n is in it. You cannot escape it. Be warned
in time. Give up this scheme of yours; if not for your own sake, for the
sake of your son."

"Give up the scheme--the scheme for which I have worked so long. The
scheme which, day by day, brings me nearer to fame and fortune. You talk
like a madman. It is more to me than life itself--more to me than the
life of fifty sons!"

A cry of pain came from Mr. Weevil's lips.

"I know you well enough--you have no love for my scheme. Your heart is
in what you call science, and in the boy. You wish to frighten
me--frighten me from the work which every day draws nearer to success.
Shall I tell you what for? So as to drive me back to the Fatherland that
you may keep all to yourself, my boy--the boy of your dead sister. Ach!
I see through your scheming!"

"Hush, man--hush! Is it to hear reproaches from your lips that I have
risked so much--that I have involved myself in these schemes of yours
which may mean my ruin?" Mr. Weevil's voice was stern, fearless; but as
quickly turned to a softer key. "Let us not quarrel, Israel. Heaven
forbid that we should quarrel over the boy whom we both love in our own
peculiar way. Remember that his life is still in jeopardy."

They shook hands, and then Mr. Weevil turned towards the curtain behind
which Paul was hidden.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE LETTERS AT THE TUCK-SHOP

This time Paul did not move--he could not. He was as one rooted to the
spot. Fortunately, Mr. Weevil did not come to that side of the curtain
where he was crouching, but passed through on the other side. It was not
till he had hastened past Paul that the power of movement returned to
his limbs. To remain there longer was useless. He had heard enough--more
than enough. But he was unable to think clearly in that tunnel. The air
seemed to stifle him; he must get outside.

So he followed in the master's footsteps, taking care, however, to keep
a good distance between them. At length he reached the entrance. He
waited a minute or two, then cautiously lifted the circular piece of
wood that covered the entrance, and made his way through the undergrowth
to the open.

By that time Mr. Weevil had disappeared from view.

"Am I awake or dreaming?" Paul asked himself, as he drew a deep breath
of relief.

It seemed, indeed, like a dream--or, rather, a nightmare--that cave, the
two conspirators, the conversation he had overheard about the taking of
Sheerness by the Dutch, the advance on