The railway and the road by which the main traffic went followed the valley of the Tyne, but the military road kept to the edge of the bleak moors.  He gathered from the map that it was, for the most part, lonely, and thought Graham would expect him to go by train; the latter probably knew enough about him to anticipate his making for Liddesdale, and as there were not many trains running north from Hexham, would reckon on his traveling by Carlisle.  If this were so, and he was being looked for, his pursuers would now be in front of him instead of behind, and he saw some advantage in keeping them there.  Still he must not lose much time in finding Daly; for one thing, it would be awkward if the police arrested him while he had the checks in his pocket.  All the same, he meant to visit the Garth, tell Alice he had been successful, ask is she had news of Lawrence, and try to overcome Featherstone’s suspicions.  Then, if Lawrence had not written yet, he must go back to Canada as soon as he had seen Daly.

Beyond this Foster’s plans were vague; he did not know, for example, how he could force Daly to keep Lawrence’s secret, without promising to withhold evidence that would bring the man to justice.  But he might find a way and was tired of puzzling about the matter.  In a sense, he had taken a ridiculous line from the beginning and perhaps involved himself in needless difficulties.  His partner, however, must be protected, and in the meantime he had two objects; to avoid the police and Graham.

“Perhaps we had better keep the military road until we strike the North Tyne,” he said to Pete.  “Then, if nothing turns up to prevent it, we might risk stopping for the night at Hexham.”

Having the day before them, they set off at a leisurely pace.  The air was cold but still, and bright sunshine shone upon the tableland, which rolled north, rising steadily towards distant snow-streaked hills.  Nothing suspicious happened, and late in the afternoon they came down into the valley of the North Tyne and turned south for Hexham.  As they did so they passed an inn and Foster stopped.  They were some distance from Hexham and he felt hungry, while the inn looked unusually comfortable.  He was tempted to go in and order a meal, but hesitated, for no very obvious reason.

“We’ll wait and get dinner when we make Hexham,” he said, setting off again.

A thin wood, separated from the road by a low fence, ran between them and the river.  The light was faint among the trees, the road narrow, and presently they heard a car coming towards them.  It was going very fast and when it lurched across an opening in the hedge round a bend Foster put his hand on the fence and swung himself over.  Pete followed silently, but when they stood in the shadow among the dry undergrowth Foster felt annoyed because he had yielded to a half-instinctive impulse.  He must, of course, be cautious, but there was no reason for overdoing it.