"Ye should ken. I was across the muir in the morning and found a polisman frae Yarrow at Watty Bell's. He'd come ower the hills on his bicycle and was asking if they'd seen a stranger wi' a glove on his left han'."
Foster made a little abrupt movement that he thought the other noted, but said carelessly, "The fellow must have had a rough trip."
"A road gangs roon' up the waterside, though I wouldna' say it's very good. I'm thinking he made an early start and would wait for dinner with Watty. Then ye might give him twa 'oors to get here."
Foster looked at his watch and pondered. He was beginning to understand Scottish tact and saw that Pete meant to give him a friendly warning. It was obvious that the policeman would not have set off across the hills in the dark of a winter morning unless he had been ordered to make inquiries. Moreover, since the gamekeepers had mistaken Foster for Pete, the orders had nothing to do with the poaching.
"Perhaps I had better pull out," he said. "But the fellow won't have much trouble in learning which way I've gone."
"I'm no' sure o' that. There's a road o' a sort rins west to Annandale and Lockerbie."
"But I'm not going west."
"Weel," said Pete, "ye might start that way, and I would meet ye where a sheep track rins back up the glen—ye'll ken it by the broken dyke where ye cross the burn. Then I would set ye on the road to Hawick ower the hill."
"Thanks," said Foster thoughtfully. "I suppose I ought to let the folks at the inn know I've gone towards Annandale, so they can tell the policeman?"
Pete's eyes twinkled. "It might be better if they didna' exactly tell him, but let him find it oot; but I'll see tae that. Polisman Jock is noo and then rather shairp."