While the time passed during which the negress was preparing food for the detective, he amused himself by inspecting the room in which he waited. It was evidently a reception room, used only for the accommodations of people like Nick Carter, who appeared there without any definite purpose—apparently—and presently went on their ways again, never to be heard of more.
After a time the negress reappeared and invited him to follow her; and he was conducted to the spacious dining room where Liza had spread food enough for three hungry men.
“It’s on’y jes’ a cold snack, honey,” she said apologetically, “but it sure was de bestes’ I cud do on so short notice. Dar ain many strangers what gits in h’yere from de main road. It suttinly is clar-to-goodnes clean off’n de trabbled road.”
“So your master isn’t at home, eh?” said the detective, helping himself to the good things before him.
“No, sah, dat he ain’t.”
“And your mistress is away, too?”
“Yassir; yassir. She done gone away, too.”
“It is rather strange that uncle should have said she was here.”
“Say, ain’t I done tol yo’ dat my ol man is de hugest-most liah in de worl’? My, my, yo’ don’ wanttuh go for to b’lieve wat dat man tells yo’. Tain’t safe, nohow. He suttinly is de onliest man I know what can’t tell de truth; he suttinly is.”
“Well, auntie, maybe you can tell me how to go from here to Hague. I want to go there in the morning, after breakfast.”