“I do so most unwillingly, but feel an explanation is needed.  To begin with, we had one short letter from my son, stating that he could not come home but you would tell us how he was getting on.  This was all; he said nothing about Daly, or his starting east with you.  You arrived with his portmanteau and what I now think is a rather curious story.  Then, after Daly wrote, you suggested an extraordinary plan, which, as the fellow came here, has not worked very well.  Besides, the police have made inquiries about you and there’s something mysterious about your journeys.  I do not think they were all intended to mislead Daly.”

“All this is true,” Foster admitted.  “But you haven’t stated the conclusions you draw from it.”

“The conclusions are vague but disturbing.  Lawrence trusted you and, you tell us, started with you for a place he did not intend to reach.  Since then he has vanished.  It is possible that you have deceived both him and us.”

“That’s rather absurd,” Alice remarked.  “I really don’t think Mr. Foster would make a very dangerous plotter, and you admitted that Lawrence trusted him.”

“I did,” Featherstone rejoined sharply, as if he resented the interruption.  “Still I don’t see your argument.”

“She means that Lawrence is not a simpleton,” Mrs. Featherstone interposed.  “For myself, I doubt if Mr. Foster could deceive him.”

“We’ll go on,” Featherstone resumed, turning to Foster.  “There was a very mysterious affair at Gardner’s Crossing shortly before you left and some valuable bonds were missing.”

Foster’s face got red, but he laughed.  “This is too much, sir!  If your suspicions went so far, why did you not tell the police?”

“Ah!” said Featherstone with some awkwardness, “there you have me at a disadvantage!  While Daly has the power to injure Lawrence, I must keep the police in the dark.”  He paused and added:  “I cannot say I believed you reckoned on this.”

“Thank you,” said Foster, but Alice broke in:  “Why don’t you tell my father why you went to Newcastle?”

Featherstone gave her a surprised glance and then turned to Foster.  “It looks as if my daughter were better informed than I. There is obviously something I do not know about.”

“There is; but I must ask Miss Featherstone to respect my confidence in the meantime,” Foster answered, and getting up, stood silent for a few moments, resting his hand on his chair.

He saw restrained curiosity in Mrs. Featherstone’s face and her husband’s anger, while he thought Alice knew how significant the line she had taken looked.  She had boldly admitted that he knew her well enough to trust her with his secrets, and declared herself on his side.  In the meantime, he was conscious of a strain that he thought the others felt and was sorry for Featherstone.  He could not resent the man’s anxiety about his son.  For all that, he did not mean to tell him why he had gone to Newcastle.  It would not make a plausible tale.