“Five miles out down the road?”
“Yas, Busha, an’ den dey takes him an’ puts him in an awfulmobile and runs off wid him. Ah t’inks to myself dat ain’ des right. When Ah gets back to town, Ah’s goin’ to hunt up dat gen’muns wot spoke to him dis mawnin’ and acquaint him with de circumplexes.”
“Great Scott! This is a clew, indeed. Do you know where they were going to take him?” choked out Sam.
“Yas, Busha. I hear dem say de Lion’s Mouf.”
“The Lion’s Mouth!”
“Dat’s right, massa. De Lion’s Mouf ol’ time name fo’ a mighty big hole in de groun’ out at ol’ Don Pedro’s Castle. Don’ nobody hardly never go dar. White folks don’ know ’bout it. Niggers all scared ob dere bein’ a ghos’. Ah was dere once when Ah was lil’ an’ dat’s all I know ’bout it.”
De Garros, with the excitable nature of his race, was hopping about from foot to foot. As the old negro finished speaking, he burst out:
“Do you want to make some money?”
The old man’s eyes popped out of his head. Here was another chance to make money. Things were coming his way. But he deemed it well to be prudent.
“Oh, as ter dat, I ain’t particular. Ah’m right tired an’——”