“Say no mo’ ’bout it,” protested Uncle Abe, when Bill put his hand on his shoulder.
“Look here, Uncle Abe,” he broke in, “you’re one of the grandest guys I know. Some day perhaps we can even up things a bit. You ran a big risk for us, you know.”
The old man smiled and blinked at them for a moment. “Then, yo’all must be sleepy—I sho’ is. You kin take the back room if you will, Missy. Marse Bill an’ me’s gwine ter hit de hay in here.”
“Who was that man, Uncle Abe?” asked Dorothy, stifling a yawn with the palm of her hand. “What did his card say, I mean?”
“Spec’ he’s a deteckative, Missy. De card say ‘Michael Michaels, Private Inquiry Agent’.”
“Evidently he’s got his eye on Joyce,” summed up Bill. “Wonder who he’s working for?”
“What interests me more just now,” said Dorothy, “is how Mister Michael Michaels knew we were hidden here.”
The old man chuckled.
“He’s sho’ ’nuf a smart man, Missy. It wuz de tracks on de trail. He know’d I done never make dem tracks. He know’d dey wan’t nobody else’s but yourn.”
“How come, uncle?” asked Bill.