Foster spent the next day lounging about Edinburgh and looking out for
Daly, whom he had expected to follow him. He, however, saw nothing of
the man, and felt half disappointed, because he missed the excitement
of the chase. It was too cold and wet to roam the streets with much
enjoyment, there was no good play at the theaters, and he had seen
picture palaces in Canada. Moreover, he had led an active life, and
having nothing to do soon began to get irksome. It was curious that he
had never felt bored at the Garth, even when he scarcely saw Alice
during the day, but then the Garth had a peculiar charm. It was
possible that Daly had gone back there, and he had been a fool to leave.
He was sitting in the hotel smoking-room next morning when a stranger
came up and sat down close by. The man had a quiet, thoughtful air,
and lighted his pipe. There was nothing about him to indicate his rank
or occupation, and Foster wondered what he wanted.
"I hope you won't object to my asking if you're a Canadian?" he said.
"I don't know if I object or not. Anyhow, I'm English."
"But perhaps you have been in Canada," the stranger remarked politely.
Foster looked hard at him. "I haven't the pleasure of your
acquaintance, but had better hint that you're wasting time if you're a
friend of Daly's."
The stranger smiled and Foster saw that he had been incautious. "I
don't know the gentleman."
"Then what is your business?"
"If you insist on knowing, I'm connected with the police."
"Well," said Foster, "I'll pay you a compliment by stating that I
wouldn't have imagined it; but I don't understand what the police have
to do with me."
"It's very possible that they have nothing to do with you, but you can
perhaps make that plain. You signed the visitor's book John Foster,
which doesn't quite correspond with the letters on your bag."
"Ah!" said Foster, "I begin to understand. No doubt, you noticed
Lawrence Featherstone's name on the lock, and the Canadian Pacific
label?"
"I did," the other admitted with humorous dryness.
Foster pondered. On the whole, he was glad he had registered in his
proper name, though he had been tempted to give Featherstone's, in case
Daly made inquiries. He had, however, decided that the latter probably
thought they were both in Great Britain and would expect them to keep
together. He did not doubt that his visitor belonged to the police,
because an impostor would be easily found out.
"Featherstone's my partner and I took his baggage by mistake when we
left a small Canadian town," he said, and added after a pause: "I
expect the explanation sounds rather lame."
The other smiled, but Foster felt he was being subjected to a very
close scrutiny. Although sensible of some annoyance, he felt inclined
to like the man, who presently resumed: "You have been in Edinburgh
before."
"For a day; I left in the evening and went to Newcastle."
"To Newcastle?" said the other thoughtfully. "Did you stay there?"
"I did not," said Foster, thinking frankness was best. "I went back to
a country house in Northumberland that belongs to my partner's father.
Lawrence Featherstone and I own a sawmill in Canada, but at present I'm
taking a holiday in the Old Country."
He could not tell if the man was satisfied or not, for he asked
abruptly: "Who is the Mr. Daly you mentioned?"
"I really don't know. It looks as if he were something of a
blackmailer, and I must admit that I was trying to keep out of his way."
The man pondered for a minute, and then getting up gave Foster a card.
"Very well; I don't think I need keep you. You have my address if you
should want to communicate with me."
He went out and Foster thought he had not handled the situation with
much skill. It was a mistake to mention Daly and perhaps to state that
he had been to Newcastle. He thought the man looked interested when he
heard this. Then it was curious that he seemed to imagine Foster might
want to write to him; but he began to see a possible reason for his
being watched. Hulton had, no doubt, sent somebody over to inquire
about the stolen bonds, and if the man had discovered anything
important, he might have asked the help of the police. In this case,
the movements of strangers from Canada would be noted. The trouble was
that Foster could not be frank with the police, because Lawrence's
secret must be carefully guarded.
In the afternoon he entered a fashionable tea-room and sat for a time
in a corner. The room was divided into quiet nooks by Moorish arches,
from which lamps of an antique pattern hung by chains and threw down a
soft red glow. Heavy imitation Eastern curtains deadened the hum of
voices and rattle of cups. The air was warm and scented, the light
dim, and Foster, who had often camped in the snow, felt amused by the
affectation of sensual luxury as he ate iced cakes and languidly
watched the people. He could only see two or three men, one of whom he
had noticed at the hotel and afterwards passed in the street. This was
probably a coincidence, but it might have a meaning, and he moved back
behind the arch that cut off his corner. When he next looked about,
the fellow had gone. There were, however, a number of pretty,
fashionably-dressed girls, and he remarked the warm color in their
faces and the clearness of their voices. The Scottish capital seemed
to be inhabited by handsome women.
