When he had been a few days at the Garth, Foster thought he had better
take Carmen's packet to Edinburgh. She had said nothing about its
being urgent and he did not want to go, but he must keep his promise
and would afterwards be at liberty. Mrs. Featherstone had given him to
understand that he was to make the Garth his headquarters as long as he
stayed in England, and he looked forward to doing so with much content.
The more he saw of his hosts, the better he liked them, and it was a
privilege to enjoy Alice Featherstone's friendship. She had, of
course, given it him for her brother's sake, but he must try to keep it
on his merits.
Since he had seen Alice he began to understand Carmen better. Carmen
had charm and knew how to use it to her advantage, while he could not
imagine Alice's employing her beauty to gain an object. She was proud,
with an essentially clean pride, and sincere, while Carmen had a talent
for intrigue. The latter enjoyed using her cleverness to put down a
rival or secure a prominent place; she was a hustler, as they said in
the West. Alice, he thought, would not even claim what was hers; it
must be willingly offered or she would let it go. Yet he knew she
would be a staunch and generous friend to anybody who gained her
confidence.
This kind of comparison, however, was profitless and perhaps in bad
taste. After all, he was a friend of Carmen's and must do her errand.
He left the Garth next morning, and Featherstone, who made him promise
to come back as soon as possible, drove him across the moors to a small
station on the North British line, where he caught an Edinburgh train.
When they ran out of the hills at Hawick, rain was falling and the
valley filled with smoky haze, through which loomed factories and
chimney stacks. The station was crowded, and Foster gathered from the
talk of the people who got in that a big wool sale was going on and the
townsfolk who were not at the auction made it a holiday. His
compartment was full, but looking through the window he saw a
fashionably dressed girl hurrying along the platform with a porter.
They tried one or two carriages, in which there seemed to be no room,
and the guard had blown his whistle when they came abreast of Foster's
compartment. Opening the door as the train began to move, he held out
his hand and pulled the girl in.
"My bag; it mustn't be left!" she cried, trying to get back to the
door, but Foster caught the bag as the porter held it up and put it on
the rack.
"There's a seat in the corner," he said and went into the corridor.
When they stopped at Galashiels a number of people got out, and he
returned to the compartment. It was now unoccupied except by an old
man and the girl he had helped, who gave him a grateful smile.
"I hadn't time to thank you, but I should have missed the train if you
had not been prompt," she said.
Foster did not know if Scottish etiquette warranted anything more than
a conventional reply, but he ventured to remark: "You certainly seemed
to have cut things rather fine."
"I had to drive some distance and the hill roads were bad; then when we
got to the town the streets were crowded."
"That would be sae," the old man agreed. "Hawick's gey thrang at the
wool sales when the yarn trade is guid."
Foster liked to talk to strangers and as the girl had not rebuffed him,
he took her cloak, which looked very wet, from the rack.
"Perhaps I'd better shake this in the corridor and then we can hang it
up," he said.
She allowed him to do so and the old man remarked:
"Guid gear's worth the saving, and I was thinking it would be nane the
waur o' a bit shake, but if ye had leeved to my age among the mosses,
ye'd no' find yereself sae soople."
"Any kind of gear's worth taking care of."
"That's true," agreed the other. "A verra praise-worthy sentiment, if
ye practice it. But I wouldna' say ye were a Scot."
"In a sense, I'm a Canadian, but from what I've seen of the Ontario
Scots the difference isn't very marked. Anyhow, they don't buy new
material until the old's worn out."
The man chuckled, but Foster thought the girl looked interested.
"Then you come from Canada," she said. "Do you know any of the Ontario
cities?"
"I have been in Toronto, but I know the small towns near the Manitoba
border best. In fact, I left an ambitious place called Gardner's
Crossing about fourteen days ago."
From the quick glance she gave him he imagined that she had heard of
the town, but she said, "I have some friends in Ontario and understand
that they have had what they call a set-back there. Did this extend to
the neighborhood you came from?"
Foster told her something about the development of the lumber trade and
mining, but although he had hardly expected her to be interested he
thought she was, and the old man's shrewd remarks helped the
conversation along.
"Isn't the Crossing where the big factory is? I forget the name of
it," she asked by and by.
"Hulton's," said Foster, and afterwards thought she tactfully
encouraged him to talk about the manufacturing firm, although he did
not mention Fred Hulton's death. Her manner, however, was quite
correct; he had been of some small help, which warranted her conversing
with him to pass the time. That was all, and when their companion got
out and she opened a book he went to the smoking-compartment.
