XVII
THE LETTERS
The sky had cleared when Foster left the car at the end of the line and headed towards open country. On the whole, he thought he was fortunate to get out of Newcastle safe, because there were grounds for believing that Graham had found out the trick. If this were so, he would certainly try to recover the documents. On the surface, it seemed strange that the fellow had let him take them away; but, when one came to think of it, as soon as he had written and sealed the letters he was helpless.
In order to keep them, he would have had to overpower Foster, for which he had not the physical strength, while any noise they made in the struggle might have brought in help. Then supposing that Graham had by some chance mastered him, he would not have gained much, because Foster would have gone to the police when he got away. It was, of course, absurd to think that Graham might have killed him, since this would have led to his arrest. He had accordingly given up the letters, but Foster felt he was not safe yet. He might be attacked in some cunning way that would prevent his assailants being traced. It depended upon whether the documents were worth the risk, and he would know this soon.
In the meantime he was entering a belt of ugly industrial country. Now and then the reflected glare of a furnace quivered in the sky; tall chimney-stacks and mounds of refuse showed faintly in the dark, and he passed clusters of fiercely burning lights and dull red fires. He supposed they marked pithead banks and coke-ovens; but pushed on steadily towards the west. He wanted to put some distance between himself and Newcastle before he stopped.
After a time a row of lights twinkled ahead and, getting nearer, he saw chimneys, dark skeleton towers of timber, and jets of steam behind the houses. It was a colliery village, and when he passed the first lamps he vacantly noticed the ugliness of the place. The small, grimy houses were packed as close as they could be got, the pavement was covered with black mud, and the air filled with acrid smoke. Presently, however, he came to a pretentious hotel, built of glaring red brick and ornamented with sooty paint. He wondered what accounted for its being planted there; but it offered shelter for the night and he went in.
He admitted that he had slept in worse places than the room he was shown, although it looked far from comfortable, but the supper he got was good, and he afterwards entered a small room behind the bar. There was a bright fire, near which he sat down when Pete went away. The strain he had borne had brought its reaction; he felt tired and slack. There was another room across the passage, and he smelt rank tobacco and heard voices speaking a harsh dialect and the tramp of heavy boots on boards. The door was open and men with curiously pale faces that did not look clean passed now and then. Foster thought they were colliers and he had nothing to fear from them.
He had two or three companions, who sat round a small table and seemed by their talk to belong to a football committee. The landlord treated them with some deference, as if they were important people, but Foster wished they would go. He wanted to examine the letters, but thought it safer to wait until he was alone, since inquiries might afterwards be made about him. At length the footballers went way, and shutting the door, he turned his chair so that he could see anybody who came in, without looking round. It was satisfactory to note that the table would be between him and a new-comer.
Before opening the letters, he tried to recollect what had happened in Graham's office. The fellow sat in front of a desk with a row of pigeon-holes and sides that prevented Foster's noting exactly what he did after he began to write. In consequence, Foster could not tell if he had put anything except the letters in the envelopes, although he had taken some papers from the safe. It looked as if Graham had not meant him to see and had not trusted him altogether from the beginning. Now he probably knew he was an impostor, although this was not quite certain. Foster took out the envelopes, and broke the seal of the first, which was addressed to Daly, without hesitation.
It contained a tourist agency's circular cheque for a moderate sum, payable by coupons at any of the company's offices in England and Canada, and Foster saw the advantage of this, because, as the offices were numerous, one could not tell where the coupons would be cashed. Then he found a letter, which he thought bore out his conclusions, although, on the surface, it did not tell him much. It stated that Jackson's business had been satisfactorily transacted in Berlin, but the Hamburg matter had not been arranged yet. Lascelles had had some difficulties in Paris, but expected to negotiate a sale.
Foster carefully folded the papers and replaced them in his pocket. The names were probably false, but they stood for agents of the gang, whose business was, no doubt, the sale of the stolen bonds. He remembered Percival, the treasurer's, statement that the securities might be disposed of on a Continental bourse, and Hulton's reluctance to advertise their loss. Well, he now had proof that Daly was, at least, a party to the theft, and ground for believing him to be open to a more serious charge. The fellow was in his power.
He, however, hesitated a moment before opening the letter to Carmen. He was half-afraid of finding her to some extent implicated in the plot; and it was with relief he saw nothing but another envelope inside the first, which he threw into the fire. The enclosed envelope was addressed to a man he did not know, and he thought Carmen's part would be confined to giving it to her father, or somebody else, who would pass it on. Tearing it open, he found a cheque on an American bank for a thousand dollars, but the payee's name was different from that on the cover. Foster put it away and lighted his pipe.
Some of the bonds had obviously been sold and there were a number of men in the plot, though it was possible that they did not know all about the Hulton tragedy. Foster understood that one could dispose of stolen securities through people who would undertake the dangerous business without asking awkward questions, if the profit were high enough. Still he thought Graham knew, and this would give him an incentive stronger than his wish to save the money for trying to get the letters back. Indeed, Foster imagined that he was now in serious danger. Graham's run to the telephone had alarmed him.
Nobody came in and by degrees the room across the passage got quiet as its occupants went away. It was some relief that the noise had stopped, but Foster liked to feel that there were people about. He was tired and began to get drowsy as he lounged in front of the fire, but roused himself with an effort, knowing he ought to keep awake. For all that, he did not hear the door open, and got up with a start as a man came in. Then his alarm vanished for Pete stood looking at him with a sympathetic twinkle.
"I ken what ye feel," the latter remarked. "It's like meeting a keeper when ye hae a hare in the lining o' yere coat."
"Yes," said Foster, "I expect its something like that. But where have you been?"
"Roon' the toon, though it's no' verra big or bonnie. Then I stopped a bit in the bar o' the ither hotel. Sixpence goes some way, if ye stick to beer."
"I hope you didn't say much if there were strangers about."
Pete grinned. "I said a' I could; aboot the sheep and bullocks we were going to look at up Bellingham way; but, if it's only comfort, there's no strangers in the place but a commaircial who deals with the grossers and anither who got a good order from the colliery. Maybe that's worth the money for the beer!"
"It certainly is," Foster agreed. "We'll have a reckoning at the end of the journey, but here's your sixpence." Then he looked at his watch. "Well, I think it's late enough to go to bed, and you can order breakfast. We had better get off as soon as it's light."
"There's a train to Hexham at nine o'clock, the morn. It might suit ye to start for the station, even if ye dinna' get there."
"No," said Foster thoughtfully. "We'll pull out by some by-road before that. You see, the train comes from Newcastle."
