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 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 Hazel