The aged crone burst into a scream of wild laughter. She shook with mirth and then shrilled out in her high, cracked voice:
“He drove a brown horse, dat’s all I know. Now go look fo’ him yo’ ownselves!”
[CHAPTER XXXI—LOOK FOR A WHITE HORSE]
It was useless to try to recover the money, and the two friends had to walk off minus five dollars and followed by the derisive laughter of the hag.
“At all events, she gave us one clew,” said Sam hopefully; “the man drove a brown horse. We must look for every driver in Kingston with a brown horse.”
“As it so happens,” commented De Garros, “that is no clew at all, for I happened to notice that the equine in question was a white one.”
“Better still. A white horse should be easier to run down than a brown one,” declared Sam. “Hullo, there goes one now!”
They halted the driver, but he declared he knew nothing of the matter, having been out in the suburbs all the morning.
“Oh, well, there must be other white horses,” said Sam, as the man drove off and they turned to take up the quest afresh.
“I believe, too, I’d remember the driver if I saw him again,” said De Garros.