All this, however, was driven from her mind in the excitement that she found on her return thrilling her own family.  They had been warned that a police boat with detectives on board had been dispatched from San Francisco to the cove.  Luckily, they had managed to convey the fugitive Franti on board a coastwise schooner,—­Cara started as she remembered the one she had seen beating out of the Gate,—­and he was now safe from pursuit.  Cara felt relieved; at the same time she felt a strange joy at her heart, which sent the conscious blood to her cheek.  She was not thinking of the escaped Marco, but of Jarman.  Later, when the police boat arrived,—­whether the detectives had been forewarned of Marco’s escape or not,—­they contented themselves with a formal search of the little fishing-hut and departed.  But their boat remained lying off the shore.

That night Cara tossed sleeplessly on her bed; she was sorry she had ever spoken of Marco to Jarman.  It was unnecessary now; perhaps he disbelieved her and thought she loved Marco; perhaps that was the reason of his strange and abrupt leave-taking that afternoon.  She longed for the next day, she could tell him everything now.

Towards morning she slept fitfully, but was awakened by the sound of voices on the sands outside the hut.  Its flimsy structure, already warped by the fierce day-long sun, allowed her through chinks and crevices not only to recognize the voices of the detectives, but to hear distinctly what they said.  Suddenly the name of Jarman struck upon her ear.  She sat upright in bed, breathless.

“Are you sure it’s the same man?” asked a second voice.

“Perfectly,” answered the first.  “He was tracked to ’Frisco, but disappeared the day he landed.  We knew from our agents that he never left the bay.  And when we found that somebody answering his description got the post of telegraph operator out here, we knew that we had spotted our man and the L250 sterling offered for his capture.”

“But that was five months ago.  Why didn’t you take him then?”

“Couldn’t!  For we couldn’t hold him without the extradition papers from Australia.  We sent for ’em; they’re due to-day or to-morrow on the mail steamer.”

“But he might have got away at any time?”

“He couldn’t without our knowing it.  Don’t you see?  Every time the signals went up, we in San Francisco knew he was at his post.  We had him safe, out here on these sandhills, as if he’d been under lock and key in ’Frisco.  He was his own keeper, and reported to us.”

“But since you’re here and expect the papers to-morrow, why don’t you ‘cop’ him now?”

“Because there isn’t a judge in San Francisco that would hold him a moment unless he had those extradition papers before him.  He’d be discharged, and escape.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“As soon as the steamer is signaled in ’Frisco, we’ll board her in the bay, get the papers, and drop down upon him.”