"It is very dark."
All this appeared to be merely a pre-arranged signal, for it had no sooner been uttered than the owner of the voice within, who seemed satisfied of Sam's identity, struck a light, with flint and steel, and carefully closed the door.
The man was apparently a dark mulatto, and his hair was matted about his head as if with some glutinous substance.
"You sent me this note?" asked Sam.
"Yes, I gave it to the Injun. He said you'd help me."
There was a brogue in the man's voice, very slight,—too slight, indeed, to be represented in print,—and yet it was perceptible, and it attracted Sam's attention. Perhaps he would scarcely have noticed it but for the fact that all his senses were keenly on the alert. He was not at all sure that he was acting prudently in visiting this man. He had no knowledge whatever of the man, except that Thlucco had somehow found him and arranged a meeting. Thlucco had brought Sam a scrap of dirty paper, on which were traced in a scarcely legible scrawl, these words:—
"Your man must say, 'It's a dark night!' I'll say, 'Is it dark.' We will know each other then."
In delivering this note, with directions as to the method of finding the man, Thlucco had said:—
"Injun no fool. Injun know m'latter man. M'latter man tell Sam heap. Sam take m'latter man way."
By diligent questioning, Sam had made out that this man had knowledge of affairs in the British camp which he was willing to sell for some service that Sam could do him.