A throaty chuckle from the doorway followed the words. Schwandorf emerged, carrying a big bottle.
"Yet there is one thing to be thankful for, gentlemen," he said. "In all this town there is not one man who attempts to play a trombone."
The others laughed. Thomaz appeared with bottles and thick cups. Corks were drawn, liquids gurgled, matches flared, cigars glowed. Without warning Schwandorf shot a question through the gloom:
"Have you seen Cabral—the superintendent?"
"Yes."
"Ask him about the wild man?"
"Yes."
"Get any information?"
"Nothing definite. He suggested that we see you."
"So."