The Argosy, September 1915 — page 41: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ONE-CYLINDER SAMs pointed across the river—‘ you may take me in that direction until I tell you further.” “That’s Rockport, on the Canadian side,” he observed as he altered the course. “ That place where you see the lights.” “Very well; head for it.’’ The launch moved onward for fif- teen minutes, only the steady exhaust of the engine breaking the silence. The boatman smoked steadily and devoted the chief part of his time to a study of his passenger’s profile. She seemed to be thoroughly oblivious of his presence. Abruptly, when Witherbee’s Island was a good two miles astern, she leaned forward and switched off the spark. “This will do,” she said. Sam made a cursory observation of their position, which was midway in the broad Canadian channel. The nearest island was probably a mile dis- tant. ‘““T desire to talk to you,” she re- marked, turning a calculating pair of eyes upon him. “ The reason why we came here is that I did not care to be interrupted.” He nodded. “T think | may as well tell you,” she added, “ that I have a pistol with me.” “Well, it might come handy if we meet anything,’ he admitted, not a trace of surprise in his voice. Having reached this initial point in their conversation, Rosalind paused. She was perplexed as to the best way to begin. She was a little worried; but he must never suspect that. A long afternoon hour of study over certain events in which she had been an actor since her embarkation at Clayton the night before had _ con- vinced her that it was highly desirable to know something more concerning this common person, who made such poor work of his avowed occupation as a boatman. Yet that was not ex- actly it, either; what she most wanted 29D to know was something concerning the plans and intentions of this person in case certain contingencies arose. “Your name is Sam, I believe?” she asked suddenly. +S. tsar “Sam what?” “Oh, Sam _ anything. you say; I aim to please.” “You live here? ” “ Hereabouts, ma’am.” “Of course you are a thief.” “You've said that before,” he re- marked placidly. ‘ You said I was a burglar and a house-breaker, too.” “ But you are!” “Amar” Rosalind had no patience with peo- ple who fenced, but she checked her temper for the moment. ‘After what I observed at an early hour this morning,” she said, “ I can- not see that there is any doubt of it. You entered and robbed—or attempt- ed to rob—Mr. Davidson’s house.” “Well,” he said slowly, looking up at her, ““I don’t happen to be on the witness-stand. But I might remark that I didn’t enter or attempt to enter Mr. Witherbee’s house at any rate.” She flushed angrily; but she had learned something. “Then you spied,” she said. He made a hon-committal gesture. “It's a matter of no importance,” she added hastily. “I believe you un- derstand that [| am a guest at the Witherbees’.” “Of course,” he assented. “I ex- pect you explained the whole thing to them this morning.”’ She looked at him narrowly, but his face was impassive behind its beard. Nevertheless, she had a disquieting feeling that he suspected she had not explained anything—and did not care to explain. “But you ‘were simply a plain in- truder at Mr. Davidson’s,” Rosalind went on. ““T haven’t admitted it, ma’am.”’ “Oh, why quibble about it?” she exclaimed. Whatever COMMICLOOOLKS (E@)