"Well, this is a pretty way to treat a fellow, I do think," soliloquized the puzzled and anxious superintendent, as he stood on the yacht's deck and watched the retreating form of the detective until it was swallowed up in the darkness. "He gets me into difficulty and then clears out, leaving me to sink or swim, he don't care which. What do you say, captain?" he added, turning to the master of the yacht, who came up when he saw Babcock spring ashore. "You're quite positive that the boy below is Rowe Shelly, and nobody else?"
"What's the matter with you and Babcock?" asked the captain, testily. "You act like a couple of—I don't know what."
"And that's the way I feel," replied Willis. "Babcock has been worked upon in some mys
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terious way, and now he's gone away and left me to bear the brunt of the whole thing alone."
"Well, wasn't that what you expected to do when you got back to the island?" inquired the captain. "His guardian being absent, you will have to take full charge of Rowe until he returns. That's what you did the last time he ran away, and you never made any fuss over it. I know it is disagreeable business, this standing guard over an uneasy fellow who won't stay where he is put, but seeing that we are well paid for it, and know that it is for the boy's best good, where's the harm?"
"But Babcock seems to think that Rowe has slipped through our fingers, and that we have brought back the wrong boy."
The captain made a gesture of impatience but said nothing.
"All right," exclaimed Willis. "Cast off the fasts and get under way as quickly as possible."
"Where's his wheel?" inquired the captain. "I didn't see you bring it aboard."
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"We didn't stop for it," answered Willis, "for the youngster was in fighting humor, and would have drawn a crowd about us if we hadn't hustled him into the carriage just as we did. We'll have to send for it when he gets ready to tell us where he left it."
"Don't he feel inclined to talk? That isn't at all like Rowe, who usually has gab enough."
"Bless you, he's nothing but talk; but the trouble is, he won't tell the truth. He has hit upon a new plan this time. He says he is somebody else, and sticks to it. But you know him and I know him, even if Babcock doesn't; so it's all right. Now get underway. It must be all right, although I confess that Babcock frightened me by talking and acting as he did," said Willis, as the master of the yacht hastened forward to take his place at the wheel. "I had a good view of him while he stood in front of that window with those two young wheelmen; I sat almost within reach of him during the entire evening; and I've had several good looks at him since. Babcock had all the chances he wanted to compare his face with
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 the photograph I gave him, and he didn't think there was anything wrong until after Rowe had had opportunity to talk to him. I'd give something handsome to know what passed between them while I was on the box with the driver; then, perhaps I should know what to do. I ought to have stayed with them, but I never dreamed of anything like this. However, I shall be prepared for any emergencies. I'll take Tony into my confidence just as soon as I can get Rowe into the house and up to his room."
So saying, the superintendent faced about and went into the cabin to see what the prisoner thought of the situation. To his surprise he found him reading a paper he had taken from the table. According to Willis's way of thinking, that was a bad sign. Why didn't he walk the floor and shake his fists in the air and utter threats, and in various other ways act as if he had taken leave of his senses? That was the way he did the last time he was captured, and Willis could not understand why he didn't do so now.
"Well," said Roy, laying down his paper
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 and squaring around in his chair. "What conclusion did you and Babcock come to?"
"What conclusion?" repeated Willis, innocently.
"Yes. You went on deck to hold a private confab, and I should like to know what came of it. It is a matter in which I am somewhat interested."
"I don't see how you can be. Bab wanted to know who was to pay him for interfering with your plans, and I told him he would have to go to your uncle for that. There was nothing private about it."
"I suppose I am at liberty to believe that or not," replied Roy. "Babcock knows that when he caught me he didn't get the boy he wanted, and you know it, too. I don't say you knew it when you took me away from my friends in front of the hall, but you do now!"
