Fearing what she might think of him for dealing with a man like Hutchinson, he dared not tell her just how the knowledge had come to him; but he swore it was true, that he knew it was true, and begged her to believe him. “And, though he has denied it, he is Paul Hazelton. They have the absolute proof, and Mike Riley holds a letter of his that will bar him from baseball in the Northern League. There’ll be a meeting called this very week, and he’ll be suspended.” “I do not believe it, I told you not to speak to me again about him until you could show proof that――” “I can! I have it here!” Exultantly he produced the letter and photograph; the latter he held before her eyes, and she looked at it, speechless. “The picture of Paul Hazelton, of Princeton,” he said. “Does it resemble Mr. Tom Locke?” “Where――where did you get it?” she asked in a husky whisper, taking it from his hand with nerveless fingers that nearly let it fall. “I told you I had sent to a friend, asking him to get Hazelton’s picture for me. He went to Princeton for it; here’s the name of the Princeton photographer on it.” She had hoped that there might be some doubt; that, even though the photograph resembled Locke, there might be some question as to whether it was not the counterfeit presentment of a person who looked like him. But, with it before her eyes, that hope sank and died; it was the man. Watching her face, King felt certain he had won at last. He took the picture, and placed the open letter in her hands. She tried to read it, but the lines ran into a blurred mass, and finally, with a choking sensation in her throat, she handed it back, endeavoring to keep him from seeing how hard she was hit. He sought to crush back and control his exultation; did his best to prevent any touch of it from creeping into his voice. “While I am sorry, Janet, that you were deceived, even for a minute, by the fellow, I am also glad that no real harm has been done. He has been exposed in time. I knew from the first that he lied brazenly when he denied that he was Hazelton, but he certainly can assume a plausible manner which might fool almost anybody. Henry Cope knew, all along, that he was not what he represented himself to be, but, on account of Riley’s claim, and to protect Hazelton, he would not tell the truth. It is useless for him to hold back any longer. I hope you do not blame me, Janet; I’m sure you won’t when you have time to think it all over calmly. I care for you more――much more――than I have ever let you know, and for that reason I――” “Please don’t say anything more to me now,” she entreated, her voice low but steady. “You were right.” Half turning away, she put out her hand; he seized it quickly, and found it cold. “I’ll not say anything more now,” he breathed, close to her shoulder, holding the hand fast in his grasp; “but some time, Janet――some time when you are ready to listen――I’ll have something more to say.”