They did not greet each other; neither greeted the other. Josaphat: because his gullet was too dry. Slim: because his all-observing eye had darted through the room in the second in which he put his foot on the threshold, and had found something: a black cap, lying on the floor.
Josaphat followed Slim’s gaze with his eyes. He did not stir. With silent step Slim went up to the cap, stooped and picked it up. He twisted it gently this way and that, he twisted it inside out.
In the sweat-sodden lining of the cap stood the number, 11811.
Slim weighed the cap in almost affectionate hands. He fixed his eyes, which were as though veiled with weariness on Josaphat and asked, speaking in a low voice:
“Where is Freder, Josaphat?”
“I do not know....”
Slim smiled sleepily. He fondled the black cap. Josaphat’s hoarse voice continued:
“... But if I did know you would not get it out of me, anyway....”
Slim looked at Josaphat, still smiling, still fondling the black cap.
“You are quite right,” said he courteously. “I beg your pardon! It was an idle question. Of course you will not tell me where Mr. Freder is. Neither is it at all necessary.... It is quite another matter....”