"No, I cannot do that," came the answer. "I called up to see whether you were all right. I was a little worried about you. How are you getting on?"
Patricia was on the point of telling him all her troubles and her loneliness and the absence of Mrs. Quale, when something stopped her. Her father was having far heavier worries of his own. Why should she burden him with these lighter ones? It would help him far more if she put a brave face on everything and answered him cheerfully, so she summoned all her courage and answered brightly:
"I'm all right, Daddy. Fine as a fiddle. But tell me, are you succeeding? Have you had any luck?"
"We've struck something that looks very important," he returned. "But I'll have to tell you, dear, that it may keep me away another whole day, and possibly even over another night. You must get along somehow. Keep Mrs. Quale close to you. Tell her it's very urgent. I'll call up to-morrow night, if possible, but I may not have another chance before that. Now I must stop, for this is long distance and costing like Sancho. Can you manage, honey?"
"Yes, oh, yes!" she assured him in a voice from which she tried to keep a quaver of fear.
"Then, good-bye!"
Patricia hung up the receiver and walked back to the table in a daze. Not a single chance had she had to tell her father some of the important details revealed by Chester Jackson; and even if the chance had presented itself, she doubted if it would have been wise to divulge them over the telephone. But if her father were on the track of any important discovery, perhaps it was just as well that she had not. And by the way, he had said, "we've struck something!" now what in the world could he mean by "we?" She had not supposed that he would admit any one else into the secret. Well, it was all very mysterious, and it was growing more so every moment. And he was to be away at least twenty-four hours longer!
Again her glance fell on the foolish and disjointed little note lying on the table, and it vaguely disturbed her. Its very lack of meaning held something sinister in it. She looked at her watch and took a sudden resolution. It was not yet quite ten. She must see Chester Jackson once more before he went to his own home for the night, and she remembered that he had said he went off duty at ten-thirty.
"I don't know what the hotel people will think of my wanting so many things," and she smiled rather ruefully, "but I don't very much care. This is too important." She went to the telephone and ordered a glass of milk and some crackers to be sent up.
Jackson arrived in a few minutes with the tray and a broad grin.