“If I could tell you the whole story, I would, but that’s impossible just now,” he resumed.  “Other people, honorable, upright people, are involved.  Of course, the thing looks suspicious, and you know nothing about me, but what I mean to do is not against the law.”

They were silent yet, but after a few moments Foster saw his host glance at the woman.

“What is it ye mean to do?” she asked.

“I’m going to Newcastle to try to get some information and papers that will help me to save a friend from serious trouble.  That’s my first object, but I hope to find out something about a crime in Canada, by which another friend of mine suffered terribly.  I may have to steal the papers, and if I get them, expect I shall have to deal with a gang of dangerous men, who will try to take them back.  That’s why I want Pete; but he’ll probably find it a risky business.”

Foster waited anxiously for a reply.  He was not justified in expecting it to be favorable, but he did so.  The woman seemed to ponder, but presently turned to Pete.

“Ye had better gang.”

Pete laughed, a reckless laugh that hinted at a love of excitement and danger.

“Aye,” he said, “that’s what I was thinking!”

After this the matter was soon arranged, and next morning Foster and Pete set off.  They went south by hill-tracks, for Foster meant to visit the Garth, but preferred to arrive when dusk was falling.  He did not want his visit to be marked, but must see Alice before he embarked upon his new adventure.

The sun was setting behind the moors when they came down the waterside, and leaving Pete in the gloom of the fir wood, he walked through a shrubbery to the house.  He had seen nothing to indicate that he was watched and could trust Pete to see that nobody followed him from the road, but he meant to take precautions and did not want to meet Featherstone.  When he left the shrubbery he had only a few yards of open lawn to cross and the light was dim beside the house, but he kept off the graveled terrace until he was abreast of the door.  He was now faced by a difficulty, but must leave something to chance and felt relieved when John answered his quiet knock.  The man showed no surprise at seeing him.

“Mr. Featherstone is out, sir, and Mrs. Featherstone occupied, but Miss Featherstone is at home,” he said.

“Will you ask her if she can meet me for a few minutes in the orchard?”

“Very good, sir; I will take your message.”

Foster turned away.  He had given John no hint to keep his visit secret, because this would be useless.  If the old fellow thought it his duty to tell his master, he would do so; if not, one could trust to his discretion.  Entering the orchard by an arch in a mossy wall, he waited where a soft light shone into it from the west.  Outside the arch, the smooth sweep of lawn ran back into deepening shadow and the bare trees behind it rose, sharp and black, against the sky.  Above there was a heavy bank of gray-blue clouds.