"It might be," said the second lad doggedly. "There are spirits, of course; and when souls are set free in the violence of war they say they ever return to haunt the scene of their passing."
"Well, nobody has passed here," said Thaddeus, "alive or dead. Let's go on!"
"Wait just a minute," said the second boy. "I tell you there is evil somewhere about here!"
"The street is dark and crooked enough to hold almost anything," said Thaddeus. "I am not surprised now that my father always ordered me to keep away from these streets leading to the river. They say many and many a poor wretch has been bundled down there and pushed off into the Vistula. She tells no tales, that river."
The cry was repeated. It was faint, and there was a note of pain or terror in it that chilled the listeners. Very faint and far away it was too.
"I'm going back," said the second boy.
"Go!" said Thaddeus scornfully, "Go and give up your Scout badge, and tell the chapter that while the sons of Warsaw were not afraid to meet a bloody death, you are not one of them because you think the spirits are abroad in the town."
The boy blushed.
"Come!" said Thaddeus. "I know you don't mean it. There is someone in trouble. Let us find them quickly."
Following the tracks and listening every few steps for the voices, the boys reached the place where Warren and Ivan were imprisoned. They were nearly exhausted from the cramped positions and the long fast. They had called until their throats were parched, and their voices croaked and wheezed. But as they heard the boys familiar and welcome voices sound faintly through the heavy door, new energy thrilled then and they lifted their voices together in a shout that echoed in the vaulted room. It was answered.