“No.  It’s at the station.”

“Then let me send a hand ashore for it.  Got three Germans furard.  You’ll come aboard and see this thing through, I hope.”

“Thank you,” answered Cartoner.  He handed Captain Cable the ticket for his luggage.

“Mate’s receipt?” inquired the captain.

And Cartoner nodded.  The captain pushed the decanter towards his guest as he rose to go and give the necessary orders.

“No stint of the wine,” he said, and went out on deck.

When he came back he laid the whole question aside, and devoted himself to the entertainment of his guest.  They both slept in the afternoon.  For the captain had been up all night, and fully expected to see no bed the following night.

“If they come down with the tide we’ll go to sea on the same ebb,” he said, as he lay down on his state-room locker and composed himself to sleep.

He sent the hands below at ten o’clock, saying he would keep the anchor watch himself.  He wanted no forecastle gossip, he said to Cartoner, and did not trouble to explain that he had kept the watch three nights in succession on that account.  Cartoner and he walked the deck side by side, treading softly for the sake of the sleepers under deck.  For the same reason, perhaps, they were silent.

Once only Captain Cable spoke in little more than a whisper.

“Hope he is pleased with himself,” he said, as he stood at the stern rail, looking up river, as it happened, towards Cracow.  “For it is his doing, you and me waiting his orders here this cold night.  They’re tricky—­the French.  He’s a tricky man.”

“Yes,” admitted Cartoner, who knew that the captain spoke of Deulin, “he is a tricky man.”

After this they walked backward and forward for an hour without speaking.  Then Captain Cable suddenly raised his hand and pointed into the night.

“There’s a boat yonder,” he said, “coming down quiet, under the lee of the land.”

They stood listening, and presently heard the sound of oars used with great caution.  A boat was crossing the river now and coming towards them.  Captain Cable went forward and took a coil of rope.  He clambered laboriously to the rail and stood there, watching the shadowy shape of the boat, which was now within hail.  It was swinging round on the tide with perfect calculation and a most excellent skill.

“Stand by,” said Captain Cable, gruffly, and the coils of his rope uncurled against the sky, to fall in a straight line across the boat.

Cartoner could see a man catch the rope neatly and make it fast with two turns.  In a moment the boat came softly nestling against the steamer as a kitten may nestle against its mother.

The man, who seemed to be the sole occupant, stood up, resting his hand on the rail of the Minnie.  His head came up over the rail, and he peered into Cartoner’s face.

“You!” he exclaimed.