He went to his room, which was next to Pete's, and after putting the letters under his pillow quietly moved a chest of drawers against the door. The lock was a common pattern and could probably be opened by a key from any of the neighboring rooms. He was half-ashamed of this precaution, but admitted that he was getting nervous. Hitherto he had found some amusement in leaving a trail for his pursuers, but there was a difference now. For all that, he slept soundly until he was awakened by a noise at the door. It was dark and somebody was trying to get in. Seizing his pistol, he leaned on one elbow, ready to spring out of bed, and then felt keen relief as he heard Pete say, "Dinna' keep on knocking! Leave the hot water outside."
"Yes; put it down, thanks," said Foster, who got up, feeling angry with himself.
It looked as if the person outside had been knocking for some time, and the landlord's curiosity might have been excited had he heard that his guest had barricaded his door. Dressing by gaslight, he found breakfast ready when he went down, and day broke soon after the meal was over. Foster paid his bill and set off with Pete, taking the main road west until they reached the end of the village, where some men were working on a colliery bank. Pete indicated a lane that branched off to the north.
"Yon's our way, but I'm thinking we'll gang straight on for a bit."
They followed the main road until the men were out of sight, and then crossing some fields, turned into the lane they had passed, which rose steadily to higher ground. After a time they found another road running straight towards the west. This was the old military road, made when the Romans built the Pict's wall, and long afterwards repaired by General Wade, who tried to move his troops across to intercept Prince Charlie's march. Foster sat down for a few minutes at the corner and looked back at the distant chimney-stacks and trails of smoke.
The railway and the road by which the main traffic went followed the valley of the Tyne, but the military road kept to the edge of the bleak moors. He gathered from the map that it was, for the most part, lonely, and thought Graham would expect him to go by train; the latter probably knew enough about him to anticipate his making for Liddesdale, and as there were not many trains running north from Hexham, would reckon on his traveling by Carlisle. If this were so, and he was being looked for, his pursuers would now be in front of him instead of behind, and he saw some advantage in keeping them there. Still he must not lose much time in finding Daly; for one thing, it would be awkward if the police arrested him while he had the checks in his pocket. All the same, he meant to visit the Garth, tell Alice he had been successful, ask is she had news of Lawrence, and try to overcome Featherstone's suspicions. Then, if Lawrence had not written yet, he must go back to Canada as soon as he had seen Daly.
Beyond this Foster's plans were vague; he did not know, for example, how he could force Daly to keep Lawrence's secret, without promising to withhold evidence that would bring the man to justice. But he might find a way and was tired of puzzling about the matter. In a sense, he had taken a ridiculous line from the beginning and perhaps involved himself in needless difficulties. His partner, however, must be protected, and in the meantime he had two objects; to avoid the police and Graham.
"Perhaps we had better keep the military road until we strike the North Tyne," he said to Pete. "Then, if nothing turns up to prevent it, we might risk stopping for the night at Hexham."
Having the day before them, they set off at a leisurely pace. The air was cold but still, and bright sunshine shone upon the tableland, which rolled north, rising steadily towards distant snow-streaked hills. Nothing suspicious happened, and late in the afternoon they came down into the valley of the North Tyne and turned south for Hexham. As they did so they passed an inn and Foster stopped. They were some distance from Hexham and he felt hungry, while the inn looked unusually comfortable. He was tempted to go in and order a meal, but hesitated, for no very obvious reason.
"We'll wait and get dinner when we make Hexham," he said, setting off again.
A thin wood, separated from the road by a low fence, ran between them and the river. The light was faint among the trees, the road narrow, and presently they heard a car coming towards them. It was going very fast and when it lurched across an opening in the hedge round a bend Foster put his hand on the fence and swung himself over. Pete followed silently, but when they stood in the shadow among the dry undergrowth Foster felt annoyed because he had yielded to a half-instinctive impulse. He must, of course, be cautious, but there was no reason for overdoing it.
Next moment, the car, which swung towards the fence as it took the curve, dashed past, and Foster set his lips as he saw Graham, who seemed to be gazing up the road. Then the car vanished among the trees, and Pete looked at him curiously.
"Is yon the man frae Newcastle ?" he asked.
"Yes," said Foster grimly; "I rather think we were just in time. It's very possible that he'd have run over me if I'd been in the road. An accident of that kind would have suited him well. But I thought I was a fool for jumping."
Pete nodded. "I ken! When ye feel ye must do a thing, it's better just to do it and think afterwards." Then he raised his hand. "She's stopping!"
The throb of the engine suddenly slackened, as if the driver had seen the inn, and Foster got over the fence.
"It's lucky we didn't stop for a meal; but, although it may be risky,
I'm going back."
They kept along the side of the road, where the ground was soft, but Foster was ready to jump the fence if the car returned; the noise would give him warning enough. After a few minutes they stopped and waited in the gloom of a hedge, where they could see the inn. The car stood in the road and it was empty. Graham had obviously gone in to make inquiries, and Foster wondered whether anybody had seen him and his companion pass. He would know when Graham came out, and moved a few yards farther until he reached a gate, which he opened, ready to slip through. There was no need to warn Pete now the latter understood matters. One could trust a poacher to hide himself quickly.
Foster felt some strain. It was disturbing to find Graham already on his track and he wondered whether the fellow had been to Carlisle. It would be awkward if he went to Hexham. After a few minutes two men came out of the inn and Foster waited anxiously while one cranked the car, but they drove on when the engine started. Then, as he turned back, the throbbing stopped again and he beckoned Pete.
"They don't know you and it's getting dark. Go on and see which way they take."
He kept close to the hedge when Pete vanished. The car had stopped where the military road cut across another that followed the river into the moors, and Graham apparently did not know which to take. It looked as if the fellow had ascertained that he was not at Hexham. After a time he heard the car start. It was not coming back, but he could not tell which way it went, and waited in the gathering dark for Pete's return.
"They'd gone before I cam' up, but I heard her rattling on the hill to my left han'," he said.
"That means they've gone west towards Carlisle."
"There's anither road turns aff and rins north awa' by Bellingham."
Foster frowned, because this was the road he meant to take next day, and if his pursuers did so now, it would be because they expected him to make for the Garth. They were, however, in front, where he would sooner have them than behind, and he set off down the valley for Hexham. He found the old Border town, clustering round the tall dark mass of the abbey, strangely picturesque; the ancient Moot Hall and market square invited his interest, but he shrank from wandering about the streets in the dark. Now he had Graham's checks, he must be careful; moreover his knapsack and leggings made him conspicuous, and he went to a big red hotel.
He sent Pete to an inn farther on, because it seemed advisable that they should not be seen together, although he would have liked to know the man was about. After dinner, he sat in a quiet nook in the smoking-room, reading the newspapers and keeping his gloved hand out of sight, until it was time to go to bed.
