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 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.