"They're not quite so sharp as yours, Mr. Zuker, I know; but I made sure I'd tracked the youngster here."
Paul could hear distinctly every word that passed from his uncomfortable position down the well. As the name Zuker fell upon his ears he trembled so that he nearly over-balanced himself and fell into the water below. It was not with fear. Zuker! That name was one he was never likely to forget so long as memory lasted. It was the name of the man for whom his poor father had sacrificed his life!
Could it be the same? It was not a common name, and though the man spoke English readily, it was with a German accent. Instinctively Paul felt that it was the same, instinctively he felt that the man who had been in pursuit of him was the man whom his father had tried to save from the sea so long ago. As a recompense for what the father had done he was hunting down the son!
"Thank you; it's very kind of you," said Wyndham, as Brockman released his hold. "Seems to me you're a little too hasty with your hands! The next time you take any one by the collar you'd better make sure first that you're going for the right one!"
Brockman turned away without deigning to reply. Zuker was about to follow his example, but, suddenly checking himself, he asked:
"Have you seen any one pass this way—a boy about your size—no, not quite so tall," as the sharp eyes took note of Wyndham's height.
"About my own size—not quite so tall? Let me see." Wyndham paused as though trying to remember.
"Make haste!" cried Zuker impatiently. "We haven't any time to lose. Surely you can remember."
"I'm trying to. You see, there are a good number of boys pass along this road during the day."
"I'm not speaking about the daytime—within the last quarter of an hour!"