Joe made no reply and Zeke watched his thoughtful, serious face with growing anxiety. Here was one more avenue of possible solution blocked. Since yesterday afternoon no one had apparently seen him—Uncle Buzz. It was as though the world had swallowed him up. He would have to seek elsewhere. He was on the point of dismissing the matter, of going elsewhere, when a thought suddenly came to him.
"You and he were to have some business last night?" he said, looking at Zeke intently.
Zeke grinned a sheepish grin. "Yessuh, we wuz—we had a little bisnis."
"But you didn't meet him? Sure you didn't meet him?"
"Sho I neveh. I ain' able to git de—I was detain'." Zeke had learned from experience and considerable instinct to hedge his utterances about with much generality. It was a good principle. It meant less to retract.
Joe thought another moment. "Take me," he said suddenly, "to the place where you get the business." There he might find a connecting link in his chain, he felt growingly certain.
"Oveh to Mist' Bushrod's?" The inflection was perfectly naïve.
"No. Of course not—out where you get it. Over to Fillmore or wherever it is."
"Now, Mist' Joe," very reproachfully and with a quick, nervous flashing of the eyes.
Joe frowned. "You needn't put on anything with me, Zeke. I'm not going to give you away. Let's go get your car." He stretched out his arm as though to sweep Zeke into doing his bidding and started for the door.