"I'll tell you that later. We must have a talk when we get in."
"All right," agreed the American, with a keen glance. "I'm glad I dropped across you, as I don't trust the Berrys a cent now. I always thought there was something queer about the fortune business. But before I enter your house I have to deliver a letter to Miss Starth!"
"Ah!" said Eustace, quickly, "from Miss Berry?"
"Yes. How the deuce did you know?"
"I know a great deal," replied Eustace, drily, "and I hope to know more. I'm glad you have been frank with me, Denham. I may be able to help you a lot. No, don't ask questions now. Deliver your letter, and when you come to me we can have a talk. There's the road up to the cottage. _Au revoir_ for an hour."
Denham went away directly, but he looked puzzled as he flung a parting glance at Jarman. That gentleman walked on, wondering at the lucky chance which had caused Denham to change towards Berry and his fair niece. He might learn much by dexterous questions. And Denham really seemed to have good principles, when he had revolted so completely against his tyrant. Altogether, things were shaping well, and Eustace chuckled.
At the door of his house he saw a figure, and as he drew near he beheld a negro. The man was small but wiry, and of considerable age, judging from his grey wool. He was quietly dressed in a garb as black as his face, and he grinned as Eustace appeared.
"You write dis?" he asked, holding out Frank's letter, and when Jarman nodded, grinned again. "I am Tamaroo," said the black man.