“It is, my friend.”
“I cannot think that he would ever have come to such a hovel of his own free will.”
“Possibly not. But you are confronted with the fact that he was here.”
“That is true. Let us ask that old hag in the doorway what she knows.”
They approached old Mother Jenny, who had hobbled to the doorway and stood watching them out of her bloodshot old eyes, puffing the while reflectively at a home-made cigar, as if ruminating on what the strangers wanted.
“We came to inquire about two young men who were here this morning,” began Sam.
The old woman’s voice rose to a shrill scream.
“What I know ’bout dem, buckra?” (White man.) “Dey come. Dey drink de cola an’ den dey pay and go. I know nothing mo’.”
“She’s lying,” whispered De Garros to Sam.
“Who was the hackman who drove them away?” demanded Sam.