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 body, which owned its inability to put anything in writing, had provided a penny bottle of ink and a sticky-looking, red pen-holder. The speaker took up the pen suspiciously, and laid it down again. He rubbed his finger and thumb together. His suspicions had apparently been justifiable. It was a sticky one! Then he lapsed into thought. Perhaps he was thinking of the pen-holder, or perhaps of the history of the two nations represented in that room. He had a thoughtful face, and history is a fascinating study, especially for those who make it. And this quiet man had made a little in his day.
“An opportunity is not 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 man subject to the worst of blindness—the blindness of vanity.
“We have all waited long enough for that. We have done our best out on the frontier and in the English 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 Fleet Street. In Russia we have too little journalism—in England they have too much.”
Captain Cable yawned at this juncture with a maritime frankness.
“Another opportunity would be a social upheaval,” said 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 we can offer to you.”