George was soon dressed, and then he set about liberating Bob, who was still cooped up in his cage.
“I’m afraid this will have to be broken open,” George said.
“Break it, then!” said Bob, glaring fiendishly at his sometime darling contrivance.
The Sage, with the help of the other boys, then forced the top, or roof, off the cage; and Bob was again at large. Poor boy! he did not linger, nor make any threats, but after mumbling in George’s ear, “you’re the best of them all,” set forward at a business-like pace.
Then, at last, the boys got over their fright.
George was quite satisfied with himself, and he looked about him with a peaceful expression on his face that the others tried in vain to assume. But now and then he would glance furtively up and down the river, to the right and to the left.
“What are you looking for, George?” Steve finally asked, breaking the silence.
“I—I—well, its rather strange that a crowd doesn’t come. Now in all that you read, in newspapers or stories, a crowd always gathers.”
“Not generally in murders—in the stories,” Marmaduke corrected.
“Well, this is a pretty nice business!” Will said, ruefully. “I—I’m ashamed of myself!”