After leaving the Garth, Foster went to Carlisle, where he bought small
articles at different shops and had them sent to his hotel, addressed
to Featherstone. He also asked if any letters for his partner had
come, and then, having done all he could think of to give his pursuers
a hint, waited to see what would happen. He imagined that since Daly
seemed to be well provided with money he would not undertake the search
alone, and there were private inquiry agents who would help him. The
services of these gentlemen would not be cheap, and Foster wondered if
the fellow knew that there was not very much to be extorted from
Featherstone. This, however, was Daly's business, and seeing no result
from his experiment, he resolved to leave Carlisle.
He reached the station undecided where to go. A Midland express would
shortly start for the south, but it would be difficult to leave a clew
in the big manufacturing towns, and there was a stopping train soon
after the other on the North British line, which traverses the Border
hills. Foster preferred this neighborhood, because he was beginning to
know it and it was not far from the Garth, but after a few moments'
consideration went to the Midland ticket window.
A row of passengers were waiting their turn, and as he took his place
in the line a man crossed the floor and stood behind him. There was
nothing suspicious in this, but the fellow had not come in by the
entrance hall, and if he had been in the station, it was strange he had
not got his ticket earlier. When his turn came, Foster asked for a
ticket to Appleby in a husky voice, and when the booking clerk
demanded, "Where?" looked over his shoulder. The man behind was
leaning forward, as if to catch his reply.
"Appleby," said Foster, who had seen by a railway map that the town was
not far off, and getting his ticket, joined the passengers on the
platform. As he did so, the long train came in, but knowing that it
would be a minute or two before the engine was changed he walked up the
platform leisurely, looking into the carriages. There was some bustle,
for people were getting out and in, and he kept out of sight among them
until the guard waved his flag. Then he stepped behind a truck loaded
with milk-cans as the train rolled away.
If the man he had noticed had been watching him, he thought he had put
him off the track, but he had no time to lose if he meant to catch the
stopping train. He got in as it started, choosing an old carriage
without a corridor, so that nobody could spy on him. They jolted over
the crossings, the old red wall of the city rolled by and dropped
behind, and as they ran out towards the open country across the Eden,
Foster thoughtfully lighted a cigarette. He had tried to put his
pursuers on his partner's supposititious trail, but it began to look as
if they were not following Lawrence but him. His injured hand could
hardly have escaped notice, and he was not really like Lawrence, of
whom Daly would no doubt have given his agents a good description.
He wondered who was on his track, and with what object. Daly would
gain nothing by molesting him, and he could not see why the police
should take an interest in his movements, but he was being watched, and
felt uneasy. He was not sure that he had sent the last man off to
Appleby, although he hoped he had.
The train, which stopped now and then, ran across flat fields until it
entered the valley of the Esk. The valley narrowed as they sped
through the woods beside the stream, and when the line turned up the
water of Liddel bleak hills began to rise ahead. The trees and rich
cultivation were gradually left behind, the air got keener, and lonely
moors rolled down to the winding dale. It got dark as they followed
the river, and soon afterwards Foster alighted at a small station.
Nobody else left the train except two or three country people, and he
went to an inn in the straggling little town.
Next morning he set off on foot, heading northeast into the hills. He
walked leisurely, because he was going to Jedburgh, but had not made up
his mind if he would get there that night, since Pete had told him of a
farm where he could stop.
About four o'clock in the afternoon he stopped near the middle of a
barren moorland and looked round. The road ran back into the strong
yellow glow of the sunset, but it crossed a ridge about a mile off, and
there was nobody in sight. It was very rough in places, but he thought
a skillful driver could take a car over it. To the east, where the
horizon was hazy, the high ground fell away, and he thought he could
strike another road to Jedburgh in three or four miles if he crossed
the heath. There seemed to be no reason why he should do so, but he
left the road and some time later came to a burn that ran down hill.
By and by a rough track began in a marish field and got smoother as it
followed the burn. Then a hedge of tall thorns, with wool-fringed gaps
between their stems where the sheep went through, ran down the
waterside, and Foster sat down on a stone and studied his map. He
thought it would take him nearly two hours to reach Jedburgh, but the
small farm Pete had spoken of was not far off. The track he was on
seemed to lead to a better road in the valley. Mist was gathering in
the hollow, but when he looked back the sky was bright and the yellow
glow rested on the hill. The evening was very calm; he heard a curlew
crying far off across the moor, and then raised his head sharply at a
quick ringing sound. There was a wire fence up the hill, which he had
got over because the rotten gate stuck fast. Somebody had stumbled in
climbing it and his foot had struck the wire.
