‘I swear I saw it, I did, I did,’ says the lippy horseman pointing back towards the island.
‘You saw what, may I ask?’ asks the armless one.
‘Fungus Face, Mister Mask the Fungus Face! He made some bad ju ju down there.’
‘Do do?’
‘Ju Ju! He do an autopsy or something on someone or something, I don’t know what. Couldn’t make it out.’
‘You should go back and make it out,’ says the armless one.
‘Come on! Who do you think I am, Poirot or Quincy?’ asks the horseman
‘Quincy.’
‘And who do you think he is?’
‘Quincy.’
‘Well, I’m not going back, not for you, not for no one, not even for Quincy.’
