King’s teeth clicked, and the frigid expression on his face was blotted by a hot frown. He measured Locke with his eyes, getting for the first time the impression that the man was far better set up than he had supposed, and not quite as slender. Also, he was struck by the conviction that Locke was older than he had fancied; although his face looked somewhat boyish――particularly so at a distance, upon the baseball field――upon closer inspection it appeared more manly and seemed to possess a certain sort of dignity. Surely there was nothing common or ordinary about the fellow. “Pardon me, Locke,” said Bent, “but――do you know?――you’ve puzzled me a bit!” “Really? In what manner?” “At first sight of you, last Saturday, I felt that I had seen you somewhere before. I’m sure of it now.” “I don’t recall ever having seen you outside of this town.” “That’s not strange. I’m not a baseball player, although I am a Harvard man. Yes, there’s no doubt about it, I have seen you.” “When?” asked Locke, as if the question came from unwilling lips. “Where?” “At Cambridge,” asserted King, keeping his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the other man’s face, “a year ago this past spring, when Princeton played Harvard. You did not pitch, but you were on the Princeton bench.” There was a hush, in which Bent, still keeping his eyes fixed on Locke’s face, could hear Janet breathing quickly through her parted lips. His heart leaped, for Lefty was faltering, and it seemed that the girl must perceive the faint shade of dismay that passed over his face. “I think you are mistaken,” said the pitcher, breaking the silence at last. King laughed. “You _think_ so! Really? Then perhaps you will deny that you were there?” “Yes.” “What?” “I deny it.” “Do you mean to say you were not there?” “I was not there.” Swiftly lifting his hand, Benton pointed a level, accusing finger like a pistol at Locke’s face. “Perhaps,” he cried, “you will make an additional denial. Perhaps you will deny that you are Paul Hazelton, of Princeton?” Janet leaned forward, her hands clasped, her blue eyes full of suspense. So much depended on the forthcoming answer! If he were to confess that he had been named by King, she felt that henceforth she must hold him in disdain as being all that Benton had asserted he was. But if he should deny it―― His lips parted to reply: “Most certainly I deny it! I am not Paul Hazelton, of Princeton.” The girl uttered a little cry of joyous relief: “There, there! You see――you see, you were mistaken, Bent. I knew――I knew you must be! I knew it could not be true. I was sure Lefty――he――Mr. Locke wouldn’t do a thing like that. I’m so glad!”