"Ye're for the road again," the man who brought the tin remarked.
"For Langholm," replied the driver. "I don't expect we'll go farther to-night, but I must have things ready if the boss wants to go on."
Foster hoped the other would ask where they had come from, but he did not do so, and next moment Daly walked down some steps at the other end of the room. Knowing that a quick retreat might betray him, Foster stood still and examined a lamp he picked up. Daly crossed the floor, passing within a yard or two.
"You can fix her all right, I suppose?" he said to the driver.
The latter said something about a sparking-plug, and when Daly stooped over the engine the light of a lamp shone into his face. He was a big, handsome man, but Foster, studying him closely, noted his hard and greedy eyes. For a moment, he came near forgetting the need for caution and giving way to a fit of rage. The fellow had it in his power to bring disgrace upon upright people and drag an honored name in the mire. He could humble Alice Featherstone's pride and ruin the brother she loved.
Lawrence had done wrong, but had paid for it and made good in Canada, and now the rogue who had learned his secret would drag him down, or, as the price of silence, bring his relatives to poverty. Foster felt that Daly was not the man to be merciful when there was an advantage to be got; one saw a sinister hint of cruelty in his coarsely-handsome face. It would have been a relief to provoke the fellow and throw him out of the garage, but Foster knew he must deny himself this satisfaction, since it would make things worse for those he meant to shield. He did not remember having felt so full of primitive savageness before, but he exercised his self-control.
Standing in the shadow, he turned his head, looking down at the lamp he began to take to pieces, and presently Daly said to the driver, "You had better get some food; I'll want you soon."
Then he came back and passing close enough to touch Foster, went up the steps and through a door. Foster put down the lamp and strolled out of the garage. He found dinner ready at his hotel and when he had finished went to the smoking-room, which was opposite the office. He left the door open and by and by heard a man enter the hall and stop at the counter.
"Have you an American called Franklin here?" he asked and Foster smiled as he recognized Daly's voice.
He had half-expected the visit, and the inquiry was cleverly framed. Daly had not asked about a Canadian, because the accent of Western Canada is that of the United States, and Franklin resembled Featherstone enough to prompt the girl clerk to mention the latter if he were a guest. For all that, Daly was ignorant of the Scottish character, because the Scot seldom offers information that is not demanded.