"That might be true," he admitted.
They were approaching Witherbee's Island when Rosalind's glance fell upon a book that lay open on the floor of the cock-pit. 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 thoroughly acquainted with this most exclusive 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.
Davidson! This, then, was the explanation 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?