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"I am," said Foster quietly. Hulton made a sign of understanding and there was faint amusement in his eyes. "Well, you have a good partner. I like Featherstone; he's a live, straight man, and if he had trouble in England, has made good here. But he has his limits; I reckon you'll go further than he will." "No," said Foster.
"Well," said Hulton, "you see the importance of this. We have something to go upon; a stranger was in the factory." Then he got up with a look of keen relief in his worn face. "I thank you and your partner; you have given me hope. Some day all who knew my boy will believe what you believe. Now I have something to say to Percival, and then he must help me home to bed."
Then he began to see why Daly was determined to find Lawrence. Fred Hulton had been robbed and killed and Daly was implicated in the crime, if he had not committed it himself. The fellow's first object was not blackmail; he meant to use his power over Lawrence to ensure his secrecy. Lawrence was the only person who had seen the murderer.
The snow for some distance on both sides of the river was undisturbed; there was no sign that an injured man had crawled away, and if this were not enough, no stranger had reached any of the scattered ranches where he must have gone for food. Daly would not be found until the ice broke up. "I expect you're glad the fellow can't be brought to trial," Hulton remarked, looking hard at Foster.
"It is," said Foster, noting the man's stern calm, and Hulton turned to Percival. "That's my first point! These men knew my son." Then he looked at Featherstone. "Fred went with you now and then on hunting and prospecting trips, and that probably led to a certain intimacy. You say he was never morbid; did you ever find him anxious or disturbed?" Featherstone pondered.
Anyhow, when the man was on the stairs Hulton came up behind and told him to stop. He had a pistol, but looked strained and nervous, and the other, who had put his away, made a rush at him. Hulton slipped on the steps, his pistol went off, and when he rolled to the bottom the other saw he was dead." Foster was silent for a time.
He stood in the doorway as I passed and I said, 'It's a cold night, Tom. I'd gone a few yards when he answered, 'It will be colder soon." "Then as you passed the door he must have seen your face, though you could not see his," said Hulton, who turned to Percival. "Clark was on night-guard and his name's not Tom. Where was he when Mr. Featherstone left?"
TO DR. EDWARD EVERETT HALE Hulton, Pennsylvania, January 14, . My dear Cousin: I had thought to write to you long before this in answer to your kind letter which I was so glad to receive, and to thank you for the beautiful little book which you sent me; but I have been very busy since the beginning of the New Year.
In the stream, fissured ice drifted down a wide, dark channel; one felt that spring was coming. Behind the town, somber pines rolled back across the rocky wilderness; in the foreground, dazzling arc-lamps flung their blue reflections on the ice, and the lights of the Hulton factory ran far up in gleaming rows. Civilization had reached the spot and stopped for a time.
Then it was curious that he seemed to imagine Foster might want to write to him; but he began to see a possible reason for his being watched. Hulton had, no doubt, sent somebody over to inquire about the stolen bonds, and if the man had discovered anything important, he might have asked the help of the police. In this case, the movements of strangers from Canada would be noted.
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