being, the man who is both. Kings and emperors may not do this, however. Despots dare not. Alexander II. acted as any ordinary man acts when he finds himself in a position to confer favours, to MICROCOnr RESOLUTION TKT CHABT (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1^ 1^ |a2 1^ IS u 1m i'-° t.i 1.8 ^ ^jPPUE D IN/MGE li B^ 1653 East Main Street g'.aB Pff^*''"' Ne» York 14609 USA •■aa ("6) «82 - 0.300 - Phone SBS (7'6) 288-5989 -Fox nc 266 THE VULTURES. I fi m b 1 I make appointmeDts, to get together, as it were, a Ministry, even if this takes no more dignified a form than a board of directors. He suspected that the world contained precisely the men he wanted, if he could only let down a net into it and draw them up. How, otherwise, could he select them ? So he did the usual thing. He looked round among his relations, and, failing them, the friends of his youth. For an emperor, popularly supposed to have the whole world to choose from, has no larger a choice than any bourgeois looking round his own small world for a satisfactory executor. Coming to the throne, as he did, in the midst of a losing fight, his first task was to conclude a humiliating peace. He must needs bow down to the upstart adventurer of France, who had tricked England into a useless war in order to steady his own tottering throne. Alexar der II., moreover, came to power with the avowed intention of liberating the serfs, which intention he carried out, and paid for with his own life in due time. Russia had been the only country to stand aloof on the slave question, thus branding herself in two worlds as still un- civilized. The young Czar knew that such a position was untenable. " Without the serf the Russian Empire must crumble away," his advisers told him. " With the serf she cannot endure," he answered. And twenty-two millions of men were set free. In this act he stood almost alone ; for hardly a single minister was with him heart and soul, though many obeyed him loyally enough against their own convictions. Many honestly thought that this must be the end of the Russian Empire. It is hard to go against the advice of those near at hand ; for their point of view must always appear to be the same as one's own, while counsel from afar comes as the word THE QUIET CITT. 267 of one who is looking at things from another standpoint, and may thus be more easily mistaken. Alexander II., called suddenly to reign over one-tenth part of the human race, men of different breed and colour, of the three great contending religions and a hundred minor churches, was himself a nervous, impressionable man, suffering from ill-health, bowed down with the weight of his great responsibility. His father died in his arms, broken-hearted, bequeathing him an Empire invaded by the armies of five European nations, hated of all the world, despised of all mankind. Even to-day there is a sinister sound in the very name of Russian. Men turn to look twice at one who comes from that stupendous Empire. It is said that an hereditary melancholy broods beneath the weightiest earthly crown. History tells that none wearing it has ever reached a hale old age. Soldiers still hearty, still bearing the sword they have carried through half a dozen campaigns, bow to^ay in the Winter Palace before their Sovereign, having taken the oath of allegiance to four successive czars. Half in, half out of Europe, Alexander II. awoke with his own hand the great nation still wrapped in the sleep of the middle ages, only to find that he had stirred a slumbering power whose movements were soon to prove beyond his control. He poured out education like water upon the surface of a vast field full of hidden seed, which must inevitably spring up wheat or tares— a bountiful harvest of good or a tenible growth of evil. He made reading and writing compulsory to the whole of his people. With a stroke of the pen he threw aside the last prop to despotic rule. Yet he hoped to continue Czar of All the Eussias. This tall, pale, gentle, determined man was a man of mighty courage. When the time came he faced 268 THE VULTURES. the consequence of his own temerity with an unflinching eye. "What do you want of me ? " he asked the ve/y moment after he had been saved ahnost by a miracle from assassina- tion. For he knew that he was giving more than was wise. It is said that he was puzzled and thoughtful after each attempt upon his life. The war with Turkey was the first sign that Russia was awakening— that -he soldien- knew how to read and write. It was the first time in history that the nation forced a czar to declare war, and Servia was full of Russian volun- teers fighting for Christian Slavs before the emperor realized that he