t of the open to the
unknown terrors that might lurk beyond the doorway of the ruined castle.

The friends had scarcely stepped inside before the rain came down in
torrents.

"Lucky we got here just as we did," remarked Joe, as they leaned up
against the masonry of the ruined hall and looked out at the cloudburst.

"It surely was," agreed Jim. "I wish we had a little more light. It's as
dark as Egypt in here."

"I've got my pocket flashlight with me," said Joe, reaching toward his hip
pocket. "But listen, what's that?"

"I didn't hear anything," returned Jim, a little nervously, it must be
admitted.

The two ball players kept perfectly still for a minute and heard what
seemed to be the murmur of voices a room or two away.

"Can it be that the last of the O'Brians is rambling about the castle?"
whispered Jim, with a feeble attempt at raillery.

"More likely some travelers stormbound like ourselves," returned Joe
practically. "Let's take a squint at them."

They tiptoed their way through the hall to a room opening on the right.
The door, half broken from its hinges, was standing open, and in the
darkness they saw the tips of two lighted cigars.

As this was not at all ghostly and they did not care to intrude, they were
about to retire as softly as they had come, when Joe was startled by
hearing his own name. Jim's hand shot out and clenched his friend's arm,
and they stood there like statues.

"That was a slick trick you put over on Matson," said a voice which Joe
recognized instantly as belonging to Beckworth Fleming. He had heard that
voice before when he had made its owner kneel in the dirt of the road and
beg Mabel's pardon for his insolence.

"I think myself it was rather clever," drawled another familiar voice,
that of Braxton. "He fell for it like a lamb."

"He's a pretty keen chap usually, too," remarked Fleming. "How is it you
caught him napping?"

"I picked out just the right time," said Braxton complacently. "And I
don't deny that luck helped me a little. If McRae and Barclay hadn't gone
away just the time they did, it might not have worked. But I got him
talking about handwriting, and the first thing you know he'd scribbled his
name on the blank sheet. I took good care that only the bottom of the
sheet was where he could reach it. Then I slipped the paper into my
pocket, sent it to you to have the contract printed above the signature,
and you know the rest."

"Easy meat," chuckled Fleming.