Inside the cage Professor Farrago was seated, his spectacled eyes fixed on the row of pies. For a while, although realizing perfectly that our quarry was transparent and invisible, we unconsciously strained our eyes in quest of something stirring in the forest.
"I should think," said I, in a low voice, "that the odor of the pies might draw at least one out of the odd dozen that came rubbing up against my window last night."
"Hush! Listen!" she breathed. But we heard nothing save the snoring of the overfed dog at our feet.
"He'll give us ample notice by butting into Miss Barrison's skirts," I observed. "No need of our watching, professor."
The professor nodded. Presently he removed his spectacles and lay back against the bars, closing his eyes.
At first the forest silence seemed cheerful there in the flecked sunlight. The spotted wood-gnats gyrated merrily, chased by dragon-flies; the shy wood-birds hopped from branch to twig, peering at us in friendly inquiry; a lithe, gray squirrel, plumy tail undulating, rambled serenely around the cage, sniffing at the pastry within.
Suddenly, without apparent reason, the squirrel sprang to a tree-trunk, hung a moment on the bark, quivering all over, then dashed away into the jungle.
"Why did he act like that?" whispered Miss Barrison. And, after a moment: "How still it is! Where have the birds gone?"
In the ominous silence the dog began to whimper in his sleep and his hind legs kicked convulsively.
"He's dreaming—" I began.