to. And I, who have no secrets."

He spread out his hands, with a gay 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 unconfessed. But, my friend, if anything should
happen--anything--anywhere--we keep each other advised. Is it not so?"

"Usual cipher," answered Cartoner.

"My salutations to Lady Orlay," said Deulin, with a reflective 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! 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 are 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?"

"No," answered Cartoner.

"No--you wouldn't have one. You are not that sort of man. Gad! You are
hard, Cartoner--hard as nails."

Cartoner did not answer. He was already putting together his
possessions--already furling his solitary tent. It was only natural that
he was loath 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 me, too, so 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.

XXIII

COEUR VOLANT

In that great plain which is known to geographers as th