When he left the train at the Waverley station he saw her on the
platform and she gave him a slight bow, but he understood that their
acquaintance ended there and was content. After lunch he walked along,
Princes Street and back to the castle. The sky was clear, the sun
shone on the old tall houses, and a nipping north-easter blew across
the Forth. In spite of its age and modern industry, the town looked
strangely clean and cold. No smoke could hang about it in the nipping
wind; its prevailing color was granite-gray. The Forth was a streak of
raw indigo, and the hills all round were steely blue. Edinburgh was
like no English town; it had an austere half-classical beauty that was
peculiar to itself; perhaps Quebec, though different, resembled it most
of all the cities he had seen.
Then he remembered Carmen's packet, and after asking a passer-by took a
tram-car that carried him through the southern quarter of the town into
a wide road, lined by well-built stone houses. Standing in small, neat
gardens, they ran back to the open country, with a bold ridge of moors
in the distance. Foster got down where he was directed and crossed the
road to one of the houses. They were all much alike and he thought
hinted at the character of their occupants. One would expect to find
the people who lived there prosperous citizens with sober, conventional
habits.
He went up a short, tiled path and rang the bell. A smart maid-servant
showed him into a small, morning-room, where everything was very neat,
and after a few moments a man came in. He was the kind of man Foster
had expected to find in such a house, well-dressed, with polite but
rather formal manners, and Foster briefly stated his business. He
thought the man looked at him sharply, but it was about four o'clock in
the afternoon and the light was not good.
"Mr. Graham does not live here now; he left a week or two ago," he
said. "Do you know him personally?"
"No," said Foster. "Miss Austin asked me to give him the packet."
"Then you know Mr. Austin."
"In a way," said Foster, smiling. "We speak when we meet on the
street, but don't get much further. In fact, Austin's a business rival
of mine."
The man seemed to ponder for a moment or two. Then he said, "I gather
that you want to deliver the packet, not to post it?"
"That's so. I don't know if it matters much, but I'd like to put it in
Graham's hands."
"Very well. He's gone to Newcastle, but I have his address somewhere.
If you will wait a minute or two, I'll look."
He took the packet, as if he meant to write the address on it, and
Foster sat down. The door of the room was half open and while he
waited somebody entered the house. Steps came along the hall, and a
girl pushed the door back, and then stopped, looking at him in
surprise. He understood this as he saw she was the girl he had helped
into the train.
"I didn't know you were coming here," she said.
"Nor did I, in a sense," Foster answered with a smile. "I mean I
didn't know it was your house."
"My name was on the label of the bag and rather conspicuous."
"It would have meant nothing if I had seen it. In fact, I must own I
don't know it now."
The girl looked puzzled, and Foster explained that he had come with a
packet, but had merely been given Graham's name and the number of the
house. He added that he had found he must look for the man in
Newcastle.
"Then you are a friend of Mr. Austin's?" she said.
Foster thought it strange that she had not told him she knew Austin
when she asked about the Crossing, but he replied: "I'm a friend of
Miss Austin's."
"Ah!" she said thoughtfully; "do you mind explaining what you mean by
that?"
"Perhaps it's hardly worth while, but I can't claim that Austin and I
are particularly friendly. Our business interests sometimes clash."
She was silent for a few moments, and he wondered why both she and the
man had been curious to know how far his acquaintance with Austin went.
Then she looked up with a quick movement. "Newcastle is not a charming
town, and if you have no other reason for going there, it might be
better to post the packet."
Foster was somewhat puzzled. She had spoken meaningly, as if she meant
to give him a hint.
"The trouble is that I promised Miss Austin to deliver it."
"You have brought it to England," she persisted. "It will be safe in
the post------"
She stopped with a glance at the door, and Foster heard a step in the
passage. Then she quietly turned to the man who had taken the packet.
"I would have missed the train at Hawick but for this gentleman's
help," she said. "Still, I did not know he was coming here until I saw
him as I passed the door."
The other, who had looked at her rather sharply, nodded and gave Foster
the packet.
"As there was room enough, I wrote the new address on the cover."
Foster thanked him and took his leave, but as the man went before him
to the door the girl made a sign.
"Post it," she whispered and turned back into the room.
After leaving the house Foster walked along the road in a thoughtful
mood. The girl was apparently the man's daughter or niece. Their
relative ages warranted the surmise, and her quick explanation of how
she came to be talking to a stranger indicated that she recognized his
authority, while Foster thought she had been disturbed when she heard
his step. It was strange that she should urge him to post the packet,
and he would sooner have done so, but it was not a long journey to
Newcastle and he must keep his promise. Then he saw a tram-car coming
and dismissed the matter.
