Forrester had at first been in a quandary as to the character in which he should approach the negress. If she were open to suspicion it would be unwise for him to pose as a detective, or openly confess to being a victim of the "Friends of the Poor." As he weighed the matter, a recollection of Humphrey offered him a suggestion. Why not, for the moment, assume the character of Humphrey and approach her as a reporter? The fact that neither Humphrey nor the detectives had at any time referred to her, and that no one outside of Joshua had mentioned her, led him to believe that her retreat in the woods had remained unnoticed. A visit by him in the guise of a reporter would probably be the first of the kind that she had received. Although he knew Humphrey had not made use of a notebook while interviewing him, Forrester believed that a notebook would impress an ignorant colored woman. In her mind it would more fully bear out his claim to being a reporter. In accordance with this idea Forrester had provided himself with a new and imposing notebook which he was prepared to pull out as soon as he started his interview with the negress. Leaving the road, Forrester followed the path around the oak and back into the woods. The thick foliage shut out every ray of sunlight and Forrester could well imagine how the gloom and silence of these woods would give full play to superstitious minds. If the negress were seeking to hide herself, the woods in themselves formed an eerie protection. The path turned sharply to the right just beyond the tree and Forrester had gone only a few yards when he was startled to find himself unexpectedly in front of her cottage. He had supposed the place to be more deeply buried in the woods, and this precipitant arrival at her door impressed Forrester at once with the negress’ accusatory proximity to the oak tree. A savage snarl greeted Forrester as he stepped into the small clearing in front of the house and he saw a half-breed dog facing him with teeth bared and hair bristling. Forrester spoke soothingly to the animal but the sound of his voice seemed only to enrage it the more and it barked loudly. He hastily glanced about for a club with which to defend himself in case the beast should attempt to attack him. Just at this moment, however, the cottage door opened and the negress stood in the doorway. She was tall and thin, with wiry, jet-black hair that contrasted strangely with the sickly yellow of her skin. Her eyelids drooped and at first Forrester thought she was squinting at him, but as he discovered later, this was a natural affection of the eyelids. It gave her a peculiarly sinister look and Forrester felt an aversion for her the moment she appeared in the doorway. She stood with her hands on her hips and silently looked him over. "How do you do," said Forrester. "Good afternoon," she returned, sullenly, her voice deep and harsh.