XVIII
SPADEADAM WASTE
About eleven o'clock next morning Foster stopped at the top of a hill and sitting down on a broken wall lighted his pipe. In front, the undulating military road ran straight across the high tableland to the west. To the south, a deep hollow, the bottom of which he could not see, marked the course of the Tyne. Plumes of smoke rose out of the valley and trailed languidly across the sky, for the river flowed past well-cultivated fields, old-fashioned villages, and rows of sooty cottages that clustered round pithead towers. Human activity had set its stamp upon the sheltered dale, alike in scenes of quiet pastoral beauty and industrial ugliness.
It was different to the north, where the shaggy moors rolled back in bleak, dark ridges. There were no white farmsteads here; one looked across a lonely waste that had sheltered the wolf and the lurking Pict when the Romans manned the Wall, and long afterwards offered a refuge to outlaws and cattle thieves. Foster's way led through this desolation, but his map indicated a road of a kind that ran north to the head of Liddel. He must decide whether he should take it or plunge into the wilds.
Since Graham was in front of him, he had probably gone to Liddesdale, with the object of finding if Foster was at the Garth. If he did not come back by the road he had taken, he would watch the railway that roughly followed it across the moors from Hexham, which seemed to close the latter to Foster and make it dangerous for him to go near the Garth at all. Nevertheless he meant to see Alice before he looked for Daly, and he turned to Pete.
"On the whole, I'd sooner keep off the road. Is there a way across the heath to the upper Liddel?"
"I wouldna' say there's a way," Pete answered with a dry smile. "But I can take ye ower the Spadeadam waste, if ye do not mind the soft flows and some verra rough traiveling. Then I'll no' promise that we'll win farther than Bewcastle to-night, an' if there's much water in the burns, we'll maybe no' get there."
They struck across a rushy field, crept through a ragged hedge, and came out upon rough pasture that gradually merged into the heath. A green bank and a straggling line of stones, some fallen in large masses and some standing two or three feet high, presently stretched across their path, and Foster stopped for a few moments. The bank and moat-like hollow he looked down upon marked the vallum; the squared stones, to which the lime still clung, apparently undetachable, the murus. He was looking at the great rampart a Roman emperor had built. He understood that it was higher and less damaged farther west and would have liked to follow it, but he had something else to think about than antiquities.
The heath got rougher when they left the wall. Spongy moss grew among the ling that caught their feet, and the ground began to rise. Looking at the sun, Foster saw they were not taking as northerly a line as he had expected, but the back of a bold ridge rose between them and the west and he supposed Pete meant to follow its other side. They stopped to eat the food they had brought where a stream had worn away a hollow in a bank. The sun, striking the wall of peaty soil behind them, was pleasantly warm. It was a calm day, with slowly-drifting clouds, and gray shadows streaked the wide, brown waste.
There was no house in sight and only in one place a few scattered dots that looked like sheep. Getting out his map, Foster noted that they were crossing the high neck where the Pennine range slopes down to meet the southern spurs of the Cheviots. He had seen nothing in Canada wilder or more desolate than this bleak tableland.
In the afternoon they toiled up the rise he had noticed in the distance, winding in and out among soft places and hummocks of the peat, but when they came to the top there was not the dip to a valley he had expected. The ground was rougher than before, and the moor rolled on, rising and falling in heathy undulations. By degrees, however, it became obvious that they had crossed the water-shed and were descending, for streams that increased in size crossed their path. So far, none were deep, but the ravines they ran through began to seam the gradual slope and Foster understood Pete's remark that something depended on there not being much water in the burns.
Looking back after a time, he saw the crest of the moor run up behind them against the sky, and the next ravine they came to was awkward to climb down, while he was wet to the knees when he crossed the burn. A mile farther on, he reached another that was worse and they had to work back along the crumbling sides of its channel to find a place to cross. After this their progress was marked by erratic curves, and Foster was soon splashed with black peat-mud and green slime. By and by they came to a broad level, shut in by a ridge on its other side, and picked their way carefully between clumps of rushes and curious round holes filled with dark-colored water. The ground was very soft and walking became a toil, but Pete held steadily to his winding course and Foster, although getting tired, did not lag behind.
They were some time crossing the bog and when they reached the foot of the rise, which ran in a long line between them and the west, the light got dimmer suddenly. A yellow glow that seemed to come from low down flushed the sky, but the rough slope was dark and the hummocks and gullies on its side were losing their distinctness. Foster felt somewhat daunted by the prospect of pushing across the waste after darkness fell, and doggedly kept level with Pete as they went up the hill obliquely, struggling through tangled grass and wiry heath. When they reached the summit, he saw they were on the western edge of the tableland but some distance below its highest point Though it was broken by rolling elevations, the ground ran gradually down to an extensive plain where white mist lay in the hollows. A belt of saffron light lingered on the horizon, with a half-moon in a streak of green above, and one or two twinkling points showed, faint and far off, in the valley.
"Yon," said Pete, "is Bewcastle dale, and I ken where we'll find a welcome when we cross the water o' Line. But I'm thinking we'll keep the big flow in our left han'."
Instead of descending towards the distant farmsteads, he followed the summit of the rise, and Foster, who understood that a flow is a soft bog, plodded after him without objecting. The heather was tangled and rough, and hid the stones he now and then stumbled against, but it was better to hurry than be left with a long distance to cover in the dark. Indeed, as he caught his feet in the wiry stems and fell into holes, he frankly admitted the absurdity of his adventure, a sense of which amused him now and then. He was in a highly civilized country, there were railways and telegraph lines not far off, and he was lurking like an ancient outlaw among the bogs! It looked as if there must be better ways of meeting his difficulties, but he could not see one. Anyhow, he had determined to save his partner, and now, if his plans were hazy and not very wise, it was too late to make a sweeping change.
After a time Pete stopped abruptly, and then dropping into a clump of heather, pointed backwards down the long slope on their right hand. Foster's sight was good, but he admitted that the poacher's was better, because it was a minute or two before he saw any ground for alarm. Although there was some light in the sky, the rough descent was dark and it was only by degrees he distinguished something that moved across the heath, below and some distance away. Then he realized that it was a man, and another became faintly visible. They might be shepherds or sportsmen, but it was significant that there were two and they seemed to be ascending obliquely, as if to cut his line of march. He remembered that as he and Pete had kept the crest of the ridge their figures must have shown, small but sharp, against the fading light.
"It's suspicious, but I wouldn't like to say they're on our trail," he remarked.
"Ye'll soon ken. Watch the bit scaur."
Foster saw a faint dark line down the hill, and supposed it was a gully, torn out of the peat. It ran nearly straight up, crossing the strangers' indirect course to the summit, and would make a very rough means of ascent, but if they entered it the men would be out of sight. He blamed himself for not looking back before but had felt safe in the wilds, and even now it was hard to believe that the men were following him. Straining his eyes, he watched them move towards the gully, and set his lips when they disappeared. It was plain that they meant to get as close as possible before they were seen.
