X
THE DROVE ROAD
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."
His companion nodded approval. "Ye have sense. Are ye a good walker?"
"I have walked three hundred miles through pretty rough country and dragged my belongings on a hand-sledge."
"Then I think I can tell ye how to see rugged Scotland, for the country has two different sides. Ye can take your choice, but ye cannot see both at once. I could send ye by main roads, where the tourists' motors run, to the show-places, where ye would stay at smart hotels, with Swiss and London waiters, and learn as much o' Scottish character as ye would in Lucerne or the Strand."
"I don't think that is quite what I want. Besides, I haven't much time and would sooner keep to the south."
"Then ye'll take the high ground and go by tracks the moss-troopers rode, winding up the waters and among the fells, where there's only cothouse clachans and lonely farm-towns. Ye'll see there why the old Scottish stock grows firm and strong and the bit, bleak country breeds men who make it respected across the world. Man, if I had not rheumatism and some fashious business I cannot neglect, we would take the moors together!"
"You don't seem to like the smart hotels," Foster remarked, half amused.
"I do not like the folk they harbor. The dusty trippers in leather coats and goggles ye meet at Melrose and Jedburgh are an affront to an old Scottish town. But a man on foot, in clothes that match the ling and the gray bents, gives a human touch to the scene, whether ye meet him by a wind-ruffled lochan or on the broad moor. Ye ken he has come slowly through the quiet hills, for the love o' what he sees. But ye will not understand an old man's havering!"
"I think I do," said Foster. "One learns the charm of the lone trail in the Canadian bush. But I have a map, and don't care much where I go, so long as it's somewhere south. Suppose you mark me out a route towards Liddesdale."
The man did so, and jotted down a few marginal notes.
"I'm sending ye by the old drove roads," he explained. "Sometimes ye'll find them plain enough, but often they're rough green tracks, and nobody can tell ye when they were made. The moss-troopers wore them deeper when they rode with the spear and steel-cap to Solway sands. Afterwards came the drovers with their flocks and herds, the smugglers' pack-horse trains, and messengers to Prince Charlie's friends from Louis of France. That's why the old road runs across the fell, while the turnpike keeps the valley. If ye follow my directions, ye'll maybe find the link between industrial Scotland and the stormy past; it's in the cothouse and clachan the race is bred that made and keeps alive Glasgow and Dundee."
Foster thanked him and examined the map. It was clearly drawn and showed the height and natural features of the country, which was obviously rough. The path marked out led over the Border hills, dipped into winding valleys, and skirted moorland lakes. It seemed to draw him as he studied it, for the wilderness has charm, and the drove road ran through heathy wastes far from the smoke of factories and mining towns. Well, he was ready to cross the bleak uplands, without troubling much about the mist and rain, for he had faced worse winters than any Scotland knew, but he reflected with grim amusement that Daly would find the traveling rough if he got on his trail.
There were, however, some things he needed for the journey, and he went out to buy them while the shops were open. Next morning he gave instructions that letters for himself and Lawrence should be sent to Peebles, and when the clerk objected that he could not forward Featherstone's without the latter's orders, said it did not matter. He had left a clew for Daly, which was all he wanted, but, in order to make it plainer, he sent the porter to the station with the bag and told him to wait by the Peebles train. Then he set off, dressed in the oldest clothes he had, wondering what adventures he would meet with in the wilds.