He was, however, somewhat surprised when one came towards him and he
recognized the girl he had met at Hawick station. He had hardly
expected her to claim his acquaintance, as she obviously meant to do.
"You seem to be fond of Edinburgh," she remarked, sitting down at his
table.
"It's an interesting city. I'm a stranger and ignorant of your
etiquette; but would I be permitted to send for some cakes and tea?"
"I think not," she answered, smiling. "For one thing, I must go in a
minute."
Foster waited. The girl had good manners, and he thought it unlikely
that she was willing to begin a flirtation with a man she did not know;
besides she had stopped him sending for the tea. She was pretty, and
had a certain air of refinement, but it was a dainty prettiness that
somehow harmonized with the exotic luxury of the room. This was a
different thing from Alice Featherstone's rather stately beauty, which
found an appropriate background in the dignified austerity of the Garth.
"Are you enjoying your stay here?" she resumed. "I begin to think I've
had enough. The climate's not very cheerful, and the people seem
suspicious about strangers."
"The Scots are proverbially cautious," she answered carelessly, but
Foster thought he saw a gleam of interest in her eyes. "I suppose
somebody has been bothering you with questions?"
"Yes; as I'm of a retiring character, it annoys me. Besides, I really
think it's quite unjustified. Do I look dangerous?"
"No," she said with a twinkle, "if you did, I shouldn't have ventured
to speak to you. On the contrary, you have a candid air that ought to
banish distrust. Of course, I don't know if it's deceptive."
"You have to know people for some time before you understand them, but,
on the whole, I imagine I'm harmless," Foster replied. "That's what
makes it galling. If I had, for example, a part in some dark plot, I
couldn't resent being watched. As it happens, I merely want to get as
much innocent pleasure as possible out of a holiday, and feel vexed
when people won't let me."
The girl gave him a quick, searching look, and then said carelessly,
"One can sympathize with you; it is annoying to be watched. But after
all, Edinburgh's rather dull just now, and the cold winds are trying to
strangers."
"Is this a hint that I ought to go away?"
"Do you take hints?" she asked with a smile. "Somehow I imagine you're
rather an obstinate man. I suppose you took the packet to Newcastle?"
"I did," Foster admitted in an apologetic voice. "You see, I promised
to deliver the thing."
"And, of course, you kept your word! Well, that was very nice of you,
but I wouldn't make any rash promises while you stay in this country.
Sometimes they lead one into difficulties. But I must go."
She left him with a friendly smile, and he sat down again in a
thoughtful mood. It looked as if she had had an object in talking to
him, and she had learned that he had gone to Newcastle and had since
been watched. He gathered that she thought the things had some
connection, though her remarks were guarded. Then she had given him
another hint, which he meant to act upon.
Leaving the tea-room, he walked for a short distance and then stopped
on the pavement in Princes Street and looked about. It was dark, but a
biting wind had cleared the air. At one end of the imposing street a
confused glimmer marked the neighborhood of the Caledonian station, and
when one looked the other way a long row of lights ran on, and then
curving round and rising sharply, ended in a cluster of twinkling
points high against the sky. The dark, blurred mass they gathered
round was the Castle rock, and below it the tall spire of the Scott
monument was faintly etched against the shadowy hollow where the
gardens sloped away.
Now he had resolved to leave the city, Foster felt its charm and half
resented being, in a manner, forced to go, but walked on, musing on the
way women had recently meddled with his affairs. To begin with, Carmen
had given him the troublesome packet, then it was largely for Alice
Featherstone's sake he had embarked on a fresh adventure, and now the
girl in the tea-room had warned him to leave the town. It was a
privilege to help Alice, but the others' interference was, so to speak,
superfluous. A man could devote himself to pleasing one woman, but one
was enough.
After a few minutes he stopped and looked into a shop window as a man
passed a neighboring lamp. It was Daly and the fellow moved slowly,
although Foster did not think he had seen him yet. He would know very
soon and for a moment or two he felt his heart beat, but when he looked
round Daly had passed. Foster followed and saw him enter the tea-room.
This was disturbing, although Foster remembered that he had told nobody
he was going there. He decided to leave Edinburgh as soon as he could
next morning and bought a map of southern Scotland on his way back to
the hotel.
After dinner, he sat down in the smoking-room near a man to whom he had
once or twice spoken. The latter was a red-faced, keen-eyed old
fellow, and looked like a small country laird.
"I've come over to see Scotland and have been long enough in the
capital," he said. "After all, you can't judge a country by its towns.
What would you advise?"
"It depends upon what ye want to see?" the man replied.
"I think I'd like the moors and hills. I get enough of industrial
activity in Ontario, and would sooner hear the grouse and the
black-cock than shipyard hammers. Then I'd prefer to take my time and
go on foot."