Foster's eyes narrowed as he gazed up the track and saw two figures
come round a corner. They were too far off to be distinct, but were
walking fast. If he sat still, he would be invisible for two or three
minutes but not longer, and he quickly studied his surroundings. There
were large boulders and brambles between him and the water, and the
tall hedge offered a hiding place on the other side. It might be wiser
to get out of sight, but he would make an experiment, and dropped a few
wax matches and a London newspaper he had bought in Carlisle. The
country people did not use wax matches and London newspapers were not
common among the Border moors.
Then, moving slowly, he made for the hedge. There were only a few
bushes between him and the approaching men, but he had a good
background, into which his figure would melt, and was ready to lie down
if needful. He paused for a moment at the edge of the burn, which
spread out in a shallow that reflected the fading light. He might be
seen against the water, but something must be risked, and if the men
were looking for him, they would watch the road. Stepping into the
stream, he waded across, making as little splash as possible, and found
a hole in the hedge, through which he crawled. He was now in the
shadow and it would be difficult to distinguish him among the thick
stems.
The men were plainly visible and did not look like country people, for
the hill farmers and shepherds walk with a curious gait. Foster
crouched down and waited, knowing he would get a useful hint when they
reached the spot he had left. They stopped and one picked up the
newspaper, while his companion bent down and got up with something in
his hand. Foster, seeing that the fellow had found the matches,
wondered whether he had made the trail too plain. If they suspected
the trick, they would know he was not far off and search for him.
He could not distinguish their faces and regretted this, because it
would have been useful to know the men again, and when they began to
talk their voices were too low for him to hear what they said.
Presently one left the road on the opposite side to the stream and
climbed the bank, on which he stood as if he wished to look across the
moor. The other walked along the edge of the grass with his head bent,
but Foster thought it was too dark to see any footprints he might have
left. The fellow came on a few yards towards the stream, and then
stood still while Foster tried to study him, but could only distinguish
his face as a white oval in the gathering dark.
He was anxious and puzzled, because he did not know whether the men
wanted him or Lawrence. The nearer of them would, no doubt, see him if
he crossed the burn, but Foster thought he might seize and put the
fellow out of action before the other came up. This, however, would be
risky, and since he did not know their intentions he was not sure he
would gain much if he came off victor. To his relief, the man went
back and joined his companion in the road, where they stood looking
about, and then set off rapidly down hill as if they had decided to go
on to Jedburgh.
When their footsteps died away Foster turned back along the hedge and
struck across the moor in the dark. It would be better to avoid
Jedburgh, and he must try to find the house that Pete had told him of.
He had some trouble in doing so and on the way fell into a bog, but at
length a light blinked on a hillside and he came to a small building,
sheltered by a few stunted ash trees. A shed thatched with heather and
a rough stone byre stood near the house, and a big peat-stack filled
one end of a miry yard. A dog ran out and circled around Foster,
barking, until an old man with a lantern drove it off and asked what he
wanted.
Foster said he wanted shelter for the night and was willing to pay for
the accommodation, to which the other replied that they did not take in
strangers. When Foster stated that Long Pete had told him to go there
he hesitated, and finally said, "Weel, ye can come awa' in and see the
mistress."
The flagged kitchen was very clean and a big peat fire burned in the
grate. A black oak meal-chest stood against the wall and old-fashioned
china filled the rack above. On the opposite side, there was a large
cupboard, which Foster thought concealed a bed. The room was warm and
looked comfortable after the wet moor. Then Foster turned to the
red-cheeked old woman who sat knitting by the fire and fixed on him a
quietly-scrutinizing gaze. He explained that he was tired and wanted
to stay the night, adding that Pete had said they would be willing to
accommodate him.
"What for no', if ye're a friend o' his?" she asked. "It's a lang road
to Jedburgh. But ye'll be wanting some supper."
Foster confessed that he was hungry and after a time sat down to a
plain but appetizing meal. When this was over he gave his host his
tobacco pouch and for an hour or two they talked and smoked. The man
farmed a patch of sour moss-land, but he was marked by a grave
politeness and asked his guest no awkward questions. Foster thought
the woman was studying him, but she restrained her curiosity and he
admitted that the manners of both were remarkably good. He was
beginning to understand and like the lowland Scots, though he saw that
some of the opinions he had formed about them were wrong.
