well and stumbled a little. Also they were the steps of one
without nails in his boots.

They reached the platform and someone spoke. It was the Portuguese Jew
and he spoke in good German.

'_Die vogelein schweigen im Walde,_' he said.

The answer came from a clear, authoritative voice.

'_Warte nur, balde ruhest du auch._'

Clearly some kind of password, for sane men don't talk about little
birds in that kind of situation. It sounded to me like indifferent
poetry.

Then followed a conversation in low tones, of which I only caught odd
phrases. I heard two names--Chelius and what sounded like a Dutch word,
Bommaerts. Then to my joy I caught _Effenbein_, and when uttered it
seemed to be followed by a laugh. I heard too a phrase several times
repeated, which seemed to me to be pure gibberish--_Die Stubenvogel
verstehn_. It was spoken by the man from the sea. And then the word
_Wildvogel_. The pair seemed demented about birds.

For a second an electric torch was flashed in the shelter of the rock,
and I could see a tanned, bearded face looking at some papers. The
light disappeared, and again the Portuguese Jew was fumbling with the
stones at the base of the tower. To my joy he was close to my crack,
and I could hear every word. 'You cannot come here very often,' he
said, 'and it may be hard to arrange a meeting. See, therefore, the
place I have made to put the _Viageffutter_. When I get a chance I will
come here, and you will come also when you are able. Often there will
be nothing, but sometimes there will be much.'

My luck was clearly in, and my exultation made me careless. A stone, on
which a foot rested, slipped and though I checked myself at once, the
confounded thing rolled down into the hollow, making a great clatter. I
plastered myself in the embrasure of the rock and waited with a beating
heart. The place was pitch dark, but they had an electric torch, and if
they once flashed it on me I was gone. I heard them leave the platform
and climb down into the hollow. There they stood listening, while I
held my breath. Then I heard '_Nix, mein freund,_' and the two went
back, the naval officer's boots slipping on the gravel.

They did not leave the platform together. The man from the sea bade a
short farewell to the Portuguese Jew, listening, I thought, impatiently
to his final message as if eager to be gone. It was a good half-hour
before the latter took himself off, and I heard the sound of his nailed
boots