“You sure look pretty lively after falling off the Montreal express.  Guess you must have done that kind of thing before?  But our bosses are getting blamed particular about these free rides.”

Foster opened his wallet and took out a strip of paper, folded in sections, but it was not by accident he held two or three dollar bills against it.

“There’s my ticket.  I bought it at the agent’s office, but I expect you know what would have happened if I’d got it on board.  Anyway, you’ve heard of the drummer who beat his passage from Calgary to Toronto at the cost of a box of cigars.”

The brakesmen grinned, because the hint was plain.  It is said on Western railroads that when a conductor collects a fare he throws the money at the car-roof and accounts to the company for as much as sticks there.

“Well,” said the first man, “I guess we’ll take our chances and you can get into the caboose.  You’ll find blankets, and a bunk where you can lie down if you take off your boots.  We’ll dump you somewheres handy for catching the next east-bound.”

Foster found the caboose comfortably warm.  There was a stove in the middle and two or three bunks were fixed to the walls.  In a few minutes the train they waited for went roaring past, and when the freight started one of the men gave him some supper.  Then he got into a bunk and went to sleep.

He caught the next express going east, and on reaching Ottawa, where he had some time to wait, half expected the man he had helped would come, or send somebody, to meet him.  Although he wore the fur coat and stood in a conspicuous place, he was not accosted, and presently bought a newspaper.  It threw no light upon the matter, and for a time he walked up and down, considering if he would go to the police.  This was perhaps his duty, but it looked as if the owner of the coat had not been molested.  After all, the fellow might be an absconding debtor, and if not it was obvious that he had some reason for keeping his secret.  Foster decided to let him do so, and went back to the train.

When he arrived at Montreal he went to the Windsor as he had been told, but there was no letter or telegram waiting and none came during the day or two he stayed.  On the evening before he sailed he was sitting in the large entrance hall, which is a feature of American and Canadian hotels, when he thought a man some distance off looked hard at him over his newspaper.  Foster only caught a momentary glimpse of his face, because he held up the paper as if to get a better light and people were moving about between them; but he thought the man was Daly, and after a few moments carelessly crossed the floor.

A man sat at the spot he had marked and the chairs on both sides were unoccupied, but when Foster sat down in the nearest he saw the fellow was a stranger.  This puzzled him, since he did not think he had been mistaken.  It was, however, possible that Daly had been there, but had moved off quietly when Foster’s view was obstructed.  If so, he must have had an object for hiding, and Foster waited some minutes before he went to the office and examined the guestbook.  Daly’s name did not appear, and he found that nobody from the West had signed the book recently.