in the realm,
including the king himself.

The American colony, too, was there almost to a man, and the United States
ambassador lent his presence to the occasion.

It was the most distinguished audience, probably, that had ever witnessed
a baseball game.

And here it was that Joe did the most brilliant pitching of the trip. His
tireless arm mowed down his opponents inning after inning. They came to
the bat only to go back to the bench. His mastery of the ball seemed
almost uncanny, and as inning after inning passed without a hit being
made, it began to look as though he were in for that dream of all
pitchers--a no-hit game.

Brennan, the Chicago manager, fidgeted restlessly on the bench and
glowered as his pets were slaughtered. He tried all the tactics known to
clever managers, but in vain. It was simply a day when Baseball Joe was
not to be denied.

His comrades, too, gave him brilliant support and nothing got away from
them, so that when finally the last man up in the ninth inning in the
All-American team lifted a towering skyscraper that Joe caught without
stirring from his tracks, a pandemonium of cheers forced him to remove his
cap and bow to the applauding crowds again and again.

Not a man had scored, not a man had been passed, not a man had reached
first, not a man had hit safe. Joe had won the most notable game in his
whole career!

CHAPTER XXIX

THE RUINED CASTLE

With London as their center the teams made flying trips to Edinburg,
Glasgow and Dublin. In all three places they received a royal welcome, for
the fame of that great game in London had spread throughout the nation and
all were eager to see the hero of that occasion.

Under other circumstances Joe would have been jubilant, for he was at the
very height of his reputation, the girl he loved was with him, as well as
his only sister and his closest friend, but ever in his thoughts like the
spectre at the feast was that matter of the signed contract--the
abominable thing that smirched his reputation and branded him to the world
as false to his word and bond.

Again and again he sought to find the key to the mystery. It seemed like
some monstrous jugglery, something akin to the fakir's tricks that he had
witnessed at Colombo where the impossible had seemed so clearly possible.

Try as he would he could find no explanation of the puzzle and his friends
were equally powerless to suggest a solution.

The game at Dublin, which comme