She shrugged her shabby shoulders and waited, her eyes, her expression, her very attitude indifferent, yet dully watchful.

“You know the Sagamore, Mayaro?” I asked.

“You say so.”

“Where is he to be found?” I continued patiently.

“Why do you desire to know?”

The drab was exasperating me, and I think I looked it, for the slightest curl of her sullen lips hinted a scornful smile.

“Come, come, my lass,” said I, with all the patience I could still command, “there is a storm approaching, and I do not wish to get wet. Answer my civil question and I’ll thank you and be off about my business. Where is this Sagamore to be found?”