Kosmaroff stood by the rail for a moment, looking down into his boat. Then he turned suddenly to Cartoner, and made him a short, formal bow.
“Good-bye,” he said.
Cartoner nodded, and said nothing.
Kosmaroff then turned towards Cable, who was standing with his hands thrust into his jacket-pockets, looking ahead towards the open sea.
“Captain,” he said, and held out his hand so that Cable could not help seeing it. The captain hesitated, and at length withdrew his hand from the shelter of his pocket.
“Good-bye, mister,” he said.
Then Kosmaroff climbed down into his boat. They cut the rope adrift, and he sat down to the oars.
There was a lurid streak of dawn low down in the sky, and Kosmaroff headed his boat towards it across the chill, green waters. Above the promise of a stormy day towered a great bank of torn clouds hanging over Poland.