"To whom will I send it?" inquired George.
"You know that lane that leads by Edward Ripley's house at the upper turn of Broadway?"
"I do," said George. "There's a picket-fence at the further entrance of the field, and a path and turnstile lead through the orchard."
"Aye," said Colonel Hewes, "that's it. Have you ever marked the old gnarled apple-tree—the third one to the left of this same path?"
"I have," said George.
"On the further side," went on the Colonel, "is a hollow limb. When you have written out your paper, place it in the hollow as far back as you can reach. The next night go there, and you will find your answer. It will direct you in what way to proceed. It will not do for you to be seen talking with any one at first, for you must be a complete stranger. Now, there's a disguise—not much, for disguises excite suspicion. Young Blount has Indian blood; many good families up the Hudson have. Your hair is brown."
"Nearly red," put in George, laughing.
"We'll soon remedy that," said Mr. Hewes. "And you must change your walk, for Blount is slightly lame."
"Where is he?" asked George.
"He is safe enough," said Mr. Hewes, "and even without these papers it would be impossible for him to accomplish what you can with them. But I have forgotten to ask one thing."