Going back to his hotel, he found there was an evening train and
decided to leave by it. Edinburgh had attractions, but he could come
back and was anxious to get rid of the packet, moreover he grudged the
time he spent away from the Garth. There were not many passengers at
the station and he found an empty compartment, where he read a
newspaper until he got tired and lifting a corner of the blind looked
out. Here and there a light rushed back through the darkness and
vanished as the express sped south with a smoothness that was a
contrast to the jolting he had been used to in Canada. Indeed, except
for the roar when they ran across a bridge and the confused flashing
past of lamps as they swept through a station, he could hardly have
imagined himself on board a train. There was, however, not much to be
seen, and he took out the packet.
It looked somewhat bulkier and he examined it carefully, but the cover
did not seem to have been removed. It could not have been replaced by
another, because the original address was there and he knew Carmen's
hand; then there was a seal, which he did not think could have been
tampered with. Besides, the man had only had it for a minute or two,
and if he had opened it, would probably have taken something out
instead of putting something in. Foster decided that he was mistaken
about its size and returned it to his pocket.
Then he wanted a cigarette and took out the case he had got in the fur
coat. Since he had left the coat in Montreal, the case was the only
record of his adventure on the train, and he wondered whether he would
ever be able to restore it to its owner and speculated languidly about
the man. As the latter knew his name, it was strange that he had not
communicated with him at the Windsor, as he had promised. He had
obviously not been attacked, because there had been nothing about it in
the Canadian newspapers. The thing was puzzling, but after all it did
not concern Foster much and he thought about something else.
It was late when he arrived at Newcastle and went to an hotel. There
was fog and rain next morning, and he saw very little of the town,
which seemed filled with smoke. Taking a tram-car that carried him
past rows of dingy buildings and shops where lights twinkled, he got
out at the corner of a narrow street that ran back into the haze.
After looking at the address on the packet, he plunged into the gloom
beside a row of tall, sooty buildings. There was no pavement, and here
and there a cart stood beneath an opening in the wall. The buildings
were apparently warehouses, but some of the doors had brass plates and
lights shone in the upper windows. By and by he found the number he
wanted and entered a dirty arch, inside which a few names were painted
on the wall. Graham's was not there, but he went up the steps to
inquire at the first office he reached.
The lower stories were used as a warehouse and he came to the top
landing before he saw a name that seemed to be Danish or Scandinavian
painted on a door. Going in, he knocked on the counter. The office
was small and shabby and smelt of bacon, which he thought indicated
that its occupant dealt in provisions, but he could not see much
because of a glass partition. When he was getting impatient, an old
man came to the counter.
"Can you tell me if there's a Mr. Graham in this building?" Foster
asked.
"Yes, he's here," said the other. "What do you want?"
Foster said he had brought a packet from Canada, and the old man, who
looked rather hard at him, lifted a flap in the counter and told him to
pass through. A door in the partition opened as he advanced and
another man beckoned him to come in. It looked as if the latter had
heard what had passed, but this saved an explanation and Foster, who
asked if he was Graham, put the packet on a table. There was not much
else in the small, dusty room, except a cupboard fitted with
pigeon-holes, a desk, and a safe.
"This is from Miss Austin of Gardner's Crossing," he remarked.
Graham glanced at the packet carelessly, as if he did not consider it
of much importance, and Foster felt puzzled. The fellow was not as old
as Carmen's father, but Foster thought there was nothing about him that
would attract a girl used to admiration, as Carmen was. He was
certainly not handsome and had, on the whole, a commonplace look, while
he was obviously in a small way of business.
"Thank you," he said. "It seems you have been to Edinburgh. We had a
branch there, but closed it recently. Newcastle has more facilities
for importing our goods. I'm afraid you have been put to some trouble."
Foster replied that he did not mind this, since he had promised Miss
Austin to bring the packet and she was a friend of his, but although he
studied the man's face saw nothing to indicate that he was interested.
"Are you staying here?" he asked, and when Foster told him that he was
going back as soon as he could, resumed: "If you had been staying, I
would have been glad to take you about the town; but, after all,
there's nothing much in the way of amusement going on. I might arrange
to meet you in the afternoon, but must now finish some letters for the
Continental mail."
Foster said he could not wait and went out, feeling that the other was
pleased to get rid of him. Graham was obviously a small importer of
provisions, and he could not see why the girl in Edinburgh had warned
him to post the packet. Carmen's reason for sending such a man
something she valued was impossible to discern.
This, however, was not Foster's business, and after lunch he caught a
train to Hexham and, finding he could get no farther, spent the night
in the old Border town.