"Perhaps I was putting it a bit too high, but the deal ought to turn out a snap if you can wait a while," he said, and laughed. "Anyhow I've got to give you bedrock facts after the way you caught me out.

Say, you're pretty smart!"

"You're apt to get stung over a land deal unless you're careful,"

Foster modestly replied.

It was a relief when Telford said they would stop talking business and proposed a visit to a bar. Foster felt mentally exhausted and thought a drink would brace him. He did not see Telford at dinner and kept out of his way during the afternoon, but the man came into the dining-room when supper was served. The room was large and furnished with separate tables, but Foster thought he knew the faces of the regular customers and noticed that a stranger sat at a table by himself.

Telford made for this table, which seemed natural, since there was most room there, but a few moments afterwards the man whom Foster suspected of watching him left his place. Crossing the floor carelessly, but in such a way that a pillar hid his approach, he sat down near the other two. Foster admitted that he might not have remarked this had he not been suspicious and keenly watchful. The thing looked significant, particularly when a waitress came across, frowning, with some dishes.

The man must have had an object for changing his place after he had given his order, because in the small Canadian towns waitresses deal firmly with troublesome customers.

Telford did not seem to know the stranger and did not speak until the man politely handed him a cruet-stand. He did not say much after this, but Foster could not see him without leaning forward, because some other people sat down between. Still he felt a puzzling curiosity about the fellow, and after supper went to the rotunda where the man presently sat down not far off. He was young and vigorous, but walked with a slight limp as if one knee was stiff. His eyes were dark and he had a rather engaging smile when one of the rest offered him a newspaper. Telford was not about, but the other man strolled in.

Foster's curiosity got stronger. He could not remember having met the man he was studying, but had a vague feeling that he ought to know him.

The strange thing was that he had not expected him to limp, but this was perhaps accounted for by his athletic figure. After a time, the fellow put down the newspaper and went off towards the bar, while Foster, who found he had run out of tobacco, went to his room.

When he got out of the elevator, he saw the other going along a pa.s.sage in front, which he thought curious, because he could not have stayed more than a few moments in the bar. Moreover his limp was not noticeable now he imagined himself alone. Foster went on quietly, keeping his distance, and knitted his brows in thoughtful surprise when the other opened a door. The man, who did not seem to know Telford, had gone into his room.

When the door shut he heard another step and saw, as he had half-expected, the man who had watched Telford entering the pa.s.sage, Foster immediately turned his head and went on to his room, where he sat down in the nearest chair. He had got something of a shock, since he now knew why he had studied the fellow with the limp. His brain had been unconsciously occupied with a description Lucy Stephen had given him. The man who had gone into Telford's room was Walters.

XXVII

THE MINE

When Foster was thinking of going to bed Pete, whom he had not seen all day, came into the rotunda, and Foster remarked that his boots were very wet.

"It's saft ootside an' I've been paidlin' in the snow," he said and, with the poacher's instinctive caution, put his feet out of sight beneath a table.

"Where have you been in the dark?" Foster asked.

"I thought I'd maybe better watch the bridge over yon bit creek."

Foster frowned. It looked as if he had not much talent for detective work and could only concentrate upon one point at a time. While he had been content to watch what was going on at the hotel, Pete had watched the bridge, and had found out something. Foster admitted that such success as he had had was rather due to luck than ability.

"Well," he said, "what did you see there?"

"To begin with, the man we followed cam' doon the street and went into a shop; and I allooed they might keep something I wanted. He bought a basket."

"A basket?"

"Just that," said Pete. "One o' they cheap baskets ye put grosseries in when ye gang by train."

Foster nodded. On Canadian railways, economical second-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers often carry provisions instead of using the meal stations.

"He bought some tinned meat and biscuits," Pete resumed. "Then some tea and a wee spirit-stove."

"There's no train until to-morrow and I imagine the fellow wouldn't be satisfied with canned meat, so long as he could get something better when the cars stopped."

Pete grinned. "I'm no' saying he meant to tak' the train. It looked mair like he was going to picnic in the woods."

"Ah!" said Foster abruptly. "I suppose you followed the man?"

"Far enough to see him tak' the road we went. Then I cam' back. Ye see, I kent where he was going."

Foster made a sign of agreement, because it was obvious that Telford was going to the shack at the mine. He understood how the fellow had got out without his seeing him, since it is usual in Canada to have a separate entrance to a hotel bar and he had stupidly been satisfied with watching the hall.

"He has gone to meet somebody; but why did he take the provisions?"

"Maybe he wanted to give them to the ither man."

"But why should the other need the food?"

"Weel," said Pete, "if I was looking for a hidie-hole convenient to the town, I'd no' find much fault with yon' auld mine. Maybe it's dry, an'

the frost wouldna' get far in."

