into the hands of the aroused scouts.

Just in time did Paul discover that a piece of clothes line, probably
taken from a yard close by, had been cleverly fastened across the aisle
about six inches from the floor. It was undoubtedly intended to trip any
who unguardedly came along that way.

"'Ware the rope, fellows!" he called back over his shoulder; for some of
his comrades were pushing hotly after him.

The warning came too late, for there was a crash as one scout made a
dive; and from the various cries that immediately arose Paul judged that
the balance of the detail had swarmed upon the fallen leader, just as
though they had the pigskin oval down on the football field.

By now the escaping figure had reached the open window through which he
must have entered some time previously, taking time to lay these various
traps by means of which he expected to baffle pursuit.

Paul believed that such an ingenious artifice could have originated in
no brain save that of Ted Slavin, or possibly his crony, Ward Kenwood.
Hence he was trying his best to discover something familiar about the
figure now clambering up over the windowsill.

The balance of the scouts had managed to scramble to their feet after
that jarring tumble; and were even then at his heels, grumbling and
limping.

"It's Ted himself, that's what!" called Bobolink, at this exciting
juncture.

The fellow turned his head while crouching in the window, just ready to
drop outside. Paul could hardly keep from laughing at what he saw.
Possibly foreseeing some such predicament as this, and not wishing to
have his identity known if it could be avoided, what had the daring
bell-ringer done but assumed an old mask that might have been a part of
a Valentine night's fun, or even a left-over from last Hallowe'en
frolic.

At any rate it was a coal-black face that Paul saw, with a broad grin
capable of no further expansion.

"Yah! yah! yah!" laughed the pretended darky, as he waved a hand
mockingly in their direction, and then vanished from view.

Paul thought he recognized something familiar about the voice, though he
could not be absolutely certain. And it was not the bully of Stanhope,
Ted Slavin, that he had in mind, either.

There arose a chorus of bitter cries of disappointment, showing how the
scouts felt over the escape of the intruder who had played such a
successful practical joke on the troop.

"He's skidooed!" exclaimed Bobolink, in disgust. "Wouldn't t