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.

n.o.body 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 circ.u.mvent 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?"

The woman nodded. "Ye can stay until he ken what yere business is."

"Thank you," said Foster, who sat down to write to Pete.

He thought her judgment would be just, if she had not already decided in his favor. Until he came to Scotland, he had never met people who could say so little and mean so much. Moreover, he imagined one could depend upon their standing by all that they implied. They were taciturn but staunch.

XV

THE GLOVE

Pete arrived in the evening when it was getting dark, and after a meal, which they ate together, Foster moved his chair back from the table and sat opposite his companions. A lamp was burning and the red glow from the peat fire fell on their rough clothing and quiet brown faces as they waited for him to speak. He admitted that what he was about to do was rash. He had no logical reason for trusting these people and perhaps no right to involve them in his difficulties, while the sensible course would be to put the matter in the hands of the police.

But this was a course he did not mean to take.

"I sent for you because I want your help and I'm willing to pay for it well," he said to Pete.

"Just that!" Pete answered quietly. "In an ordinar' way, I'm no' verra particular, but before I take the money I'd like to ken how it's to be earned."

"As a matter of fact, you won't get all of it until it is earned and I see how much the job is worth. In the meantime, you can judge, and if necessary go to the police."

Pete grinned. "They're no' the kin' o' gentry I hae mony dealings with."

"What for are ye hiding frae them?" the woman asked.

Foster saw the others' eyes were fixed on him and he must, to some extent, satisfy their curiosity. He did not think he could have convinced conventional Englishmen, or perhaps Canadians, but these Scots were different. They were certainly not less shrewd than the others, but while sternly practical in many ways they had imagination; moreover, they were descendants of the Border cattle-thieves.

"I'm not really hiding from the police, but from people who have better grounds for fearing them. I owe n.o.body anything and, so far as I know, have done n.o.body wrong."

There was silence for a moment or two and he recognized that his statement was very incomplete, but somehow thought the others did not discredit it.

"If I could tell you the whole story, I would, but that's impossible just now," he resumed. "Other people, honorable, upright people, are involved. Of course, the thing looks suspicious, and you know nothing about me, but what I mean to do is not against the law."

They were silent yet, but after a few moments Foster saw his host glance at the woman.

"What is it ye mean to do?" she asked.

"I'm going to Newcastle to try to get some information and papers that will help me to save a friend from serious trouble. That's my first object, but I hope to find out something about a crime in Canada, by which another friend of mine suffered terribly. I may have to steal the papers, and if I get them, expect I shall have to deal with a gang of dangerous men, who will try to take them back. That's why I want Pete; but he'll probably find it a risky business."

Foster waited anxiously for a reply. He was not justified in expecting it to be favorable, but he did so. The woman seemed to ponder, but presently turned to Pete.

"Ye had better gang."