“Yesterday I came upon a clipping caught beneath the lower drawer,” she said quietly. “It concerned a man named Matthew Jewel. He bore a striking resemblance to you.”
The publisher raised his eyes to stare intently at Penny. His hands gripped the chair arms so hard that the knuckles became a bluish-white. Splotches of red appeared on his forehead.
“Matthew Jewel?” he murmured at last.
“Yes, Mr. Judson, but you have nothing to fear from me. I shall not expose you.”
“Then you know?”
“The likeness was unmistakable. I read the clipping, too.”
The publisher arose, nervously walking to the fireplace. His hands trembled as he fingered an ornament on the shelf.
“I searched everywhere for that clipping when I cleaned out my desk,” he mumbled. “I’ve gone through every imaginable torture fearing it would be found. And now I am to be exposed!”
“But I assure you I have no intention of telling anyone,” said Penny earnestly. “Your past is your own.”
“A man’s past never is his own,” responded Mr. Judson bitterly.