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.