He did not move for the next few moments, but his brain was busy. Graham might have come back down the north road in his car and afterwards taken to the moors, but it was difficult to understand how he had found Foster's track. Chance, however, sometimes favored one in a curious way; the fellow might have found out that he had left the road and expected him to stop the night in Bewcastle dale. Since Foster had Pete with him, he was not, in one sense, afraid of Graham. Although the fellow was, no doubt, dangerous, he was not likely to force an equal fight. The risk would come if Graham found him alone and at a disadvantage, when Foster thought it would go hard with him. This was why he could not have the men on his track, watching for the right moment to strike. It was, however, possible that the strangers were police, and he lay in the heath with knitted brows until Pete touched him.
"They wouldna' find us easy if we keepit still, but I'm no' for spending the night among the bents," he said. "I'm thinking we'll try the big flow and lose them in the mire."
He rose and crossing the summit started down the incline, while Foster followed as fast as he could. It would be some time before the others reached the spot they had left, but the light of the sinking moon touched the face of the hill and as long as they were moving their figures could be seen. When they reached the bottom Pete headed west, and presently stopped at the edge of a wide level space. Tufts of wild cotton gleamed lividly in the moonlight, and here and there a sparkle marked a pool, but, farther on, a trail of mist stretched across the bog. It did not look inviting, and when Pete stopped for a few moments Foster heard the water bubble through the wet moss in which his feet sank.
"The black burn rins on the ither side, and there's just one place where ye can cross," Pete said thoughtfully. "An old shieling stands on a bit dry knowe near the middle o' the flow, and I wouldna' say but we might spend the night there, if it was needful."
Foster left it to him, although he was not much attracted by the thought of spending the night in the bog, and Pete moved forward cautiously. He seemed to be following a track, because he went straight ahead, tramping through clumps of rushes, and splashing into pools. Foster noted that the latter were shallow, though he had fallen into bog-holes that were deep. They tried to move silently, but they made some noise, and he felt relieved when they plunged into a belt of mist that would hide them from their pursuers. By the look of the ground to left and right, he imagined that a stranger who lost the track would have serious trouble in regaining firm soil,
When they came out of the mist, however, he began to find the silence daunting. On the hills one could hear the grouse and plover crying and the murmur of running water, but an oppressive quietness brooded over the flow. Nor could he see much except rushes, treacherous moss, and dully-glimmering pools. By and by, however, a dark mass loomed through the haze and Pete stopped and looked back.
For a moment or two Foster heard nothing, and then there was a splash and a noise, as if somebody was floundering through the rushes. The sounds were nearer than he had thought possible, and he glanced at his companion.
"They're no' traiveling badly and they've keepit the track so far," Pete remarked. "Maybe ye wouldn'a care to try their speed for the next two or three miles?"
"Certainly not," said Foster; "that is, if there's another way."
"Weel," said Pete, "they're surely nearer than I thought, and might see where we crossed the burn. There's nought for't but the shieling on the knowe."
He went on, and the dark mass ahead grew into a rocky mound covered with small trees. They were birches, because Foster saw their drooping, lacelike twigs above the low mist; and the indistinct object among their stems was the shieling. It was obvious that the hut would catch the eyes of the men behind if they came close enough, and he stopped where the ground rose.
"We'll no' gang in yet," said Pete.
They skirted the mound, which was larger than Foster thought and broken by out-cropping rock, and when a thick screen of the birches rose between them and the building, crept into a nook among the stones. Foster imagined that the others might search for half the night without finding them unless they were lucky. Then Pete remarked in a meaning tone: "There's just the twa, and I hae a good stick."
Foster smiled. He was tired, wet, and savage, and would have liked to confront Graham and settle their differences by force; but the matter could not be treated in this primitive way. He could not shoot the men, and would be no better off if he overpowered and threw them in the bog. They would know where he was and would follow him as close as was safe, while he wanted to shake them off and make them uncertain whether they were on his track or not. Besides, his antagonists might avoid a conflict.
"The thing's too complicated to be straightened out by knocking somebody down," he said. "But I'm glad I'm not here alone."
In the meantime, the others were getting nearer, for Foster heard them splash through the wet moss and stumble among the rushy grass. They were walking fast, which indicated that they thought themselves some distance behind the fugitives; but stopped when they saw the birches, and then came on again cautiously. Foster could not see them until their blurred figures appeared among the trees. So long as he kept still there was little chance of his being found.
The moonlight filtered through the low mist that rose half-way up the thin birch trunks on the top of the mound, but the shieling stood on a lower level, and when they went towards it the men's forms got very indistinct. They vanished, but he knew they had gone in when a pale stream of light flickered among the trees.
"A polisman's trick," Pete said in a low voice. "A poacher would not ha' let ye see the light."
Foster felt that he must find out who the men were. The thing was risky, but it was worth trying, and he crawled out from behind the stones. The rock was rough and wet; his hand plunged into some water and he scraped his knee, but he made a few yards and then stopped and lay flat as the light went out. It looked as if the others had heard him, and he lowered his head until his face was buried in withered fern. There was silence for a few moments, and then his nerves tingled as he heard steps; the men, he thought, were coming out to look for him. He did not move, however, and the footsteps got farther off. By and by there was a sharp rustle and he cautiously looked up. Two hazy figures showed among the trees, but it was plain that they were going away.
It was impossible to follow them without being heard, and he waited until Pete joined him. So far as he could judge by the noise they made, the men were hurrying across the bog.
"They're awa', but I wouldna' say they'll no' come back," Pete remarked. "If they dinna' strike the right place, they'll no' find it easy to cross the burn. She rins in a deep cut an' the bottom's saft."
"What's likely to happen if they get off the track?"
"Weel," said Pete, with a chuckle, "it's verra possible they'll stop in the flow till morning, maybe up to the knees in mire. I dinna' think there's much reason they should get in deeper, but they might."
"But suppose they find the way and cross the burn?"
"Then, if they ken the dale, I would expect them to haud a bit south for Shopford, where they would find an inn, or maybe west by the Clattering ford to Canonbie. If they dinna' ken, it's likely they'll hae to sleep behind a dyke. Noo, however, we'll turn back and gang up the dale."
They recrossed the bog and skirted the moor for some time, after which they went down a long slope and reached a level space of grass and heath. They followed it north until a light shone ahead and the barking of dogs indicated that they were approaching a farm. Pete went in first, and Foster did not know what explanation he gave, but the farmer told him to sit down when he entered the big, flagged kitchen. He was not surprised when a woman who came in looked at him curiously, because he was wet and splashed, and bits of fern and heather stuck to his clothes, but his hosts asked no questions and presently gave him supper.
Soon afterwards he was shown a comfortable room and went to bed, leaving Pete with the others in the kitchen. Foster was glad to feel he could be trusted not to tell them too much, although he would, no doubt, have to satisfy their curiosity to some extent. A hint went a long way with the reserved Borderers.