Roy said this at a venture, and, no doubt, would have been greatly amazed if he had known just how close he had shot to the mark. He was sitting a little to one side of the reflector, so that the rays from the hanging lamp fell squarely upon him, and now that Willis
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 had leisure to look at him without fear of interruption from a crowd of curious by-standers, the cold chills began creeping over him. There was a wonderful resemblance, it is true, between the prisoner and Rowe Shelly, and yet Willis could not help seeing that they were different in a good many particulars. Roy had a way of holding his head, and even of sitting in his chair, which were unlike anything the superintendent had ever noticed in Rowe. How earnestly he wished that Roy would own up, confess that he was the runaway, and thus put an end to his suspense!
"Where's Babcock now?" asked Roy, after a short pause.
"On deck," answered Willis, who did not think it would be good policy to tell the prisoner just what had passed between himself and the detective. "It always makes him sea-sick to remain in a close cabin when on the water, and so he stayed where he could get the breeze."
"It works that way with me, too," said Roy; but Willis could not be made to believe it.
"It won't do, Rowe," said he, with some
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thing that was intended for a good-natured smile. "I've seen you on the water too often, and you can't crowd any such story down me. I wouldn't mind allowing you to go on deck if I could trust you; but I have learned that I can't. Your word isn't good for anything."
"Your remarks may apply to Rowe Shelly, but I want you to understand that they don't hit me. My word is always good. But what's the use of talking?" said Roy, again, picking up the paper. "I've told my story to the detective, who probably told it to you, and in a few hours you will learn that it is a true one. Where has Colonel Shelly gone, and when is he expected to return?"
Willis answered that he didn't know.
"It's immaterial," said Roy. "When my friends come to the island after me, as they surely will as soon as they find out where I have been taken, I shall go ashore with them, no matter whether the colonel is there or not."
It was right on the point of Roy's tongue to add: "And you will go also, for I don't intend to submit to treatment of this sort." But he did not utter the words. It came into his
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 mind like a flash, that possibly this man Willis might have it in his power to shut him up in some strong room on the island, and if that was the case Roy did not wish to make him angry.
"You still stick to it that you are not Rowe Shelly, do you?" exclaimed Willis, trying to look and speak as if he were becoming indignant, though the effort was a sorry failure. He was frightened, and Roy saw it plain enough. "You might as well give up, for everybody who has ever seen you knows who you are."
"Oh, I'll give up because I can't well help myself," replied Roy. "In fact I have a curiosity to see the thing out, and to know what you and Babcock will do when you find that you have put your feet in it. So long as I get good treatment, a soft bed to sleep in—I have been in the saddle nearly all day, and consequently I feel rather tired—and plenty to eat, I would just as soon—indeed, I would rather stay on an island to-night than sleep at my hotel. I never did like a city hotel, and if I were sure that my friends are not worrying
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 about me, my mind would be quite at rest. Hal-lo! What have I said now, I wonder."
"By the piper that played before Moses, that ain't Rowe Shelly," said Willis, to himself, as he sprang from his chair and bolted up the companion-ladder. "Babcock was right, and I'm in for it, sure enough. Rowe's got sublime cheek, but it can't compare with this fellow's. Now what shall I do?"
It was plain as daylight to me, when I heard of it, that there was but one course of action open to the superintendent, and that was the honest and manly one. When he became convinced, or even suspected, that he had made a blunder, the best thing he could do was to order the yacht back to the pier and conduct Roy Sheldon to his hotel with such apologies as he could think up on the spur of the moment. But, unfortunately, Willis had never been known to do an honest and manly thing. Probably he never thought of it. He wasn't above a mean act, and when detected in it generally did something meaner to cover it up. And that was what he decided to do in this case. He did not go into the cabin again, but paced the
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 deck, lost in thought. He turned over in his mind a dozen wild schemes for ridding himself of the prisoner in case he did not prove to be the boy he wanted, but through it all he clung to the hope that he was Rowe Shelly, and nobody else. It couldn't be possible, he told himself, that there was a boy in the world who looked enough like the runaway to deceive everybody at first sight. At any rate, it would not take long to settle the matter now, for here was the island close at hand. There were several people on the jetty awaiting the yacht's return, and every one of them would be able to tell at a glance whether or not he had brought Rowe Shelly with him.