must fight— and fight alone, for no nation in Europe would help him. He had taught Russia to read ; had raised the veil of ignorance that hung between. his people and the rest of civilization. They had read of the Bulgarian atrocities, and there was no holding them. To rule autocratically what was then the vastest Empire in the world was in itself more than one brain couid com- pass. But in addition to his own internal troubles, Alexander II. was surrounded by European difficulties. England, his steady, deadly enemy, despite a declaration of neutrality, was secretly helping Turkey. Austria, as usual, the dog waiting on tLe thresfiold, was ready to side with the winner— for a consideration. No wonder this man was always weary. It is said that all through his reign he received and despatched telegrams at any hour of the night. No wonder that his heart was ha' ' ued towards Poland. This most liberal-minded czar had . . mean point, as every man must have. There are many great and good men who will write a cheque readily enough and look twice at a penny. There are many who will give generously with one THE QUIET CITY. 269 hand while grasping with the other that which is really the property of their neighbour. Alexander's mean point was Poland. On the occasion of his first imperial visit to "Warsaw he said, in the cold, calm voice which was so hated and feared : " Gentlemen, let us have no more dreams." Eleven years later he reminded an influential deputation of Polish nobles of the unforgiven and unforgotten words, commending the caution to their attention again. He paid frequent visits to Warsaw, on one excuse or another. Tiiis dreamer would have no dreaming in his dominion. This mean man must ever be counting his hoard. The chief interest in the study of a human life lies around the inexplicable. If we were quite consistent we should be entirely dull. No one knows why thi' liberal autocrat was mean to Poland. From Warsaw, the city which has been commanded to stand still, Cartoner travelled across plains of endless snow towards the north. He found as he progressed a hundred signs of the awakening. The very faces of the people had changed since he last looked upon them only a few years earlier. These people were now a nation, con- scious of their own strength. They had fought in a great and victorious war, not because they had been commanded to fight, but because they wanted to. They had followed with understanding the diplomatic warfare that succeeded the signing of the Treaty of San Stefano. They had won aud lost. They were men, and no longer driven beasts. It was evening when Cartoner arrived at St. Petersburg. The long northern twilight had begun, and the last glow of the western sky was reflected on the golden dome of St. Isaacs, while the arrowy spire of thy Admiralty shot up into a cloudless sky. 270 THE VULTURES. The Warsaw Railway Station ia in a quiet part of the town, and the Btreets through which Cartoner drove in his hired b.eigh were ahnost desertijd. It was the hour of the promenade in the Summer Garden, or the drive in the Newski Prospect, so that all the leisured class were in another quarter of the town. St. Petersburg is, moreover, the most spacious capital in the world, where there is more room than the inhabitants can occupy, where the houses are too lai-ge and the streets too wide. The Catherine Canal was, of course, frozen, and its broken surface had a dirty, ill-kept air, while the snow was spotted with rubbish and refuse, and trodden down into numberless paths and crossings. Cartoner looked at it indifferently. It had no history yet. The streets were silent beneath their cloak of snow. All St. Petersburg is silent for nearly half the year, and is the quietest city in the world, except- ing Venice. The sleigh sped across the Nicholas Bridge to the Vasili Island. The river showed no signs of spring yet. The usual pathways across it were still in use. The Vasili Ostrov is less busy than that greater part of the city, which lies across the river. Behind the Academy of Arts, and leading out of the Bolshoi Prospect, are a number of parallel streets where quiet people live — lawyers and merchants, professors at the University or at one or other of the numerous schools and colleges facing the river and looking across towards the English Quay. It was to one of these streets that Cartoner had told his driver to proceed, and the nan had some difficulty in finding the number. It was a house like any other in the street — like any other in any other street. For St. Peters- burg is a monotonous town, showing aflat face to the world, exhibiting to the sky a flat expanse of roof broken here and THE QUIET CITY. 271 there