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 Hutchinson descended the stairs with King. At the foot of the flight they encountered Tom Locke, just coming from the hotel office in company with Larry Stark. The pitcher had been telling Stark something, and both men were laughing. Believing he knew what Locke had been saying, and that it concerned Janet Harting, the lumber magnate's son was again obsessed with white-hot anger.

"You'll laugh out of the other side of your mouth in a day or two, Hazelton!" he rasped.

"I beg your pardon," Tom returned, flushing. "My amusement does not concern you, King; and will you be good enough to call me Locke?"

"No, I will not; I'll call you by your right name, which is Paul Hazelton. Deny it here, if you have the nerve."

"Very well, I do deny it."

"Then you're a liar!"

He did not wait for the retaliation the insult seemed certain to bring, but leaped, with the final bitter word, at the accused man's throat. Stepping sideways like a flash, Locke caught him as he sprang, whirled him round, slammed him up against the near-by partition, and held him there. The quickness and strength of the pitcher was amazing.