“It is.”
“And you are here?”
Tom laughed; and the one-eyed man looked hurriedly at the paper.
“It does not say anything about your laughing,” he informed Tom, at last, “but I suppose it’s all right. But, let us get down to business. Here are,” and he drew out a bulky packet, “your instructions.” He handed the packet to Tom without more ado, and drew out another paper; this one had an official look and bore a large seal. “And here,” went on the man, “is your permit to enter the city and leave it as you will, without fear and without question, and to have what helpers you require bear you company.”
He handed the permit to Tom; then he turned and began stumping away on his wooden leg and cane, without another word. Tom arose hastily; the papers were not for him, he was confident of that. He was about to call to the man to return; but the permit—the free and unquestioned entry into Charleston—was too much; he sank back into his seat and watched and watched the wooden-legged man until he disappeared down the long, dusty road.
Then he looked at the passport carefully. It bore the signature and seal of Cornwallis and, as the man had said, permitted the bearer to pass in and out of the city at all hours and with whatever company rode with him. It bore no name other than that of the signature, and Tom grew puzzled and disturbed.
“Perhaps,” muttered he, “it is for me, after all. Some one in the city might have known of my desire to save Laura, and my father and——”
But the thing was too improbable. It was, indeed, impossible. The packet which the man had said held instructions lay upon his knee; it was not sealed, the several documents which it contained were merely laid loosely together. Tom thought for some time over the right and wrong of looking into this packet; it could not have been meant for him; therefore would it be right to examine it?
It took but a few moments, however, for him to decide; it was perfectly right to gain information from the enemy by intercepting his despatches; and these papers might be something of that nature. His mind once made up he was soon acquainted with the secrets that the papers held. They were written in a large, flowing hand; but, just like the passport, none of them contained the name of the person for whom they were intended. And, in this case, the name of the writer was lacking, also! Opening the first Tom read:
“Your venture has become known to us in a rather strange way. It is dangerous, but may do great good. In any case, you may depend upon us to do all that we can for you. The passport which I send you will admit you into the city. Come to-night, and alone; as the clock strikes ten stand in front of the king’s statue near Lord Rawdon’s headquarters. I will have a person there to conduct you to me.”