“Then I’ll disgrace you!” stormed Mr. Skeel.
“Have you the note in question?” asked Tom, quietly.
“Yes, but what is that to you? I can produce it when the time comes,” and the professor tapped a black wallet lying on the table before him. It was the one Tom had found and returned.
“You need not trouble,” said our hero quietly. “We can produce the note now. Here it is—the forged note!” and he held it in view, but safely out of reach of the professor, who had sprung to his feet in rage and amazement.
“Wha—what!” he cried. “Where—where did you get that?”
Hurriedly, and with trembling hands, he began searching through the wallet.
“It was there—it’s here now,” said Tom, quietly. “And if you make any more threats, or attempt in any way to annoy my friend here, I shall lay the whole matter before Doctor Meredith,” went on the calm Freshman. “I don’t know but it is my duty to do it anyhow,” he added. “Forging notes and names is a serious crime.”
Professor Skeel sank back in his chair, his face the color of chalk. His lips moved, but, for a moment, no sound came forth. Then he hoarsely whispered:
“Don’t—don’t expose me—I—I’ll apologize. It was all—all a mistake. I—I—!”