At the door of his house he saw a figure, and as he drew near he beheld a negro. The man was small but wiry, and of considerable age, judging from his grey wool. He was quietly dressed in a garb as black as his face, and he grinned as Eustace appeared. "You write dis?" he asked, holding out Frank's letter, and when Jarman nodded, grinned again. "I am Tamaroo," said the black man. CHAPTER XIX A STORY OF THE PAST "Tamaroo!" repeated the negro, showing a good set of teeth for so old a man. "I come about the letter." Eustace looked at him, and remembered a certain negro who had been waiting for Anchor at the time the miner was shot. Evidently Anchor had been about to explain that the man was waiting, when the bullet struck him. "Tamaroo!" murmured Eustace. "I might have guessed that so queer a name would be connected with something barbaric. Come in!" In a few minutes they were seated in the study. Jarman, since the departure of Miss Cork, had not sought out another housekeeper, so he had no fear of eavesdroppers. Denham was likely to be engaged with Mildred for at least an hour, so the interview between himself and Tamaroo would not be interrupted. He observed that the negro was much above the ordinary class. He had a certain dignity about him, wore none of the barbaric colours in which his race delight, and, moreover, spoke surprisingly good English. Occasionally he lisped in the true nigger fashion, but on the whole his speech would not have disgraced a moderately educated white man. As soon as he sat down, Tamaroo gravely mounted a pair of spectacles, and took out a bundle of papers tied up with red tape. "One moment!" said Eustace, loading his pipe, as he thought he could talk better while smoking. "Was it you who pasted the town with the Scarlet Bat?" "Yes. It was me, sir." Tamaroo did not say "sah" as an ordinary negro would have done. "I wanted to know where you were, and as you were hiding I could do nothing else to make you know that I wanted to see you." "Hold on!" said Jarman, seeing the mistake. "How do you know I am Frank Lancaster?" "You could not have written this letter if you were not, sir," said Tamaroo, decisively. "My old master gave a direction to the lady aunt who looked after you, and it was to be given to you on--" "On the twenty-fifth of September. It's not the date yet." "No, sir. But I thought you might get the letter before. The mark on your arm, sir, would draw your attention to the Scarlet Bat on the walls, and you would ask for the letter." "But I say, Tamaroo, why do you come along before the time?" "There is danger, sir--great danger--and I want to save you." "Not me. You wish to save Frank Lancaster." Tamaroo looked up quickly, and replaced the bundle of letters in his breast-pocket. "And you, sir?" "I am the friend of Mr. Lancaster. You can show me the--" Tamaroo was on his feet before Eustace finished, and in his right hand he held a revolver.