As Darrell came out to strike, Dick made a signal that Hal understood. Darrell let the first one pass. On the second ball pitched Merriwell, who had been watching Westcott’s feet, scudded for second base. Dickson lined the ball down to Tipton, but Dick slid under handsomely and was again declared safe. “He will stay right there,” asserted Madison. Nort was mistaken, however, for on the very next ball pitched, which proved to be a little wild, Dick, having secured a good lead off second, made a dash for third, and again was declared safe after a sensational slide. The cadets rose and cheered wildly. A moment later Darrell put up a weak foul and was out. Dick was crouching near third, every nerve strained, as Westcott pitched the first ball to Black. Barron missed it. Dickson tossed the ball back to Westcott. Then, as Dickson made that tossing movement, when it was too late for him to retain the ball, Dick electrified every beholder by starting for the home plate at astonishing speed. By the time the ball reached Westcott’s hands Merriwell was at least halfway home. In his eagerness to return it to Dickson, Westcott made a poor throw. Dickson fumbled the ball, and Merriwell slid home safely in a cloud of dust, while the Fardale boys split their throats with a great cheer. By his daring base-running Dick had tied the score. Madison was furious. In the midst of the excitement he said something to the umpire, and, following this, Black was declared out on three strikes, although but one of them had passed over the plate. Flint was now the hitter, and he had his eye peeled for a good one. The first ball was at least a foot beyond the plate, yet the umpire declared it a strike. The next one was too high, but another strike was called. The watching cadets roared their disapprobation. “Robbery!” they shouted. Having discovered what the umpire was trying to do, Flint went for the next ball, even though it was above his shoulders. He met it full and fair, and sent it sailing far over the fence for a home run; and the uproar that followed as the boy with the scarred cheek trotted around the bases was simply indescribable. Down onto the field poured the rejoicing cadets, and, forgetting everything else, Wiley plunged into their midst, eager to shake hands with the winners. Barely had Wiley left little Abe, when the sandy man the hunchback had seen watching him appeared at the bench. Immediately Abe rose and fled in great fear. He ran toward the crowd, but could see nothing of Wiley. Then he turned for the gate, through which he dashed. In doing so he plunged straight into the arms of a man who seemed waiting for him. Instantly he was caught up and carried toward a closed carriage. “Help!” he faintly cried. “Shut up, you brat!” hissed the voice of Jarvis, for Abe’s captor was the man with the icy hand.