Paul was again at the
brink of the well.

"Found it?" asked Wyndham eagerly.

For answer Paul produced the letter. It was slightly damp, but little
the worse otherwise for its immersion.

"Well, you deserve it. I'm jolly glad you've found it."

"I should never have got it hadn't it been for you. It was very good of
you to turn back with me, and I hope if at any time I can do you a
service, you'll let me know."

The two boys tramped on once more to their destination. Wyndham wished
Paul good-night at the entrance to Redmead, his home lying in another
direction. It was not long before Paul came in sight of Oakville. It was
a fine old country house. A light was shining from its gabled front. By
its light Paul could see that there was a man hovering about the house.
He could not get a clear glimpse of him, but he was certain, from the
man's figure and gait, that it was Brockman, the confederate of Zuker,
the German spy. Knowing that Paul must come to the house, he had
evidently been on the watch for him.

Now that he had come so far, Paul did not intend being foiled at the
last moment. He saw that it was useless trying to enter by the front of
the house, so he crept round to the back.

A light was coming from one of the windows. Paul made for this window,
and looked through. He was scarcely prepared for what he saw. It was
evidently a play-room. There was a large rocking-horse in one corner. A
trapeze was slung up in the centre. There were single-sticks and foils
on the wall, dumb-bells, Indian-clubs, a parallel-bar, and a
vaulting-horse stowed away in another part of the room. But it was not
so much these things which attracted the attention of Paul as the
occupants of the room. A middle-aged gentleman was kneeling. He was
praying aloud. Near him was a lady. On either side of her was a girl and
boy--the boy about twelve, the girl a couple of years older. In line
with them were a couple of maidservants and a governess. Paul could see
that they were at family prayers. He guessed that the gentleman who was
praying was Mr. Walter Moncrief, the gentleman he had come in search of
by his likeness to his brother.

When they had finished prayers, the lady went to the piano, and the
little group joined heartily in a hymn Paul had often heard at school:

"Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the ev'ning
Steal across the sky."

Paul listened reverently, with bowed head. How appropria