This determination reached, the boy hunted for some wild fruit to stay his appetite--he had nothing to eat since the night before--and settled down for the rest of the afternoon to try and dig out the meaning of his father's papers, some of which seemed so clear, while to others he had no clew. It was characteristic of the boy that, once this idea of menace to the United States had got into his head, the thought of personal danger never crossed his mind. The slightly built boy, small even for his age, the first sight of whom would have suggested a serious high-school student rather than a sleuth, possessed the cool ferocity of a ferret when that one love--his love of country--was aroused. His first step was clear. As soon as it was dark enough to cover his movements, he would go to the house of one of his father's friends, a little place built among the ruins of Cap Haitien, where they had stayed two or three times before. From references in some of the letters, Stuart gathered that his father had confidence in this man, though he was a Haitian negro. As soon as the shadows grew deep enough, Stuart made his way through the half-grown jungle foliage--the place had been a prosperous plantation during French occupation--and, a couple of hours later, using by-paths and avoiding the town, he came to this negro's house. He tapped at the same window on which his father had tapped, when they had come to Cap Haitien a week or so before, and Leon, the negro, opened the door. "But, it is you, Yes!" he cried, using the Haitian idiom with its perpetual recurrence of "Yes" and "No," and went on, "and where is Monsieur your father?" "I don't know," answered Stuart, speaking in English, which he knew Leon understood, though he did not speak it. "I have missed him." "But where, and but how?" queried Leon, suddenly greatly excited. "Was he already going up to the Citadel?" Stuart's face flushed with reflected excitement, but his eyes held the negro's steadily. Leon knew more than the boy had expected he would know. "No," he replied, "I don't think so. I shall have to go." "It is impossible, impossible, Yes!" cried Leon, throwing up his hands in protest. "I told Monsieur your father that it was impossible for him. And for you----" A graphic shrug completed the sentence. Stuart felt a sinking at the pit of his stomach, for he was no braver than most boys. But the twist of his determination held him up. "Leon," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though he felt it sounded a little choked, "isn't there the juice of some root which will turn the skin brown, nearly black?" "But, Yes, the plavac root." The Haitian peered at the boy. "You would make yourself a black man?" he continued. Stuart ignored argument. "Can you get some? Tonight? Right away?" "Ah, well; you know--" Leon began. The boy interrupted him sharply. "If my father told you to get some, you would get it," he declared peremptorily.