ted. "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.

"I must own that things look bad for me," he said. "I can't offer any
explanation that would satisfy you and could not expect you to take my
word that I mean well. All I can do is to f