"I'll not so much as drop a hint that I am afraid there is something wrong," said Willis, to himself. "I'll just walk him ashore as if it was all right, and leave them to find a difference between him and the runaway, if they can. If they don't say anything, I shall know that I have been a fool for allowing Babcock's words to have so much weight with me."
When the yacht whistled for the landing, Willis stuck his head down the companion-way
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 and told Roy he might come on deck; a privilege of which the weary prisoner was prompt to avail himself. He had been asleep, with his head resting on the table, and now all he cared for was to get to bed. It would be time enough, he thought, to look into his surroundings and inquire about Rowe Shelly and his reasons for leaving home, after he had had a good night's rest. But by the time the yacht was stopped at the jetty and the lines made fast and the gang-plank shoved out, he was wide awake.
"He's come," said somebody on the jetty. "Don't you see his white shirt and cap? That's him. That's Rowe."
"Now this is mighty strange," said Roy to himself. "These folks appear to be friendly to the boy I am supposed to be, and yet they don't want to have him run away, although he must have good reasons for it, having tried it twice. When they get a closer view of my face we'll see how quick they will sing another tune."
But, to Roy's surprise, they didn't do anything of the sort. They crowded about him,
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 as he walked down the staging by the superintendent's side (for a wonder the man did not take hold of his arm, as Roy expected him to do), all eager to shake him by the hand. They even gazed into his face, which was plainly visible, owing to the bright light emitted by the blazing torch that was standing among the rocks at the end of the jetty. The climax was reached when a motherly-looking woman, who was waiting for them at the shore end of the jetty, threw her arms around the neck of the startled boy and kissed him on the nose before he knew what she was going to do.
"Bless his heart, has he come back again?" she exclaimed, holding him off at arm's length so that she could get a good view of him. "Come right into the house and get a good supper before you go to bed. I know you must be tired to death, and don't suppose you have had a bite to eat since you went away, seeing that you did not take any money with you."
"Let us go in, Mrs. Moffat," interrupted Willis, who grew nervous when the housekeeper began talking about money.
"I'll tell you what's a fact: this is getting
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 serious," soliloquized Roy, as he moved toward the house in company with Willis and Mrs. Moffat, one walking on each side of him. "But I don't know that I care so very much. I'll see how it looks in the morning." Then aloud he said: "I don't want anything to eat, Mrs.—beg pardon, I didn't quite catch the name."
"Good laws! Just listen at the child," exclaimed the housekeeper, throwing up her hands and looking the picture of astonishment.
"He's been going on that way ever since we found him, Mrs. Moffat," said Willis in a low tone. "He don't know me nor Babcock nor the captain nor nobody. He acts as if he had lost all his senses."
"That's just what I have been afraid of for a longtime," answered the housekeeper in a loud, shrill whisper. "No boy who was in his right mind would want to run away and leave a kind uncle and a beautiful home like this. I've suspected it, and so have others whose names I could mention."
Willis started when he heard this, and so did Roy. The woman's words suggested an idea to both of them.
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"I've sense enough to know that I am not hungry," said Roy. "All I ask is to get to bed and be left alone for the rest of the night. I'm tired and sleepy; and besides, I want a chance to think about this business," he added, to himself.
The housekeeper hastened to assure him that it should be just as he said, and a few minutes later Roy was conducted up the front steps and into a wide hall from which winding stairs led to the floor above. Fortunately, his guides did not leave him here, for if they had, Roy would not have known what to do. No doubt he would have confirmed the housekeeper's suspicions by requesting her to show him to his room. But she and Willis did that without being asked. They led him up-stairs to a handsomely furnished apartment, and even accompanied him into it. There was a student lamp on the center-table, a bright wood-fire burning in the grate (although it was summer, the breeze that came off the Sound was raw and chilly), and everything looked cheerful and inviting.
