“Featherstone’s my partner and I took his baggage by mistake when we left a small Canadian town,” he said, and added after a pause:  “I expect the explanation sounds rather lame.”

The other smiled, but Foster felt he was being subjected to a very close scrutiny.  Although sensible of some annoyance, he felt inclined to like the man, who presently resumed:  “You have been in Edinburgh before.”

“For a day; I left in the evening and went to Newcastle.”

“To Newcastle?” said the other thoughtfully.  “Did you stay there?”

“I did not,” said Foster, thinking frankness was best.  “I went back to a country house in Northumberland that belongs to my partner’s father.  Lawrence Featherstone and I own a sawmill in Canada, but at present I’m taking a holiday in the Old Country.”

He could not tell if the man was satisfied or not, for he asked abruptly:  “Who is the Mr. Daly you mentioned?”

“I really don’t know.  It looks as if he were something of a blackmailer, and I must admit that I was trying to keep out of his way.”

The man pondered for a minute, and then getting up gave Foster a card.

“Very well; I don’t think I need keep you.  You have my address if you should want to communicate with me.”

He went out and Foster thought he had not handled the situation with much skill.  It was a mistake to mention Daly and perhaps to state that he had been to Newcastle.  He thought the man looked interested when he heard this.  Then it was curious that he seemed to imagine Foster might want to write to him; but he began to see a possible reason for his being watched.  Hulton had, no doubt, sent somebody over to inquire about the stolen bonds, and if the man had discovered anything important, he might have asked the help of the police.  In this case, the movements of strangers from Canada would be noted.  The trouble was that Foster could not be frank with the police, because Lawrence’s secret must be carefully guarded.

In the afternoon he entered a fashionable tea-room and sat for a time in a corner.  The room was divided into quiet nooks by Moorish arches, from which lamps of an antique pattern hung by chains and threw down a soft red glow.  Heavy imitation Eastern curtains deadened the hum of voices and rattle of cups.  The air was warm and scented, the light dim, and Foster, who had often camped in the snow, felt amused by the affectation of sensual luxury as he ate iced cakes and languidly watched the people.  He could only see two or three men, one of whom he had noticed at the hotel and afterwards passed in the street.  This was probably a coincidence, but it might have a meaning, and he moved back behind the arch that cut off his corner.  When he next looked about, the fellow had gone.  There were, however, a number of pretty, fashionably-dressed girls, and he remarked the warm color in their faces and the clearness of their voices.  The Scottish capital seemed to be inhabited by handsome women.