A sound of footsteps could be heard in the next room. In his desire to console Stanley in his solitude, Paul had said nothing about what he had seen in the master's room, though it had been uppermost in his mind all the time he had been speaking to Stanley.
"Hallo! What's that? Weevil's guest on the move. Who is he, I wonder?"
"Hush! Not so loud!" cautioned Paul, clutching Stanley by the arm. "You would never guess. You remember what happened to me on the night I took that packet to Oakville?"
Paul had confided to his chum all that happened on that night.
"Don't I? And I'm not likely to forget it in a hurry. I only wish that I'd been with you then, just as you're with me now. What about it?"
"What about it? Why, the man in the next room is Israel Zuker."
"Paul!" cried Stanley, rising to his feet in amazement.
"Hush—don't I tell you!"—again clutching him by the arm, and pressing him to his former position. "Israel Zuker! I'm sure of it."
"But what can he want with Mr. Weevil, and what can Weevil want with him?"
"Ask me another. That's what floors me. Listen! Weevil is letting him out."