CHAPTER XXXVI
THE "FOX-HOLE"
"They really believe you're out of England. You're quite sure of that?" questioned Brockman, in his thick, guttural voice.
"As sure of it as you're standing there," answered Zuker. "The search for me went on actively for a fortnight, and then dropped. How should they suspect a hiding-place like this? How should they suspect that when the hounds were in full chase of the fox, he had a hole to retreat to where they could never follow?"
"Ha! ha!" chuckled Brockman; "we ought to call it the Fox-Hole. I only wish we had the youngster in it who slipped through my fingers that night on the road to Redmead."
"Do you really?" said Paul to himself. "Well, the youngster's obliged you, and yet you don't seem to be grateful to him."
"Zut! zut! Don't worry about him. He's only a cipher—a pawn in the great game we have in hand. If we win, it'll be for a prize worth winning—fame and fortune," went on Zuker, as he strode to and fro with rapid strides. "Yes, fame and fortune, and we shall have dealt a staggering blow at a country that we hate. The risk is great, but the stakes are greater still, and each day makes our position surer."
"Surer? Do you think so? Sometimes it seems to me, master, that we're standing on the very edge of a deep precipice, and that one day we shall make a false step, and then——"
Brockman did not finish the sentence, but gave a significant shrug of the shoulders which was much more eloquent than words.
"Das ist recht—that is right; I have never hidden from you the danger. It is true that one false step might spoil all my plans, but that only makes the game more worth the winning. And listen, Brockman, we must not make that false step. We made one on that night we let the boy get through with the cipher to Redmead. We must not make another."