XIX
ALICE'S CONFIDENCE
Foster got up late and after breakfast sat by the kitchen fire, studying his map. He imagined that his pursuers, believing him to be in front, had crossed the low ground towards the cultivated valley of the Esk, where they would not have trouble in finding shelter for the night. Then, if they thought he was making for the Garth, the railway would take them up Liddesdale.
He meant to visit the Garth, although this might prove dangerous if Graham and his companion watched the neighborhood. So long as Pete was close at hand, the risk might not be great, but Pete could not be with him always and he thought Graham would stick at nothing to get his papers back. One of the gang had killed Fred Hulton, and Foster did not suppose the others would hesitate about getting rid of him, if it could be done without putting the police on their track. A shot or stab in the dark would effectually prevent his betraying them, and it might be made to look like an accident, or perhaps as if he had killed himself. Foster, as a rule, distrusted anything that looked abnormal or theatrical, but admitted that he might be in some danger. For all that, he was going. There was no need for an early start, because he did not want to arrive in daylight and the distance was not great. Then he meant to avoid the high roads, and after a talk with Pete picked out his route across the hills. It was eleven o'clock when they set off, and they spent an hour sheltering behind a dyke while a snowstorm broke upon the moor. The snow was wet and did not lie, but the soaked grass and ling afterwards clung about their feet and made walking laborious. The sky was gray and lowering and there was a bitter wind, but they pushed on across the high moors, and when the light was going saw a gap in a long ridge in front. Foster thought this marked the way down to the Garth.
It was nearly dark when they reached the gap, through which a brown stream flowed, and he could see nothing except dim hillsides and the black trough of the hollow. Pete said they must follow the water, and they stumbled downhill among the stones beside the burn. As they descended, a valley opened up and a rough track began near a sheepfold. Although it was dark, Foster saw that they were now crossing rushy pasture, and they had to stop every now and then to open a gate. The stream was swelling with tributaries from the hills and began to roar among the stones. Birches clustered in the hollows, the track became a road, and at length a group of lights twinkled across a fir wood and he knew the Garth was not far ahead.
Now he had got there, he almost wished he had kept away. He was not sure of his welcome and did not know what line to take if Featherstone showed his doubts. For one thing, he did not mean to talk about his adventures in Newcastle and on Spadeadam waste. The affair was too theatrical for the unimaginative country gentleman to believe, and for that matter, when Foster went up the drive past the well-kept shrubberies and lawn he found it hard to realize that he had been hunted by determined men and was now perhaps in danger of his life. Featherstone, living in his quiet house, could not be expected to credit such a romantic tale. Graham's letters would to some extent corroborate his statements, but not unless Featherstone accepted his surmises as correct; but Foster admitted that after all pride was his strongest motive for saying nothing. If Featherstone distrusted him, he must continue to do so until Foster's efforts to help Lawrence were successful.
He braced his courage when he rang the bell, but John, who let him in, did not seem to find anything remarkable in his choice of a companion. Pete looked very big and rather truculent in his rough, wet clothes, but he was not embarrassed.
"This is a friend of mine," said Foster. "I should be obliged if you will look after him."
John showed no surprise at his statement. "Very good, sir; I think I can promise that. Will you give me your coat, sir?" Then he beckoned Pete. "If you please, come with me."
He took Pete away and Foster wondered with some amusement what they thought of one another. A few moments afterwards Alice came in, dressed with a curious elegant plainness that he thought suited her. Alice needed no ornaments, and fripperies would have struck a jarring note. Foster sometimes called her stately, though he felt that this was not quite what he meant. She had a certain quiet grace, touched with pride, that he had never noticed about anybody else, although he admitted that his knowledge of girls like Alice Featherstone was small. Now, however, she was not as calm as usual, for her eyes had a keen sparkle and her look was animated. He wondered whether he could believe this was because she was glad to see him.
"You have not been long," she said with a welcoming smile. "Have you succeeded?"
"On the whole, I think so," Foster answered modestly.
"That's splendid!" she exclaimed and he could not doubt the approval in her voice. It sounded as if she meant to applaud him as well as show her satisfaction with the consequences of his exploit.
"Well, I haven't got very far yet, although I imagine I'm on the right line. But have you heard from Lawrence?"
"No," she replied and her satisfaction vanished. Indeed, Foster was somewhat puzzled by the change. "I must confess that I'm getting anxious now."
Foster nodded, "Then I must go and look for him as soon as I've had a reckoning with Daly."
"Daly has been here——" she said and stopped as Mrs. Featherstone came in.
The latter looked at Foster rather curiously, but gave him her hand and seemed to take it for granted that he meant to resume his stay. She said her husband had gone to dine with a neighbor and would not be back for an hour or two, and then let Foster go to his room.
Dinner was served soon after he came down, but while they talked freely about matters of no importance Foster noted a subtle difference in Mrs. Featherstone's manner. She was not less friendly than usual, but she asked no questions about his journey and avoided mentioning Lawrence. It looked as if she knew her husband's doubts, but Foster somehow thought she did not altogether share them. In the meantime, he tried to act as if their relations were perfectly normal, but found it hard, and now and then glanced at the clock. It was a long way to the nearest inn and he wondered when Featherstone would return, because he could not accept the hospitality of a man who distrusted him.
When dinner was over, he went with the others to the drawing-room and did his best to engage them in careless talk. Alice supported him when his efforts flagged, as they sometimes did, and once or twice gave him a half-amused, half-sympathetic glance. He did not know if he was grateful for this or not, but saw that she knew what he felt. If Mrs. Featherstone guessed, she made no sign; she treated him with the graciousness one would expect from a well-bred hostess, but went no further.
It was a relief when Featherstone came in. He made a little abrupt movement when he saw Foster, to whom he did not give his hand. The latter thought he looked disturbed.
"I am sorry I was not at home when you arrived," Featherstone said.
"Still, I had no reason for thinking you would be here."
"In fact, you were rather surprised to see me," Foster suggested.
Featherstone looked at him as if he thought he had been blunter than was necessary, but replied: "Well, I suppose that's true, but I have no doubt Mrs. Featherstone has made up for my absence, and since you have come, we would like to talk to you about Lawrence. I dare say you will give us a few minutes."
He opened the door as Mrs. Featherstone rose, and Foster went with them to the library, where Featherstone sat down at a big table. It was here he wrote his business letters and occasionally attended to magisterial duties, and Foster thought this was why he had chosen the place. It, no doubt, gave him a feeling of authority. Mrs. Featherstone sat by the fire, but Foster was surprised when Alice came in. Featherstone glanced at her with a frown.
"It might have been better if you had stayed downstairs and left this matter to your mother and me," he remarked and waited, as if he expected his wife to support him, but she did not.