Foster started, for he thought Pete had guessed right. He and Lawrence had camped in the open in colder weather than was often felt in British Columbia, and as wood was plentiful, there was no reason the man should not make a fire after dark, if he could find an outlet for the smoke.

He must now find out who was hiding in the mine, but thought he knew, for vague suspicions suddenly got clear.

To begin with, the fellow who watched Telford at the hotel was either a policeman or a private detective in Hulton's pay. Then Foster had lost Daly's track at Banff, which was not very far off, and taking it for granted that Telford belonged to the gang, it was logical to suppose that he had arranged a meeting with Daly and Walters. On arrival Daly had found that the town was watched, but was either unable to leave it without being followed or detained by his business with the others. In consequence, he had taken refuge in the mine.

Foster sent Pete away and smoked another pipe. He would have liked to visit the mine at once, but if he went, would meet Telford coming back or find him when he reached the spot, and he must see Daly alone. He ought, of course, to warn the man he thought a detective, but did not mean to do so, and this resolve brought up a problem he had tried to solve before: what could he offer Daly in return for his keeping Lawrence's secret?

If the fellow had killed Fred Hulton, it was unthinkable that he should help him to escape. Foster felt that he had perhaps, in a sense, already become Daly's accomplice, but meant to save his comrade and keep his promise to Alice. He would see Daly in the morning and decide then what line to take; after all, luck might help him again. Then he knocked out his pipe and went to bed.

After breakfast next morning he called for Pete and walked carelessly to the main bridge. He, however, took his pistol and when they reached the woods Pete cut a heavy stick. Foster did not expect to use force, but it was better to be prepared. While Pete was tr.i.m.m.i.n.g his cudgel they heard the heavy snorting of a locomotive and a plume of smoke moved across the town. Then they saw through an opening in the trees the cars roll along the mountain side. The Montreal express had stopped on its journey east, but Foster was preoccupied and thought nothing of this.

The snow was very soft when they plodded up the path among the trees, but it was not far to the clearing, and Foster stopped at its edge. He had met n.o.body, and the woods were silent except for the dying roar of the train, which came faintly down the valley. There was no smoke, but Daly would put out his fire when it got light. Crossing the wet snow noiselessly, he made for the shack and when he reached it beckoned to Pete.

"Stay here for about ten minutes, and then if I'm not back, you had better come in," he said. "If anybody runs out, don't let him pa.s.s."

Pete's nod showed he understood and Foster, moving forward quietly, stopped again for a moment at the mouth of the adit. Pete had vanished, but could be trusted to watch the mine as a terrier watches a rat-hole, and Foster knew that if he were attacked and overcome his a.s.sailant would not escape. A gray sky hung over the black tops of the firs and the wet snow threw up a curious livid light. It was an unpleasant raw morning, and Foster felt half daunted.

The adit was dark; he was embarking on a rash adventure, and wondered with some misgivings what would happen before he came out again. He heard nothing, and it was rather curious that he could not smell smoke, but bracing himself he stooped and crept into the dark hole.

The floor sloped, following the inclination of the strata, and seemed to be strewn with fallen stones, but he had put on rubber shoes and made very little noise. He did not want to warn Daly that his hiding-place had been discovered, until he was near enough to explain that he had nothing to do with the police. There would not be much danger when the fellow knew who he was and that the mine was watched, but he wanted to get as close as possible before alarming him. Daly, no doubt, carried a pistol.

Stopping for a moment, he raised his head incautiously and smothered an exclamation when he struck it against the roof. He could hear water dripping somewhere below and the slope felt steep. It was nervous work creeping down hill in the dark, and there was, perhaps, a risk of his falling into a pit. When he dislodged a stone that rattled he held his breath as he listened. He heard nothing, and set his lips as he overcame an impulse to turn back. If Daly had heard the stone, he was probably waiting for him with his finger on the trigger.

For all that, Foster went on, feeling for the rough wall, until he struck his foot against a big stone and losing his balance staggered and fell. He made a noise that echoed through the adit and, worse than all, the pistol shot out of his hand. He felt for but could not find it, and for a few moments lay still with tingling nerves. Daly must have heard him and was, no doubt, crouching in the dark, ready to shoot. He tried again to find the pistol, and then with an effort pulled himself together. The next move might draw a shot, but he must risk that and not lie there helpless. Besides, if the fellow missed, he might grapple with and disarm him, and he sprang to his feet.

"Daly!" he called in a voice that he meant to be careless but was rather hoa.r.s.e. "It's Foster. I want to talk about Featherstone."

There was no reply. He heard water falling into a pool, but except for this the mine was strangely silent, and after waiting for a moment he drew back against the rock.

"Pete!" he shouted.

His voice sounded m.u.f.fled and he wondered whether Pete could hear, but tried to fix his attention on the dark in front. It was there that danger might lurk. Then he heard Pete stumbling among the stones, and presently the man came up, panting with haste.