"But, Polly, it's inconceivable!"
Rosalind was preyed upon by confused emotions. She was mystified, shocked, startled, apprehensive, even angry. Dominant was the sensation that this chunky, colorless young man had played a hoax upon her.
"It's true," affirmed Polly stubbornly. "I surely know Billy Kellogg when I see him."
"Of course! But what does it mean?"
Polly made a helpless gesture.
"He came aboard as Mr. Kellogg," said Rosalind, talking as if in self-justification. "He pretended to be Mr. Kellogg. He knew all about having been sent for by his uncle. Of course, he did act strangely. But he knew Mr. Morton; he even knew you!"
"You're sure?"
"Well," admitted Rosalind, on reflecting, "now that I think of it, in your case, I had to point you out on the wharf. But he said he recognized you. And you called him Billy!"
"I didn't want to make a scene," said Polly. "I knew there was something wrong, of course. So I just pretended—thought I'd wait till I got my bearings."
"But who can he be?"