Kosmaroff and Martin had to
wait two days until the weather changed--until the moon, now well on the
wane, did not rise before midnight.

At last they set out, in full daylight, on a high river still encumbered
by ice. It was much warmer during the day now; but the evenings were
cold, and a thick mist usually arose from the marsh-lands. This soon
enveloped them, and they swept on unseen. None could have followed them
into the mist, for none had Kosmaroff's knowledge of the river.

The frontier-line is some miles above the ancient city of Thorn. It is
strictly guarded by day and night. The patrol-boats are afloat at every
hour. Kosmaroff had arranged to arrive at this spot early in the night,
before the mists had been dispelled by the coming of the moon.

Even he could only guess at their position. Once they dared to approach
the shore in order to discover some landmark. But they navigated chiefly
by sound. The whistle of a distant train, the sound of church clocks,
the street cries of a town--these were Kosmaroff's degrees of latitude.

"We are getting near," he said, in little more than a whisper. "What is
the time?"

It was nearly eleven o'clock. If they got past the frontier they would
sweep through Thorn before mid-night. The river narrows here, and goes
at a great pace. It is still of a vast width--one of the largest rivers
in Europe.

The mist was very thick here.

"Listen!" whispered Kosmaroff, suddenly. And they heard the low, regular
thud of oars. It was the patrol-boat.

Almost immediately a voice, startlingly near, called upon them to halt.
They crouched low in the boat. In a mist it is very difficult to locate
sound. They looked round in all directions. The voice seemed to have
come from above. It was raised again, and seemed to be behind them this
time.

"Stop, or we fire!" it said, in Russian. Then followed a sharp whistle,
which was answered by two or three others. There were at least three
boats close at hand, seeking to locate each other before they fired.

Immediately afterwards the firing began, and was taken up by the more
distant boats. A bullet splashed in the water close behind Kosmaroff's
oar, with a sharp spit like that of an angry cat. Martin gave a
suppressed laugh. Kosmaroff only smiled.

Then two bullets struck the boat simultaneously, one on the stern-post,
fired from behind, the other full on the side amidships, where Martin
lay concealed.

Neither of the two men moved or ma