by sojie startling inequality, the dagger-like spire of St. Peter and St. Paul, the great roof of the Kasan Cathedral, the dome of St. Isaacs— the largest cathedral in the world. When the sleigh at length drew up with a shrill claug of bells the doorkeppcr came from beneath the great porch without enthusiasm. His was a quiet house, and he did not care for strangers, especially at this time, when every man looked askance at a new-comer, and the police gave the dvorniks no peace. He Beamed to recognize Cartoner, however, for he raised his hand to his peaked cap when ho answered that the gentleman asked for was within. "On the second floor. You will remember the door," he said, over his shoulder, as Cartoner, having paid the driver, hurried towards the bouse, leaving th - dvornik to bring the luggage. Cartoner's summons at the door on the second floor was answered by a clumsy Russian maid-servant, who smiled a broad, good-natured recognition when fhe saw him, and, turning without a word, led the way along a narrow passage. The smell of tobacco nooke and a certain bare- ness of wall and floor suggested a bachelor's home. The maid opened the door of a room and stood aside for Cartoner to pass in. Seated near an open wood fire was a man with grizzled hair and a short, brown beard, which had the look of con- cealing a determined chin. He was in the act of filling a wooden pipe from & Jar on the table, and he stood up, pipe in hand, to greet the new-comer. " Ah I " he said. " I was wondering if you would come, or if you had other work to do." " No, I am ai the seme work. And you ? " " As you 8e«'," replied the bearded man, dragging forward 272 THE VULTURES. i i ■ v' I' a chair with his foot, and seating himself again before the fire. " I am here still, where you left me " — he paused to make a brief calculation—" five years ago. I stayed here all through the war— all through the Berlin Congress, when it was not good to be an Englishman in Petersburg. But I stayed. Tallow 1 It does not sound heroic, but the world must have its tallow. And there is a simplicity about commerce, you know." He gave a short laugh — the laugh of a man who had tried something and failed. Something that was not commerce, for his voice and speech had a ring of other things. *' Can you put me up ? " asked Cartoner. " Only for a few days, perhaps." " As long as you stay in Petersburg you stay in these rooms," replied the other, gravely. Cartoner nodded his thanks and sat down. Their attitude towards each other had the repose which is only existent in a friendship that has lasted since childhood. "Well? "he inquired. " Gad ! " exclaimed the other, " we are in a q 1 went to the opera the other evening. He si > ' face in the imperial box and the house was empi.. aif an hour. He always drives alone in his sleigh now, so that only one royal life may go at a time. They'll get him— they'll get him I And he knows it." " Fools ! " said Cartoner. " They are worse than fools," answered the other. " The man is down, and they strike him. His asthma is worse. He has half a dozen complaints. His policy has failed. It was the finest policy ever tried in Russia. He is the finest czar they have ever had. He gave them trial by jury ; he abolished corporal punishment. Fools ! they are the scum of this earth, Cartoner 1 " THE QUIET CITY. 273 " I know," replied Cortoner, in his gentle waj, "students who caunot learn— workmen who will not work— women whom no one will marry." "Yes, the sons and daughters of the serfs whom he emancipated. It makes one sick to talk of them. Let me hear about yourself." "Well," answered Cartoner, "I have had nothing to eat since breakfast." " That is all you have to tell me about yourself ? " " That is all." ni 274 THE VULTURES. . « |C i CHAPTER XXXI. THE I'AYMENT. It was on every gossip's tongue in St. Petersburg that Jellaboff had been arrested. •' It is the beginning of the end," men said. " They will now catch the others. The new reign of terror is over." But Jeliaboff himself— a dangerous man (one of the Terrorists), the chief of the plot to blow up the imperial train at the Alexandroff station— said that it was not so. This also, the mere bravado of ^n arrested criminal, was kmdied from mouth to mouth. For two years the most extraordinary agitation of modem days had held Russian society within its grip. All the world seemed to whisper. Men walking in the streets turned to glance over their shoulders at the approach of a step, at tho sound of a sleigh bell. The women were in the secret, too ; and when the women touch politics they are politics no longer. For there should be no real emotion in politics ; only the simulated emotion of the platform. For two years the Czar had been slowly and surely ostracized by a persecution which was as cruel as it was unreasoning. In former days the curious, and the many who loved to look on royalty, had studied his habits and hours to THE PAYMENT. 