“Eat, boys,” whispered Watson; “we don’t know when we may get our next square meal.”
The men soon disposed of the food. Hardly had they finished before the door was thrown open, and the jailer, an elderly, bearded man, appeared.
“Good-evening, men,” he said, in a pleasant, unsuspicious voice. He halted at the doorway with the keys in his right hand.
It was a terrible moment. George felt as if he were living ten years in that one instant.
Watson Placed His Hand Over the Man’s Mouth
“Good-evening, sir,” said Watson, approaching the jailer. “It’s such a very pleasant evening that we intend to take a little walk.” He threw back the door as he spoke.
The jailer was unprepared for this move. He did not even divine what was intended.