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.'