"Of course not," agreed Rosalind.
"But here's the queerest part. On the back of the paper was the name of Mr. Davidson. They went over to his island before they came here and showed it to him. And Davidson said that it was his own handwriting!"
"How curious! Of course he didn't know anything about the note?"
"Not a thing in the world. The note was written in lead-pencil in an entirely different hand. But there was his name on the back of it. It looks like a half-sheet of paper torn off from the other part. Davidson acknowledges the signature, and that's every blessed thing he knows about it. Now, wouldn't that get you?"
"It would," admitted Rosalind, forgetting her abhorrence of slang.
"I tell you I'm glad I got the dog," declared Mr. Witherbee as he went off muttering.
Rosalind was content to be alone again for a little. She knew where she had seen the piece of paper before; she remembered very distinctly the boatman's copy of Hamersly's "Social Register."
But smuggling! That was something brand-new to consider.
What did he know about smuggling unless he smuggled himself? In Rosalind's mind he began to appear as something more than a common thief. A little seemed to have been added to his stature.
What perplexed her most of all, however, was the reference to Morton, the Englishman.