"I haven't touched the room since you went
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 away, except to slick it up a little," said Mrs. Moffatt. "Now, is there anything I can do for you before I say good-night? Hadn't you better let me bring up a little lunch for fear that you may get hungry before morning?"
"I don't care for any, because I never eat during the night. When I once fall asleep, I don't know anything more till daylight comes. There's nothing you can do, thank you," replied Roy.
The motherly housekeeper was evidently disappointed because the boy did not make some complaints or order something, for she lingered as if waiting for him to speak again, while Willis walked the floor with his hands behind his back. He was lost in a brown study from which he presently aroused himself to say:
"Very well. If there is nothing we can do for you, we'll bid you good-night. If you want anything you know how to get it."
"I'll be shot if I do," said Roy, mentally. "Rowe Shelly must be a queer chap if he has to be waited on during the night. If that's the way he has been brought up he had better stay at home as long as he can, for he'll
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 have to take hard knocks when he gets out into the world. I declare, he lives in clover, does he not?" added Roy, glancing around at the expensive furniture, the pictures on the walls, the ornaments on the mantel, which included the model of a full-rigged ship, and the well-filled book-cases that stood on each side of the fire-place. Through an open door at the farther end of the apartment, Roy caught a glimpse of the runaway's bed-room.
"But I'll not go in there," said he, to himself. "I'll move this sofa pillow to the lounge, borrow a book, if I can find one to suit me, and read myself to sleep. So long as I am treated like one of the masters of the house instead of an interloper, I don't see why I shouldn't make the best of the situation. Of course Joe and Art will be along in the morning, and they will be able to prove to Willis's satisfaction that I don't belong here. I knew it would be of no use to argue the matter with Mrs. Moffatt after Willis told her I was out of my head."
While Roy talked to himself in this way he ran his eye over the volumes in one of the
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 book-cases, took out "Gulliver's Travels," and lay down upon the lounge; but before he had read half a page the hand that held the book gradually fell away from his face until the volume rested on the floor by his side. There was no sham about his weariness. His thirty-six mile ride had tired every muscle in his body, and Roy was fast asleep. Would his slumber have been as peaceful as it was if he he had known what was going on outside the house?
When Roy awoke it was with a start and the indescribable feeling that sometimes comes over a sleeper when a stranger unexpectedly enters his room. He looked around, and sure enough he was not alone. Willis was standing a little distance away, and Roy was almost certain that he saw him turn and signal to another man, who whisked out of the door before he could obtain a fair view of him. It might have been nothing but the vagary of a dream, but still Roy thought it worth while to speak of it.
"What do you want now?" he demanded. "Why do you come in without awaking me,
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 and who was that fellow who just went out?"
"What fellow?" asked Willis, answering the last question first, and at the same time facing about and looking at the door, which was still slowly and softly closing.
"That's what I asked you," replied Roy, springing off the lounge, jerking the door wide open and looking out into the hall. There was no one there. If there had been Roy certainly would have seen him, for the lamps were still burning.
"Why, what's the matter?" inquired Willis, as if he thought this a very strange proceeding on Roy's part. "What are you afraid of?"
"I don't know that I am afraid of anything; but I'd like to have you to tell me who came into this room with you, and why you are here. I told you I shouldn't want anything to-night."
"I thought you might, and that's why I came," replied the man. "There is no one with me. I am alone." And then, as if he had just thought of the object of his visit, he continued: "I was sure you would like to
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 hear some word from your friends—the two who were with you when that bunco-steerer tried to cheat you out of some money. I know I might have waited until morning, and since you were sleeping so soundly, I am sorry I didn't. I have found out—"
"Great Scott, man!" interrupted Roy, who could scarcely believe that he heard aright. "Don't talk about waiting till morning when you have good news to tell. Where are my friends? Are they here—on the island? How did you get word from them? Go on, please, and tell me what you have found out."
