Foster said he was there, and Featherstone resumed thoughtfully: "It's
curious he hasn't come to the mill yet, but if he doesn't turn up before
Thursday, he'll be too late. I'll be ready to start with you by the
afternoon train, and as there's no use in spoiling a good plan for a few
dollars, I'll buy a ticket and check my baggage to Ottawa. Then I'll get
off at Streeton Creek, where I won't have long to wait if the west-bound
train's on time. You can express my things on from Ottawa. The Montreal
express stops about an hour."

"That ought to throw Daly off the track," Foster agreed, and they talked
about something else.




IV

THE FIRST ADVENTURE

It was about ten o'clock at night and the Montreal express sped through
the lonely forest of North Ontario. The train was light, for there
were few passengers on board, and the road was by no means good, but in
spite of the jolting Foster enjoyed his cigarette in a corner of the
smoking compartment at the end of a car. A colored porter had told him
his berth in the sleeper was ready, Featherstone had left the train,
and most of the passengers were already in bed, but Foster did not want
to follow them just yet. For a time, he had done with business, and
was on his way to England. He relished the unusual sense of freedom.