Jonas, who disliked irony, sighed and cut off.
That was the third night. During the days he had done the things he had planned; he did no work with the Scharpes, but let them find him, when they returned to the hut of an evening, reciting strange words. Once he built a small outdoor fire and walked around it, widdershins, for several minutes. Then he put the fire out and went inside. He wasn't sure whether or not anyone was watching him, that time.
But sooner or later it had to happen.
And it happened, as Jonas had suspected it would, through the wife. Mrs. Scharpe came back to the hut early one day, threw a frightened glance at Jonas sitting in a corner doing nothing at all, and left.
He hardly needed to see into her mind to know where she was going.
And twenty minutes later two men came to the hut. They stood in the opened doorway, Mrs. Scharpe behind them twittering like an ancient bird, and Jonas watched them boredly. They were giants, for this part of the world, almost six feet tall, with great hands and jaws. One had black, coarse hair on his head and a stubble about his face; the other was bald as an egg.
"That's him," Mrs. Scharpe said—just a trifle hesitantly. "He's the one. He came to stay with us and we didn't know—"
The man with black hair said: "Uh. Gur."
"Herr Knupf said take him back," the bald one added.
"Herr Knupf?" Jonas said, entering the conversation with a light, pleasant tone.