275 the end tliat they might gain a glimpse o. him, or perbaj* a bow from the conrtcons emperor. Now hia habits and liis daily life were watched for quite another purpose. If it was known that he would pass through a certain street, lio was now allowed a monopoly of that thoronghfarc! None passed nearer to the Winter Palace than he could help. If the Czar was seen to approach, men hurried in the opposite direction ; women called their children to them. He was a leper among his own people. " Do not go to the opera to-morrow," one lady would say to another. •' I have heard thut the Czar is to be there." " Do not pass through the Little Sadovaia," men said to one another; "the street is mined. Do not let your wife linger in the Newski Prospect ; it is honeycombed by mines." The Czar withdrew himself, as a man must who perceives that others shrink from him ; as the leper who sees even the pitiful draw aside his cloak. But some ceremonies he would not relinquish; and to some duties he remained faithful, calmly facing the risk, which he fully recognized. He went to the usual Sunday review on the 12th of March, as all the world knows. It was r. brilliant winter morning. The sun shone from a cloudless sky upon streeto and houses buried still bemith their winter covering of snow. The houses always look too large for their inmates, the streets too wide for those that walk there. St. Peters- burg was planned on too large a scale by the man who did everything largely, and made his window looking out upon Europe a bigger window than the coldness of his home \ juld allow. The review passed oflf successfully. The Czar, men said, was in good spirits. He had that morning signed a decree m H ^1 270 THE VULTURES. which was now in the hands of Loris Melikoff, and would to-morrow be given to the world, proving even to the most sceptical for the hundredth time that he had at heart the advance of Rua8i»>~the greater liberty of his people. Instead of returning direct to the Winter Palace, the Czar paid his usual visft to his cousin, the Grand Duchess Cii'herine. He quitted her palace at two o'clock in his own can-iagc, accompanied by half a dozen Cossacks. His officers followed in two sleighs. It was never known which way he would take. He himself gave the order to the coachman. He knew the streets as thoroughly as the driver himself; for he had always walked in them un- attended, unheeded, and unknown— had always mixed with his subjects. This was no French monarch living in an earthy heaven above his people. Ho knew— always had known— what men said to each other in the streets. He gave the order to go to the Winter Palace by way of the Catherine Canal, which was not the direct way. Had he passed down the Newski Prospect half of that great street would have been blown to the skies. The road running by the side of the Catherine Canal was in 1881 a quiet enough thoroughfare, with large houses staring blankly across the frozen canal. The canal itself was none too clean a sight, for the snow was old and soiled, and strewed with refuse. In some places there were gardens tiweeu the road and the waterway, but most of its length was bounded by a low wall and a railing. The road itself was almost deserted. The side streets of St. Petersburg are quieter than the smaller tl.oroughfarea of any other city in the world. A confectioner's boy was alone on the pavement, hurrying along and whistling as he went on his Sunday errand of delivery. He hardly glanced at the carriage that sped past him. Perhaps he THE PATMENl. 2.77 saw a man looking over the low wall at the approach of the cftvalcade. Terhaps he saw the bomb thrown and heard the deafening iport. Though none can lay what he heard or saw at t ^f minnte, for he was dead the next. The bomb had f ^n under the iiarriago at ' back. A Cossack and his horse, following the impcr'v' a/eyancc, were instantly killed. The Czar stepped ou' jm amidst the debris on to the torn and nven snow. He stumbled, and took a proffered arm. They found blood on the cushions afterwai-ds. At that moment the only thought in his mind seemed to be anger, and he glanced at the dying Cossack— at the deaa baker-boy. The pavement and the road were strewed with wounded— some lying quite still, others attempting to lift themselves with numbed and charred limbs. It was very coU. Ryssakoff, who had thrown the bomb, was already in the hands of his captors. Had the crowd been larger, had the official ek ^ent been v '