"No," said Alice; "I am beginning to get anxious about Lawrence, and if Mr. Foster can tell us anything fresh, I ought to hear it. But I don't think he can. I believe he told us all he knew before."
Featherstone looked disturbed by her boldness, but Foster felt a thrill. Alice was on his side and meant to show the others her confidence in his honesty. He wondered what Featherstone would do, and was not surprised when he made a gesture of resignation. Foster knew his comrade well, and imagined that Featherstone was very like Lawrence. The latter was physically brave, but sometimes gave way to moral pressure and vacillated when he should be firm. Both showed a certain lack of rude stamina; they were, so to speak, too fine in the grain. Foster, however, had other things to think about, and indeed felt rather like a culprit brought before his judges. Then Mrs. Featherstone relieved the unpleasant tension.
"We have not heard from Lawrence yet and do not understand it. Can you do anything to set our fears at rest?"
"I'm sorry I can't," said Foster, and seeing he must deal with the matter boldly, asked Featherstone: "Have you any ground for believing I have not been frank?"
"It is an awkward question. You are our guest and my son sent you to us. I must add that we had begun to like you for your own sake; but I have grounds for supposing that you kept something back. To begin with, Daly, whom you told us you meant to mislead, was here again yesterday."
"Did you give way to his demands? It's important that I should know."
Featherstone hesitated, and Foster saw where his suspicions led, but for the next moment or two was absorbed by speculations about Daly's visit. Then Alice looked at her father with a smile.
"You can tell Mr. Foster. It's obvious that if he was in league with the fellow he would have no need to ask."
"I did not give way," said Featherstone. "He must have seen that I was determined, because after the first I thought he did not press me very hard."
"Ah!" said Foster; "that was curious, but we'll let it go in the meantime. I suppose there is something else?"
"Since you left, the police have paid me another visit. They asked some rather strange questions, besides inquiring where you were."
"Which you couldn't tell them!"
"I didn't know," Featherstone rejoined pointedly, and Foster saw that Alice had said nothing about his recent visit. She gave him an inquiring glance, as if she wondered why he did not state his reasons for going to Newcastle, but he looked as unobservant as he could. He could not signal her, because while this might escape his host's notice he was afraid of Mrs. Featherstone.
"Well," he said, "it might be better if you, so to speak, formulated your suspicions and made a definite charge. After all, I'm entitled to hear it."
"I do so most unwillingly, but feel an explanation is needed. To begin with, we had one short letter from my son, stating that he could not come home but you would tell us how he was getting on. This was all; he said nothing about Daly, or his starting east with you. You arrived with his portmanteau and what I now think is a rather curious story. Then, after Daly wrote, you suggested an extraordinary plan, which, as the fellow came here, has not worked very well. Besides, the police have made inquiries about you and there's something mysterious about your journeys. I do not think they were all intended to mislead Daly."
"All this is true," Foster admitted. "But you haven't stated the conclusions you draw from it."
"The conclusions are vague but disturbing. Lawrence trusted you and, you tell us, started with you for a place he did not intend to reach. Since then he has vanished. It is possible that you have deceived both him and us."
"That's rather absurd," Alice remarked. "I really don't think Mr.
Foster would make a very dangerous plotter, and you admitted that
Lawrence trusted him."
"I did," Featherstone rejoined sharply, as if he resented the interruption. "Still I don't see your argument."
"She means that Lawrence is not a simpleton," Mrs. Featherstone interposed. "For myself, I doubt if Mr. Foster could deceive him."
"We'll go on," Featherstone resumed, turning to Foster. "There was a very mysterious affair at Gardner's Crossing shortly before you left and some valuable bonds were missing."
Foster's face got red, but he laughed. "This is too much, sir! If your suspicions went so far, why did you not tell the police?"
"Ah!" said Featherstone with some awkwardness, "there you have me at a disadvantage! While Daly has the power to injure Lawrence, I must keep the police in the dark." He paused and added: "I cannot say I believed you reckoned on this."
"Thank you," said Foster, but Alice broke in: "Why don't you tell my father why you went to Newcastle?"
Featherstone gave her a surprised glance and then turned to Foster. "It looks as if my daughter were better informed than I. There is obviously something I do not know about."
"There is; but I must ask Miss Featherstone to respect my confidence in the meantime," Foster answered, and getting up, stood silent for a few moments, resting his hand on his chair.
He saw restrained curiosity in Mrs. Featherstone's face and her husband's anger, while he thought Alice knew how significant the line she had taken looked. She had boldly admitted that he knew her well enough to trust her with his secrets, and declared herself on his side. In the meantime, he was conscious of a strain that he thought the others felt and was sorry for Featherstone. He could not resent the man's anxiety about his son. For all that, he did not mean to tell him why he had gone to Newcastle. It would not make a plausible tale.
"I must own that things look bad for me," he said. "I can't offer any explanation that would satisfy you and could not expect you to take my word that I mean well. All I can do is to frighten off Daly and then find Lawrence, and I'm going to try."
"It doesn't matter much about Daly now. But if you can find Lawrence, you will clear yourself."
Alice turned to her father with an angry sparkle in her eyes. "That's a very grudging concession for us to make. We will not blame Mr. Foster when he has proved that it's impossible for him to be guilty!"
The tension was too great for any of them to be much surprised by her outbreak and Featherstone said dully, "It's logical."
"Logical!" Alice exclaimed in a scornful tone. "Do you expect Mr. Foster to be satisfied with that, after what he has borne and the risks he has run for us? Now, when things look bad for him, is the time for you to show your trust and knowledge of character."
"You imply that your judgment is better than mine?" Featherstone rejoined, but without heat.
"I know an honest man," Alice said quietly, with some color in her face.
There was silence for a few moments and by an effort of self-control Foster kept his face unmoved. He did not mean to let the others see the exultant satisfaction the girl's statement had given him. Featherstone brooded with knitted brows and a troubled look. Then he said:
"You will understand, Mr. Foster, that this has been a painful interview to my wife and me. You were our guest and my son's friend; but I do not know what has happened and we have no news of him. If you can bring him back, I will ask your forgiveness for all that I have said."
"I will do my best and get to work to-morrow," Foster answered. Then he bowed to Mrs. Featherstone and Alice, and the girl gave him a look that made his heart beat as he went out of the room.
Shortly afterwards he entered the hall, wearing his damp walking clothes, and met Mrs. Featherstone, who protested against his leaving them at night. Foster answered that he had no time to lose and beckoning Pete, who was waiting, went out. Alice had not come down to bid him good-by, but after all he had not expected this; the meeting would not have been free from embarrassment. He had much to say to her, but must wait until he had kept his promise.
He did not blame Featherstone and rather sympathized with him, but could not stay at the Garth or come back there until he had cleared up the mystery about his comrade's silence. Pete did not grumble much when they went down the drive, but said he had no friends in the neighborhood and it was a long way to the nearest inn.