If Willis had not already received as good evidence as he wanted that the boy before him was not Rowe Shelly, he had it now. The real runaway could not have talked and acted as Roy did at that moment.
"I heard of them through Babcock," Willis began.
"Then he didn't come to the island with us, did he? I wondered why I did not see him."
"No. He left me at the pier and went to the city to make inquiries about you. He went straight to the—the—"
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"Lafayette House," prompted Roy, when the man hesitated.
"That's the place. The Lafayette House, and saw your name on the register. Let me see; what did he say it was?"
"Was it Roy Sheldon?"
"Yes, it was. Sounds a good deal like Rowe Shelly, don't it? He found your name there, and also the names of—"
Here Willis hesitated again, for he was not quite sure of his ground. You must remember that he did not know as much about the prisoner as Babcock did, for Roy had not had the same chance to talk to him. So he stopped as often as he needed posting, and, strange to say, Roy never suspected that there was anything wrong. He afterward had occasion to take himself to task for his stupidity.
"My two friends, Joe Wayring and Arthur Hastings?" again prompted Roy. "Did Babcock see them, and what did they have to say about my disappearance? I hope they haven't thought of writing home about it. I wouldn't have them do that for anything."
This was something that Roy ought to have
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 kept to himself; but he said it, and Willis was quick to make a note of it.
"I don't know about that," he replied. "Babcock didn't see 'em to speak to 'em, and they didn't come off with him."
"Now—why didn't they?" exclaimed the disappointed Roy, who had secretly cherished the hope that the fellow who so suddenly disappeared through the door was one of his chums. It would have been just like Art Hastings to play a trick of that kind on him.
"I'll tell you why he didn't speak to—what's their names?" answered Willis. "He spoke to the clerk instead, because he did not want to raise a row, and he told him all about you."
"The clerk did?" said Roy. "Why, he doesn't know anything about me. He never saw me until I went into his hotel in company with my friends."
"That's what he told Bab; but he knew you were from—what is the name of that place again?"
"Mount Airy?"
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"That's it. He knew you came from there, and more than that, he saw the genuine Rowe Shelly."
"There, now," cried Roy. "That's evidence worth having. Did he catch him?"
"No; but he is close on his trail. He brought this news over to me just now, Babcock did, and then went back to follow him up."
"I hope he'll not catch him," said Roy. "I'm sure I can't understand why a boy as well fixed and as kindly treated as young Shelly seems to be should want to run away from home, but I suppose he has good reasons for it."
"Not the first; not the smallest shadow of a reason," protested Willis.
"Then he's crazy; that's flat."
"Now you have hit it. That's what's the matter with him, and you heard Mrs. Moffatt say she had suspected it for a long time. You look surprisingly like Rowe, or else all those folks who met us on the jetty wouldn't have taken you for him. You've got the same hair, eyes, and mustache, and your clothes are ex
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actly like his; but when I had a chance to exchange a word with you, I knew that Bab had made a big mistake."
"Bab says you are the one who made the mistake, and that if I blame anybody for what has happened to me to-night, I must blame you."
"Well, you wouldn't blame anybody if you could see Rowe Shelly," said Willis, deprecatingly. "Of course any amends that—"
"Oh, I don't ask any amends," interposed Roy. "I've had an agreeable adventure, and I shall not make any trouble on account of it. All I ask is that you will send me to the city at once, so that I may relieve the anxiety of my friends. Now, what do you want me to do? Are you going to send me off in the yacht?"
"I'd like to, but I can't," answered Willis. "The captain's asleep, and steam has gone down, so that it would take an hour to get ready for the start. I'll have to send you ashore in a boat, if you don't mind going that way."
"Any way to get there," said Roy, picking up his cap. "I'm ready if you are."
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Willis left the room at once, and Roy followed him downstairs and out of the house. Did the man move with cautious footsteps as if he were afraid of disturbing somebody? Roy was sure he did, and thought it looked suspicious.