"That is my secret."

Zuker's hand went to his breast, to a weapon concealed there.

"Be careful how you answer, boy. You're not now in school, and you haven't a school-master to deal with. Is this the first time you've been here?"

"No."

Zuker started in spite of himself.

"Not the first time! How many times have you been here before then, may I ask?"

"Once."

"_Ach!_ Now I understand. It is through you my plans have been defeated.

It is through you my man--_mein_ Brockman--has been arrested. It is through you that I have scarcely dared venture from this hole for two days past. You have been a mean, dirty spy."

"As you were to my father when I was a child." The words were upon Paul's lips, but he forced them back. Then aloud, "I've not been a spy.

I've told no one."

Zuker looked searchingly into Paul's face.

"Who has told, then--who has given information to the police, to what is called your Secret Investigation Department--if it is not you?"

Paul was silent. He now understood Mr. Moncrief's letter. It must have been Mr. Weevil who had given information to Mr. Moncrief, it must have been he who had kept him informed of Zuker's doings. Mr. Weevil was not a traitor to his country, after all. Nay, it seemed as though he had striven, in his peculiar way, to defend it against traitors.

"Silent, eh? I can see what you've told me is false. You have worked against me from the first. It was you who outwitted me once before. It was you who got that packet through to the man who has always stood between me and my plans, the Admiralty man, Moncrief. All would have been over; I should have got all through had it not been for that. _Ach Himmel_, you will not have the chance of blabbing any more secrets! I have you now--tight in the Fox's Hole--and you will not leave it alive.

Let me see what your school is good for. I will give you five minutes to get ready for _sterblichkeit_. _Ach_, it is a long word! Do you know what it means?"

Paul knew what it meant. It was the German word for mortality.

"Thank you," answered Paul simply. "That is longer than my father had when he was called upon to die, and it should be enough for me."

Zuker's hand trembled as it fingered the weapon concealed in his breast.

Paul closed his eyes, and repeated in a low, yet clear voice:

"'Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespa.s.ses, as we forgive them that trespa.s.s against us----"

"Halt! Stop!" cried Zuker hoa.r.s.ely. "You spoke of your father just now--how he died. Tell me quickly how it was."

"He was drowned, in saving the life of a man who had robbed him."

"_Ach!_ And do you know who that man was?"

No answer came from Paul's lips for several seconds, seconds that seemed as hours. Deep silence reigned in the cave, then it was broken by the clear voice of the boy:

"Yes; I know who that man was. He called himself Israel Zuker."

Zuker could not repress a movement of astonishment as Paul p.r.o.nounced his name.

"Knowing this--knowing that it was through me your father lost his life, you could yet say that prayer--'As we forgive them that trespa.s.s against us'? You are as brave as your father was," came hoa.r.s.ely from his lips.

"I could wish no greater praise than that," answered Paul. "But I had not finished. Shall I go on?"

"You need not be in so great a hurry. Wait till I tell you. I have one or two more questions to ask you. How did you come to know that I was the man who spied upon your father--the man through whom he lost his life--the man----_Ach!_" He stopped himself suddenly. His brow darkened; the veins stood out in knots upon his forehead. "Fool! Why didn't I guess it? I see it all now. It is your master--it is Weevil who told you. It is Weevil who has betrayed me."

His hand went to the weapon in his breast again.

"No, you are mistaken; Mr. Weevil has told me nothing. He has not betrayed you."

"You are telling me false. You are trying to mislead me. Beware! No one else knew my secret. Who else could tell you?"

"I learned it from a little fellow whom I loved as a brother, and who loved me as a brother, too. Alas, he is now dead! We called him Hibbert."

"Hibbert--my son!" Zuker's voice softened wonderfully as the words pa.s.sed his lips; then it hardened again, as he demanded: "How was it my son came to betray me?"

"It was after that accident on the river. Perhaps you have forgotten? It was I who helped him back to the school. And the dear little chap was always so grateful for it--always made such an awful fuss about it. That was his way--ever so much too sensitive and grateful. Poor little chap!"

Paul brushed the back of his hand quickly across his eyes; and somehow the man did the same.

"Well, I was often with him after that," he presently continued. "He felt that he would never get well, I think, and I could see that he suffered a good deal from something he had on his mind. I never guessed what it was; but one night, when I was sitting beside him, he told me that he could not sleep because of it, and he felt that if he didn't speak, G.o.d would never forgive him. That's how it was he came to tell me that you, Israel Zuker, were his father."

"I see--I see! Now I understand!"

Zuker strode across and across the chamber, as though uncertain how to act. At length he disappeared into one of the recesses of the cave, evidently used as a storehouse, and almost as instantly appeared again with a coil of rope in his hands.

"For all you did for my son, I spare your life; but I must keep you here for a few hours. My safety depends on it."

Paul knew that it was useless to protest. He knew well enough that Zuker had the power of shooting him as a dog, and he was not the man to stand any nonsense. So he allowed himself to be bound; and when he had bound him, Zuker brought out some cushions from the recess, and placed Paul on them.

"There! I am making you as comfortable as circ.u.mstances will permit," he said. "_Gute nacht_--good-night. Remember Israel Zuker again in your prayers. _Ach!_ it was good of you to be kind to my boy when others so mocked and hated him. Adieu!"

With these words, he pa.s.sed swiftly out by the way he had come. Paul rested for a few minutes, thinking quietly over the strange interview through which he had just pa.s.sed. It was kind of Zuker to spare his life, but he did not much appreciate the prospect of lying there, bound hand and foot, for several hours--nay, it might so happen that Zuker would never return.

His last words had an odd sound. It was difficult to know what he meant by them. He might have an intention of returning, or he might not.

Perhaps he was uncertain himself. He knew well enough that he might be arrested at any moment, just as his confederate had been. In that case he (Paul) might lie there, bound hand and foot, for days and nights, gradually getting weaker and weaker, and finally dying of starvation.

The prospect was not a very agreeable one.

So Paul determined to do his best to free himself of the coils that bound him. He was a strong boy, and struggled might and main to loosen them; but Zuker seemed to have tied them with devilish cunning. Struggle as Paul would, he was unable to loosen them. And the more he struggled, the more the rope cut into his flesh.

"My! The tightest knots I've ever struck," said Paul, as he lay back gasping.

"Paul!"

What was that? An echo, or some one calling him by name?

"Paul!"

There it was again. Surely it was some one calling him. He tried to turn his quivering limbs in the direction whence the voice came. Was he awake or was he dreaming?