became more animated, and the two moved to a table at the centre.

"I think we've succeeded in quieting suspicion," said the foremost of
the two. As he spoke the light from the lamp fell full upon his face.

It was Zuker, the German Jew!

Paul's glance turned from him to the other man. It was Brockman, the
burly ruffian who had seized the bridle of Falcon on the night of his
flight to Redmead--the ruffian who struck the blow which caused the
gallant horse's death.

"We've succeeded in calming suspicion for the time being," Zuker was
saying, "and that is a great point in our favour; but still we must move
cautiously. A false step, and down would fall all my plans like a house
of cards. We've been very near discovery once or twice, the nearest was
when that youngster got ahead of us with the packet. You remember?"

"Remember! I'm never likely to forget it," said Brockman. "I could never
understand how it was the youngster slipped through my fingers."

"Well, it doesn't matter so much as it has turned out, for those
Admiralty men--the Hansons--have gone to sleep again. They think that
danger is passed, that Zuker, the man they so fear and dread, is out of
England."

He chuckled softly to himself. Paul grew colder. He knew well enough the
youngster they were referring to, no one better, for it was himself. It
was quite clear that the letter he had sent from the school to Mr.
Moncrief had never reached him. A staggering suspicion flashed into his
mind. He recalled that he had entrusted the posting of that letter to
Hibbert. Could it have been that Hibbert had failed him, or worse, could
it have been that Hibbert had deceived him? Was he not the son of Zuker?
But the suspicion only dwelt in his mind for one brief moment, and he
felt indignant with himself that it had rested there so long.

How could he doubt Hibbert, the one boy at Garside who had so clung to
him and who was at that moment lying on a bed of sickness?

"Heaven forgive me!" he said to himself; then he caught the voices of
the men as they again spoke, and listened eagerly.

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
th