from the crowd. He knew what was happening. He grabbed the
ball, whirled and threw like a shot to the plate. McCarthy was
two-thirds of the way home; but the ball, striking the ground, bounded
into the hands of the catcher six feet ahead of him. Like a flash
McCarthy hurled his body inside the line, with one foot outstretched to
touch the goal. He had out-guessed the catcher. His foot, stretched
out, felt the sharp jar of some object, then struck the plate, and,
rolling over and over, he arose covered with dust.

The crowd was roaring. Nine out of ten thought McCarthy had counted
with the tying run, but Bill Tascott, crouching over the plate, jerked
his thumb over his shoulder, signaling that the runner was out and the
Bears beaten.

Like flood waters breaking a dam, the crowd surged from the stands,
shouting, screaming, threatening. A thousand men, mad with
disappointment, swarmed around the umpire, pushing, shoving, shaking
fists and screaming. McCarthy pushed his way hurriedly into the mob,
which was growing more and more threatening.

"Let him alone. He was right," he cried loudly. "The ball touched my
foot as I slid in."

Those who heard him stopped, and in an instant the danger was over.
The crowd, subsiding suddenly, began to melt away. Tascott grinned as
he turned to McCarthy.

"That was tough luck, Kohinoor," he said. "I was pulling for you to
beat the ball, and you had it beat, but your leg kicked up and hit the
ball as you slid. I'd have given a month's salary to call you safe."

CHAPTER XXIII

_Kidnapped_

"Train leaves at 11.30, Kohinoor," said Swanson as McCarthy came up to
their rooms after dinner that evening. "Let's play billiards until it
goes."

"Can't," replied McCarthy shortly. "I've got to make that call
to-night. There's something wrong up there at Baldwin's, Silent. The
girl writes to-day that Baldwin will not be home this evening and that
she must see me to give me important news."

"Sure you can trust her?" asked the big shortstop. "Don't take any
chances."

"There's no danger in going to one of the finest homes on the drive to
call on a young woman," laughed McCarthy.

"I'll get away as soon as possible and tackle you for fifty points,
three cushions, before we start for the train," promised McCarthy.
"You hang around."

McCarthy had puzzled for two days over the odd conduct of Helen
Baldwin, and her brief note, appointing that evening for the call,