He spoke in his natural voice, quite cheerfully. They were not out of danger yet. Kosmaroff could not quit the steering-oar. He glanced at Martin, and then looked ahead again uneasily.
Martin was the first to speak. He raised himself on his elbow, and with a jerk of the wrist threw something towards Kosmaroff. It was an envelope, closed and doubled over.
“Put that in your pocket,” he said. And Kosmaroff obeyed.
“You know Miss Cahere, who was at the Europe?” asked Martin, suddenly, after a pause.
Kosmaroff smiled the queer smile that twisted his face all to one side.
“Yes, I know her.”
“Give her that, or get it to her,” said Martin.
“But—”
“Yes,” said Martin, answering the unasked question, “I am badly hit, unless you can do something for me after we are past Thorn.”
And his voice was still cheerful.