XX
THE RIGHT TRACK
It was a clear night and although the moon was low its light touched the wet road as Foster walked down the dale. He had much to think about and tried to fix his mind on his main object. It would have been delightful to dwell upon Alice's interposition on his behalf, but he must not attach too much importance to this yet; after all she might have been actuated mainly by a love of justice. Besides, the sooner he kept his promise, the sooner he would be able to ask her what she had meant.
He must find Daly and thought it significant that the fellow's attempt at extortion had not been very determined. If Featherstone was right about this, it indicated that Daly suspected that Lawrence was beyond his reach and had not been at the Garth. It was possible that he had found out how he had been misled and meant to look for his victim in Canada. Foster wondered whether he would go without his money, or if he had received a share of the plunder before, since the circular check was not for a large sum. In any case, it was lucky that Daly had visited the Garth when he did, because if he had waited another day, he might have met Graham, which would have been awkward.
After some thought, Foster decided to act on the supposition that Daly would return to Canada. Then, dismissing the matter for the time, he speculated about the possibility of Graham's lurking in the neighborhood and began to look ahead. A stone dyke, broken in places, ran between the winding road and the stream it followed; on the other side, which lay in shadow, thin birches straggled up a steep hill. The moon was low and would soon sink behind the trees, when it would be very dark. When he looked back he could not see the lights of the Garth. He was on the road to the station, and remembered that there was a train from the south in the evening.
Taking out his watch, he calculated that anybody who left the station on foot when the train arrived might be expected to reach the Garth in the next quarter of an hour. This was disturbing, but he saw nothing to cause him alarm as he went on. Now and then a rabbit, startled by his footsteps, ran across the road, and once or twice an owl hooted as it fluttered overhead. The river splashed among the stones and sometimes the shadows moved as a puff of wind came up the valley; but that was all. Still Foster quickened his pace; it was some distance to the village where he knew of an inn, and he wanted to get there before the people went to bed. He would not admit that he shrank from being left in the dark when the moon sank.
By and by Pete stopped to relight his pipe and uttered an exclamation when he put his hand in his pocket.
"I hae lost the guid pooch ye gave me at Hexham," he said. "I mind I filled my pipe by the big thorn where the wire fence stops, and the moon's on the road. If ye'll bide or gang on slowly, I'll rin back."
"Never mind it. I'll give you another."
"Na," said Pete. "If ye had been used with an auld tin and had a smairt pooch for the first time, ye wouldna' lea' it in the road. Besides, it was fu' o' a better tobacco than I often smoke."
Foster would sooner have kept him, but was unwilling to admit that he did not like to be alone. It was not very far to the thorn tree and Pete would soon overtake him. He went on, but did not loiter, and noted how his footsteps echoed along the edge of a wood ahead. In fact, the noise he made rather jarred his nerves, but the grass by the roadside was hummocky and wet. The road was dark beside the wood, for the moon was near the tops of the black firs, but there were gaps through which the silver light shone down.
As he passed the first of the trees he heard a rattle of wings and stopped abruptly. Wood-pigeons were fluttering among the branches, and if he had not disturbed them, there was somebody in the wood. After a few moments, the sound died away, but he stood listening. He could not hear Pete coming, and was sorry he had let him go; the road looked lonely, and he knew there was no house for some distance. Still, if he had not frightened the pigeons, it might be unsafe to stay where he was, and he did not mean to turn back. It was better to be cautious, but he must not give his imagination rein.
Bracing his courage, he went on, a little faster than before but without hurrying, and for two or three minutes heard no fresh noise. The wood ran along the road for perhaps a quarter of a mile and he was near the middle of it when there was a sharp report and something flicked against the wall behind him. He sprang aside instinctively, and then running forward smashed through the rotten fence and plunged into the wood. The nervous shrinking he had felt had gone. Now he was confronted with a danger that was not imaginary, he was conscious of savage anger and a fierce desire to come to grips with his treacherous antagonist. His fury was greater because of his previous fear.
The wood was dark and thick. Branches brushed against him and hindered his progress, crawling brambles caught his feet. He could hear nothing except the noise he made, and as the fit of rage passed away his caution returned. He was putting himself at a disadvantage, because his lurking enemy could hear him and would no doubt try another shot if he came near enough. Stopping behind a fir trunk, with his finger on the trigger of the Browning pistol, he listened. At first no sound came out of the dark, but he presently heard a rustle some distance off. There was another man in the wood beside the fellow who had fired at him, but so long as he kept still and the others did not know where he was, he had an advantage over them. They might expose themselves, and he was a good shot.
He would have liked to wait, but reflected that if he killed or disabled somebody, he would have to justify his action, and he had compromising papers in his pocket. He did not want to destroy the checks or tell his story to the police yet. Then he noticed that the rustling was getting farther away, as if the man was pushing through the wood towards the moor behind it, and he turned back half-reluctantly to the road. After getting over the fence, he kept on the wet grass, and had nearly reached the end of the wood when he heard somebody running behind him. The moon was now behind the firs and their dark shadow stretched from fence to wall. It looked as if Pete had heard the shot and was coming to his help, but Foster kept on until he was nearly out of the wood, and then stopped, standing against the fence, a yard or two back from where the moonlight fell upon the road. There was no use in running an unnecessary risk.
The steps got nearer; he heard somebody breathing hard, and a figure appeared in the gloom. Then Foster thrust the pistol into his pocket, for the man who came into the moonlight was Gordon, whom he had met at the Edinburgh hotel.
"Mr. Foster!" he exclaimed breathlessly, but Foster thought he was not surprised, and sitting on the fence took out a cigarette as calmly as he could. He had Graham's checks and must be careful.
"Yes," he said. "I didn't expect to see you."
"I imagine it's lucky that you knew me," Gordon remarked, rather dryly. "Well, perhaps we ought to have stopped you at the other end of the wood."
"You were watching it then?"
"Both ends. It's obvious now that we should have watched the middle."
"Ah," said Foster thoughtfully; "then you knew somebody was hiding among the trees?"
"We thought it very possible."
"Well, you know I was shot at, but I imagine the fellow got away. Do you mean to let him go?"
Gordon laughed. "My friends tell me I'm getting fat, and I'm certainly not so vigorous as I was. Besides, it's not my part of the business to chase a suspected person across the hills, and I have men able to do it better than I can. But you stopped as you entered the wood. Did you expect to be shot at?"
"I thought it very possible," Foster answered dryly.
"A fair retort! You were shot at. Were you nearly hit?"
"I believe the fellow would have got me if he'd used a gun instead of a pistol; but the former would, of course, have been a conspicuous thing to carry about."
"That's true," Gordon agreed. "But, after escaping, why did you stop here and run the risk again?"
