unfolded the third picture; it was larger than the others and
had been folded across the middle to get it into the envelope. Alan
leaned forward to look at it.

"That is the University of Kansas football team," he said. "I am the
second one in the front row; I played end my junior year and tackle
when I was a senior. Mr. Corvet--?"

"Yes; Mr. Corvet had these pictures. They came into my possession day
before yesterday, the day after Corvet disappeared; I do not want to
tell just yet how they did that."

Alan's face, which had been flushed at first with excitement, had gone
quite pale, and his hands, as he clenched and unclenched them
nervously, were cold, and his lips were very dry. He could think of no
possible relationship between Benjamin Corvet and himself, except one,
which could account for Corvet's obtaining and keeping these pictures
of him through the years. As Sherrill put the pictures back into their
envelope and the envelope back into his pocket, and Alan watched him,
Alan felt nearly certain now that it had not been proof of the nature
of this relationship that Sherrill had been trying to get from him, but
only corroboration of some knowledge, or partial knowledge, which had
come to Sherrill in some other way. The existence of this knowledge
was implied by Sherrill's withholding of the way he had come into
possession of the pictures, and his manner showed now that he had
received from Alan the confirmation for which he had been seeking.

"I think you know who I am," Alan said.

Sherrill had risen and stood looking down at him.

"You have guessed, if I am not mistaken, that you are Corvet's son."

The color flamed to Alan's face for an instant, then left it paler than
before. "I thought it must be that way," he answered; "but you said he
had no children."

"Benjamin Corvet and his wife had no children."

"I thought that was what you meant." A twinge twisted Alan's face; he
tried to control it but for a moment could not.

Sherrill suddenly put his hand on Alan's shoulder; there was something
so friendly, so affectionate in the quick, impulsive grasp of
Sherrill's fingers, that Alan's heart throbbed to it; for the first
time some one had touched him in full, unchecked feeling for him; for
the first time, the unknown about him had failed to be a barrier and,
instead, had drawn another to him.

"Do not misapprehend your father," Sherrill said quietly. "I cannot
prevent what other people m