"It sounded very much like the cry of a human being," said the master, peering out, "but it couldn't have been. It must have been the wind, or a night-bird."
Then, to Paul's inexpressible relief, he heard the window close. Some seconds elapsed, however, before he ventured to look up. He feared, in spite of the closed window, to find the eyes of the master fixed upon him. Should he turn back? No; that would be acting the coward's part. Besides, he must catch another glimpse of the face he had seen.
Presently he heard the murmur of voices within, and knew that the two had resumed their interrupted interview. So, taking his courage in both hands, Paul peeped once more into the room.
Yes, he was sure of it. The man with whom Mr. Weevil was talking was Israel Zuker, the German Jew—the man who had tried to wrest from him Mr. Moncrief's letter—the man for whom he believed his father had sacrificed his life!
Why had Zuker come there? Paul would have given a good deal to know what the two were talking about, but not a word of their conversation reached his ears. They were bending low, and spoke in little more than whispers. For one thing, that was an advantage. They were so earnestly engaged in conversation, that they were the less likely to notice anything that happened outside. Paul therefore determined not to put off any longer the effort to reach Stanley.
He crept quickly to the other side of the window, then waited. He could still hear the hum of voices, so he felt sure that he had not been seen.
"Now for old Stan. I'm sure he won't be asleep."
Paul crept close to the window, and tapped on it with his nail.
"Who's there?" said Stanley.
The window was cautiously opened, and Paul slipped into the room.