They were reserved, essentially practical, and industrious, but they
had, when one came to know them, a certain reckless humor that one did
not often find among Englishmen. Then they were marked by an
individualistic independence of character that made them impatient of
authority. They were not turbulent or given to protesting about
freedom, but they could not be cajoled or driven. It was strange to
find a well-organized fraternity of poachers in a quiet, law-keeping
country, but one must allow something for habits inherited from
moss-trooper ancestors. Foster had noted their respect for good
landlords of ancient stock, but this did not prevent them using the
landlord's salmon and game. Since he had, so to speak, been made a
member of the band, it was comforting to feel that they could be
trusted, and he was somehow sure of this.
He slept soundly in the cupboard bed and made an excuse for staying at
the farm next day, but as he stood outside the house in the afternoon
his host came up.
"There were two men on the Jedburgh road asking about a stranger on a
walking tour."
"Ah!" said Foster. "Do you know whether they asked if the man they
wanted wore a glove?"
"They did that!"
Foster pondered. He was being searched for, and his host knew he was
the man inquired about, but the old fellow's face was expressionless.
"Since I didn't get so far as the road, they'd learn nothing."
The other's eyes twinkled. "I wouldna' say they would find out much if
they cam' up here."
"Well," said Foster, "I don't know yet if I'll go on to-day or not."
"Ye ken best aboot that," the farmer answered with Scottish dryness.
"I dinna' see much objection if ye're for stopping another night."
He went off, but Foster felt satisfied that he was safe with him, and
presently strolled round to the peat-stack where he sat down in the
sun. There was a hollow where the peats had been pulled out, and the
brown dust was warm and dry. Lighting his pipe, he began to think. He
was being watched, but whether by the police, or Daly, or somebody
else, there was nothing to show. He did not think his poaching
adventure had much to do with it, but he had taken the packet to
Newcastle, although he had been warned against this. There was a
mystery about the packet.
For a time he got no further, and as he sat, gazing vacantly across the
moor, the sun went behind a cloud and the freshening wind whistled
round the stack. It got cold and Foster's pipe burned out, but he did
not move. Hitherto he had been working in the dark, feeling for a
clew, but he began to see a glimmer of light and presently clenched his
fist with an exclamation. The light dawned on him in an illuminating
flash.
He had been tricked and made a tool. Carmen had acted by her father's,
or somebody else's, orders when she gave him the packet, and the man in
Edinburgh had enclosed something before he sent him on to Newcastle.
Nobody would suspect him and that was why he had been entrusted with
the packet in Canada. It was now clear that he had been made use of to
carry the stolen bonds to Great Britain. Carmen, of course, knew
nothing about them, but had been influenced by Daly. Perhaps she was
in love with him, but in the meantime this did not matter. Foster
filled his pipe again, because he meant to solve the puzzle while the
light was clear and his brain was working well.
Alice Featherstone had given him the first hint of the truth when she
suggested that the packet was somehow connected with his being watched
and Daly's pursuit of Lawrence. Of course it was! The police had not
much ground for suspecting him, but he had come to England without any
obvious business, and if Hulton or his agents had warned them, they
would inquire about strangers from Canada. Then he began to see why
Daly was determined to find Lawrence.
Fred Hulton had been robbed and killed and Daly was implicated in the
crime, if he had not committed it himself. The fellow's first object
was not blackmail; he meant to use his power over Lawrence to ensure
his secrecy. Lawrence was the only person who had seen the murderer.
It could not have been clear if he had mistaken him for the watchman or
not when he went into the pay-office at the factory, and as long as a
doubt remained Lawrence was the greatest danger the gang had to reckon
on. Foster felt sure there was a gang. Admitting all this, one could
understand why Daly meant to find Lawrence, but Foster began to see how
he could make use of the situation.
He had been easily deceived and the plotters no doubt thought him a
fool. Suppose he took advantage of their belief and asked for an
answer to his message or something of the kind? He might by good luck
get a letter or find out enough about them to explain what had happened
in Canada. The vague plan appealed to him strongly. He was savage at
the way he had been tricked, and it would be something to circumvent
the people who had made him a tool. Besides, he could not go to the
police yet: Lawrence's secret must be kept. He must first of all gain
such a hold on Daly as would render him powerless to injure his
comrade. After that, when he knew how far the man was implicated in
the robbery, he could decide what ought to be done. Well, he would go
to Newcastle and see Graham, to whom he had given the packet, but he
might need help and thought he knew where to find it. Getting up with
a quick, resolute movement, he went back to the house.
"I'm going to write to Pete and bring him here," he said to the woman.
"I don't suppose you'll turn me out before he comes."
She gave him a quiet, searching glance, and her husband seemed to leave
the matter to her.
"For a' his poaching, ye'll find Pate an honest man," she answered
meaningly.
"So am I; it's an honest man I want. You have trusted me and I'll
trust you as far as I can when Pete arrives. Shall we leave it until
then?"