The figure was very quiet. It appeared to be sitting down, and then it rose and fumbled with the wall of the tower just beyond the boulder behind which I sheltered. It seemed to move a stone and to replace it. After that came silence, and then once more the hoot of an owl. There were steps on the rock staircase, the steps of a man who did not know the road 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 voegelein 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 situati