Foster pondered. There was no sign of Pete, but he thought the latter could be trusted to elude the police, and did not want to let Gordon know he had felt it necessary to provide himself with a bodyguard. Something of this kind would be obvious if he stated that he was waiting for a companion.
"Well," he said, "it's annoying to be shot at, and when I heard somebody running I thought I might catch the fellow off his guard. You see, I had already gone into the wood to look for him."
"But you must have known that it would have been very rash for the man who fired the shot to run noisily down the middle of the road."
"I suppose I was rather excited and didn't remember that," Foster replied.
Gordon said nothing for a few moments and Foster saw that he had been fencing with him. He had admitted that he had partly expected to be attacked, and the other knew of the danger to which he had been exposed. This was puzzling; but it was lucky the man had not asked his reasons for fearing an attack. Foster believed he had not omitted to do so from carelessness.
Then Gordon said, "I must try to find out what my men are doing. Where are you going to stop tonight?"
Foster told him and he nodded. "I know the inn and will call there as soon as I can. Leave your address if you go before I come."
He went away up the road and Foster, setting off again, had gone about a mile when he heard steps behind him. Soon after he stopped Pete came up.
"Ye're no' hurt?" he asked.
Foster said he was uninjured, and when he asked where Pete had been the latter grinned.
"Up the hill and sitting in a wet peat-hag. There was a polisman who ran better than I thought an' it wasn'a a'thegither easy getting clear o' him."
"But why did the policeman run after you?"
"Yon's a thing I dinna' exactly ken, but when I was coming doon the road I heard a shot and saw ye break intil the wood. Weel, I thought the back o' it was the place for me, and I was follying the dyke, quiet and saircumspect, when a man jumped ower and took the heather. He had a stairt, but the brae was steep, and I was thinking it would no' be long before I had a grup o' him when the polis cam' ower the dyke behind. Then I thought it might be better if I didna' interfere, and made for a bit glen that rins doon the fell. When I saw my chance I slippit oot and found the peat-hag."
Foster knitted his brows. It looked as if Pete had drawn the police off his antagonist's track, which was unfortunate; but Gordon had evidently been watching the fellow, who would now have enough to do to make his escape. How Gordon came to be watching him required some thought, but Foster need not puzzle about this in the meantime. That Graham or his accomplice had thought it worth while to risk shooting him in order to recover the checks showed Foster that he was on the right track. Their importance did not depend on their money value; Graham meant to get them back because they were evidence of a crime. It was satisfactory to think there was not much probability of the fellow's meeting Daly, who would have an additional reason for leaving the country if he heard what had happened.
After walking some distance, he came to a straggling village, and although he had to knock for a few minutes was admitted to the inn. Somewhat to his surprise, Gordon did not follow him, and finding that there was a train to Carlisle next morning, he gave the name of a hotel there and went to the station. He had done what Gordon told him, but did not mean to stop at the hotel long.
As the train ran down Liddesdale he sat in a corner, thinking. The fast Canadian Northern boats sailed from Bristol, and Daly might choose that port if he were suspicious and meant to steal away; but Liverpool was nearer and there were more steamers to Montreal. Foster thought he could leave this matter until he reached Carlisle and got a newspaper that gave the steamship sailings. In the meantime he must decide what to do with Pete, and admitted that he would be sorry to part with the man, although he would not be of much help in the towns, and their companionship might make him conspicuous.
"I almost think I had better let you go at Carlisle," he said.
Pete looked rather hard at him, and then asked: "Have I earned my money?"
"Yes," said Foster, "you have earned it well."
"Then, if ye have nae great objection, I'd like to take pairt in the shape o' a third-class passage to Western Canada, where ye come from. I hear it's a gran' country."
"It's a hard country," Foster answered. "You had better not be rash. There's not much poaching yonder; the game, for the most part, belongs to the State. and the laws about it are very strict."
"There's no' that much profit in poaching here; particular when ye pay a smart fine noo and then. For a' that, I wouldna' say but it's better than mony anither job, if ye're lucky."
"You ought to make a good hill shepherd."
"Verra true, an' I might make a good plooman, and get eighteen shillings or a pound a week for either. But what's yon for a man's work frae break o' day till dark? An', mind ye, it's work that needs skill."
"Not very much," Foster agreed.
"Weel," said Pete, rather diffidently, "I thought ye might have some use for me, if ye've no' finished the business ye are on."
Foster doubted if Pete could help him much in Canada, since he did not expect to chase Daly through the woods. The man, however, had been useful and might be so again; then he had talents which, if rightly applied, would earn him much more in Canada than five dollars a week.
"If you mean to come, I'll take you," he said. "If I don't want you myself, I think I can promise to give you a good start."
Pete gave him a grateful glance, and Foster was silent while the train ran down the valley of the Esk. On reaching Carlisle, he went to the hotel he had named and asked for a room, but did not sign the visitors' book. He spent the afternoon watching the station, and then went to the Eden bridge, where the road to Scotland crossed the river. Daly had a car and might prefer to use it instead of the rather infrequent trains.
Foster did not know where the fellow was, but he had been at the Garth two days ago, and, if Featherstone's firmness had given him a hint, might before leaving the country revisit Peebles and Hawick, where Foster had left him the first clew. Daly was not the man to act on a hasty conclusion without trying to verify it, and Lawrence's suit-case was still at Peebles. It was possible that he had already gone south, but there was a chance that he had not passed through Carlisle yet and Foster durst not neglect it.
Dusk was falling when he loitered about the handsome bridge. Lights began to twinkle in the gray bulk of the castle across the park, and along the Stanwix ridge, which rose above the waterside to the north. The gleam faded off the river, but it was not quite dark and there was not much traffic. Daly did not come and Foster, who was getting cold, had begun to wonder how long he should wait when a bright light flashed out at the top of the hill across the bridge.
A car was coming down the hill and Foster stopped behind a tramway cable-post and took out his pipe as if he meant to strike a match. Just then a tram-car rolled across the bridge and the motor swerved towards the spot where he stood. It passed close enough for him to have touched it, and he saw Daly sitting beside the driver, and two ladies behind. He could not distinguish their faces, for the car sped across the bridge and a few moments later its tail light vanished among the houses that ran down to the river.
Foster set off after it as fast as he could walk. Daly would not go to the station, because there was no train south for some time, and the two hotels where motorists generally stayed were not far off. Still he might drive through the town, making for Kendal or Lancaster, in which case Foster would lose him. The car was not in the first garage, and he hurried to the other, attached to his hotel. He found the car, splashed with mud which the driver, whom he had seen at Hawick, was washing off.
"I want some petrol, and you had better leave me a clear road to the door," the man said to a garage hand. "I expect we'll be out first in the morning, because we mean to start as soon as it's light."
Foster had heard enough, and quickly went away. Daly meant to stop the night, and he must decide what to say to him. He was moreover curious about his companions.