XVII
THE LETTERS
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.