“With me it is different,” spoke the lieutenant with a meaning in his voice that George did not grasp. “But for strangers the way is unprotected. Did you meet no one upon the road?”
“No one.”
“That is strange. Though, as I said, it’s a lonely way, still one is apt to meet a peddler now and then.”
George noted a peculiar stress upon the last part of the sentence, and his mind began to cast about for its meaning. Almost instantly he caught it, and self-control alone prevented his exclaiming aloud. The papers given him to examine by General Putnam had named one Thomas Friend, a peddler, as a suspected person. Was Lieutenant Camp, in his guarded utterance, referring to this man? Like lightning George’s mind was made up; and with a calm voice and a careless manner he said:
“I came upon no peddlers to-day; but,” and he fixed his eyes steadily upon the other’s face, “peddlers are merchants of small degree, perhaps, and I had a visit yesterday from a merchant aboard ship.”
Recollection instantly swept into the lieutenant’s face; dropping his whip he brought his palms together with a smack.
“Now I remember where I saw you. It was on the wharf near ‘The Brigantine’ inn. I am glad indeed to meet you!” He seized George’s hand and shook it energetically; then he added, eagerly: “It was Dana who told you to come here?”
George nodded; he was afraid to do more, not yet being sure of his ground. Young Camp sat down upon the settle and roared with laughter.
“No wonder,” he gasped, “you didn’t grasp my meaning readily. I thought it was Tom Friend, the peddler, who was to bring you here. By Jove, how you stared and winked.”
“The owl,” said George, “does a lot of staring and blinking. And it’s reckoned a wise bird for no other reason.”