“From the time I picked up this envelope, after that day when we had lunch with your sister, Phil,” he went on, “I’ve been trying to think in whose handwriting it was. Perhaps I had no right to take the envelope, but I couldn’t help it after she—Miss Harrison dropped it. To-night, after I saw him—saw Langridge out walking with her—I came back here, and I had a suspicion. I knew I had an old note of Langridge’s somewhere around. I found it, and compared it with the envelope. You see what it shows.”
“He must have sent her the clipping,” agreed Tom. “But why?”
“Easy enough to see that,” answered Sid. “He was mad because I—er—I happened to go with her a few times, and he is taking this course to give me a bad name, though if she only knew it Langridge is no white-ribboner.”
“Maybe that was a fake clipping,” suggested Phil. “I’ve heard of such things being done before. Langridge might have hired a printer to set that item up so that it looked as if it was cut from a newspaper.”
“No,” answered Sid quietly. “The item was genuine. I have a similar one I cut from the Haddonfield Herald.”
“But it isn’t true?” inquired Tom.
“No—that is—well, I can’t say anything about it,” and Sid looked miserable again. “But I’m glad I found out who sent it to Miss Harrison.”
“What are you going to do about it?” asked Tom.
“I’m going to have it out with Langridge the first time I meet him. I’ll punch——”