ld
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 afterwards. They were Slavs--of the most calculating race the
world had produced--a little slow in their calculations. So he gave
them time, just as Russia must have time; but she will reach the summit
eventually, when her farsighted policy is fully evolved--long, long
after reader and writer are dust.

Cartoner gave the workman half a rouble, which was accepted with a
muttered word of thanks, and then he turned towards the great doors,
which were barred. There was another pause, while the gate-keeper looked
inquiringly at Kosmaroff.

"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
Kosmaroff the gate-keeper sprang forward and opened the heavy doors.

Martin was nearest, and instinctively held the stirrup, while Cartoner
climbed into the saddle.

"Saved your life!" 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-foundry 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 Kosmaroff to follow him was soon breathless and forced to give up the
chase.

Approaching the town, Cartoner rode at a more leisurely pace. That his
life had hung on a thread since sunset did not seem to affect 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 see their road
clearly before them, and for whom the barriers of duty and honor, which
stand on either side of every man's path, present neither gap nor gate.
He had courage and patience, and was content to exercis