“Mark will show up in a day or so,” he said.  “Tell him that I did as he asked; that Brodie is in and out from here, the Lord knows what about; that old Honeycutt boasts that what he has hidden nobody is going to find.  I think if he ever talks to anybody it will be to me, and I’ll run in and see him whenever I get a chance to get over here.  And tell King that—­that——­Oh, I guess that’s all; better let me have a word with your mother.”

Ben Gaynor was never the man for successful subterfuge, especially with his daughter; she could read every look in his eye, every twitch of his mouth, and now, over many miles of country telephone lines, she knew that her beloved old humbug of a male parent was “holding out on her.”  Her first impulse was to face him down and demand to be told the rest.  But realizing that a father at the end of a long-distance line was possessed of a certain strategic advantage presenting more difficulties than a mother at hand, she said lightly: 

“All right, papa.  I’ll call her.  Be sure you take good care of yourself.  Bydie.”  She relinquished the telephone instrument to her mother and stood waiting.

She could hear the buzzing of her father’s voice but no distinct word.  Her mother said “Yes?” and “Yes,” and “Yes, Ben.”  And then:  “Oh, Ben!  I don’t understand.”  And then her mother’s voice sharpened, and she cut into something Gaynor was saying:  “I can’t say anything like that!  It is as though we suspected him of being underhanded.  And——­”

Such scraps of talk were baffling, and Gloria, with scant patience for the baffling, moved up and down restlessly.  When her mother had clicked up the receiver, Gloria followed her and demanded to be told.  Mrs. Gaynor looked worried; said it was nothing, and refused to talk.  But in five minutes her daughter knew everything Gaynor had said.  King was to be told that Gratton, instead of going straight to San Francisco, had gone down to Placerville, and next had turned up at Coloma; that he had spent three days there; that he had gone several times to Honeycutt’s shanty, and had been seen, more than once, with Swen Brodie.

“It’s an outrage,” cried Mrs. Gaynor, “to retail all that to Mark King.  What business of his is it if Mr. Gratton does go to Coloma, or anywhere else?”

“That’s for you and papa to argue out,” said Gloria serenely.

“We are going back to San Francisco to-morrow!”

“I’m not.  You know I’m not ready to go yet.”

“That is very undutiful, Gloria,” said her mother anxiously.  “When your own mother——­”

“Oh, let’s not get tragic!  And, anyway, papa wanted us to stay until Mr. King came, so that we could tell him.”

“Jim Spalding will be here; he can tell——­”

“Why, mamma!  After papa has trusted to us to see that his message is delivered!” Gloria looked shocked, incredulous.  “Surely——­”