The Argosy, September 1915 — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

298 Sam laughed quietly. “That’s an alibi that might do nice- ly for both of us,’ he commented. “ Much obliged. Did he mention my name?” “He knows that you are called Sam,” said Rosalind shortly. “T see. Quite a chap, isn’t he, don’t you know?” The voice of the boatman was rather satirical. “And I'll tell you something else,” she continued. ‘‘ Mr. Davidson is con- vinced there is some queer work going on here, and he mentioned a boat hail- ing him last night while he was out in his yacht.” “So you've found out it was David- son's yacht, then? ” ~ T“have-” Sam seemed to find cause for gentle mirth. “T think I can now understand,” she added, “ why you -refused to let him help us. Even a burglar may have a certain delicacy about accepting a favor from his intended victim.” “That might be true,” he admitted. They were approaching Witherbee’s Island when Rosalind’s glance fell up- on a book that lay open on the floor of the cockpit.. Idly she picked it up and glanced at the cover. It was a copy of Hamersly’s “ Social Register.” For an instant she stared at the title with astonished eyes. Not that the volume was strange to her; far from that. Rosalind Chalmers was_ thor- oughly acquainted with this most ex- clusive of all publications that list the names of the families who are really and truly entitled to enter the social holy of holies. What amazed her was the presence of the volume in such an uncouth environment. She turned to the fly-leaf. Thereon was written in a bold hand: HENRY DAVIDSON. She looked at the boatman. He was intent upon a course that would land them at the point where Rosalind had embarked upon her baffling voyage. THE ARGOSY. Davidson! ‘This, then, was the ex- planation of the rummaged library! This—a Social Register—constituted the booty of a thief !. Again she ventured a glance at Sam. He did not appear to notice that she had picked up the book. Her fingers marked the spot at which the volume lay:open. Now she turned to the page. Rosalind gasped softly when she found herself among the C’s—yes, and at that very page among the C’s that listed the habitat, the personnel, and the lineage of the Chalmers family of New York! The book dropped from her hands and thudded gently upon the flooring. A sensation of vague alarm succeeded her initial amazement. What was the creature planning now? As the boat touched the island she leaped ashore quickly, and started in the direction of the house. “Wait, please!” called the boatman. She halted. “TIT guess you forgot something, didn’t you?” he said. “Forgot? Oh—you mean I am to pay your” “Yes, wiz ant:” “How much?” Her purse was in her hand. “Only five this time.” She handed him the money without a word. “Any other time you want a boat,” he observed, “ you can find me ’most anywhere.”’ “I suppose,” she said _ frigidly, “that that is part of the price—of si- lence? “TI didn’t put it that way,”’-he an- swered good-naturedly. ‘ But I cer- tainly do like to have a handy pas- senger on board.” She was moving away when he halted her again. ss “By the way, Miss Chalmers, you might tell me something. Once in a while this old bunch of junk they’ call an engine seems to get all heated up over nothing at all, even when she’s COPMICLOOKS (C@