And indeed it was time, for Cyril seemed
like a clock that had been wound up, and could not help going on.
'Where is he now?'
'At the police-station,' said Robert, for Cyril was out of breath.
'The boy told us they'd put him in the cells, and would bring him
up before the Beak in the morning. I thought it was a jolly lark
last night--getting him to take the cats--but now--'
'The end of a lark,' said the Phoenix, 'is the Beak.'
'Let's go to him,' cried both the girls jumping up. 'Let's go and
tell the truth. They MUST believe us.'
'They CAN'T,' said Cyril. 'Just think! If any one came to you
with such a tale, you couldn't believe it, however much you tried.
We should only mix things up worse for him.'
'There must be something we could do,' said Jane, sniffing very
much--'my own dear pet burglar! I can't bear it. And he was so
nice, the way he talked about his father, and how he was going to
be so extra honest. Dear Phoenix, you MUST be able to help us.
You're so good and kind and pretty and clever. Do, do tell us what
to do.'
The Phoenix rubbed its beak thoughtfully with its claw.
'You might rescue him,' it said, 'and conceal him here, till the
law-supporters had forgotten about him.'
'That would be ages and ages,' said Cyril, 'and we couldn't conceal
him here.
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