concern Foster much and he thought about something else.

It was late when he arrived at Newcastle and went to an hotel. There
was fog and rain next morning, and he saw very little of the town,
which seemed filled with smoke. Taking a tram-car that carried him
past rows of dingy buildings and shops where lights twinkled, he got
out at the corner of a narrow street that ran back into the haze.
After looking at the address on the packet, he plunged into the gloom
beside a row of tall, sooty buildings. There was no pavement, and here
and there a cart stood beneath an opening in the wall. The buildings
were apparently warehouses, but some of the doors had brass plates and
lights shone in the upper windows. By and by he found the number he
wanted and entered a dirty arch, inside which a few names were painted
on the wall. Graham's was not there, but he went up the steps to
inquire at the first office he reached.

The lower stories were used as a warehouse and he came to the top
landing before he saw a name that seemed to be Danish or Scandinavian
painted on a door. Going in, he knocked on the counter. The office
was small and shabby and smelt of bacon, which he thought indicated
that its occupant dealt in provisions, but he could not see much
because of a glass partition. When he was getting impatient, an old
man came to the counter.

"Can you tell me if there's a Mr. Graham in this building?" Foster
asked.

"Yes, he's here," said the other. "What do you want?"

Foster said he had brought a packet from Canada, and the old man, who
looked rather hard at him, lifted a flap in the counter and told him to
pass through. A door in the partition opened as he advanced and
another man beckoned him to come in. It looked as if the latter had
heard what had passed, but this saved an explanation and Foster, who
asked if he was Graham, put the packet on a table. There was not much
else in the small, dusty room, except a cupboard fitted with
pigeon-holes, a desk, and a safe.

"This is from Miss Austin of Gardner's Crossing," he remarked.

Graham glanced at the packet carelessly, as if he did not consider it
of much importance, and Foster felt puzzled. The fellow was not as old
as Carmen's father, but Foster thought there was nothing about him that
would attract a girl used to admiration, as Carmen was. He was
certainly not handsome and had, on the whole, a commonplace look, while
he was obviously in a small way of bu