“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 pass.”

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 assailant 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 hoarse.  “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.