In his delight the rascal burst into such laughter that he was startled, and suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth, while he stood there listening, fearing he had been heard outside the room. After a little, as there seemed no probability that the sound of his evil merriment had reached other ears than his own, he slipped softly across the floor to a desk that stood at one side. Placing a chair in front of the desk, he sat down and spread out the certificate. For a moment or two he paused to glance over it before continuing his dastardly operations. From his pocket he quickly brought forth a small vial of colorless liquid, together with a camel’s hair brush. Uncorking the vial, he dipped the tiny brush into the liquid, and began at once with this to follow the tracing of the pen upon the document. As the moisture disappeared from the brush, he re-dipped it at intervals into the liquid. Almost as swiftly as he worked the writing thus touched by the moist brush faded and disappeared from the paper. He was using a powerful ink-eradicating fluid. Ten minutes of this work was sufficient to remove from the certificate every trace of writing, leaving blank the places where it had been. At the end he used a blotter upon it to take up the moisture that had not dried out. Then he picked up the ruined certificate and surveyed it in triumph. “That settles the case of Mr. Frank Merriwell!” he declared. “’E’ll take no part in the run for the Hashley Trophy, for ’e’ll ’ave no certificate to show when it is called for by the committee. It has cost me five dollars to earn a ’undred.” Having finished his work and gloated over it a few moments, to the intense satisfaction of his miserable soul, he refolded the ruined certificate, replaced it among the other papers and restored the whole package to the pocketbook. The pocketbook he replaced in Frank’s suit case, which he closed as he had found it. “Now to get out of here,” he whispered, as he hastened to the door, at which he paused to listen. Hearing no alarming sound outside, he quickly turned the key and opened the door, stepping out briskly. His satisfaction was complete when he observed no person in the corridor. Again locking the door, he hastened downstairs. Three men were in the office, and their words attracted the attention of Hollingsworth as he looked around for the bell boy, to whom he wished to restore the key. “It’s a cinch that Frank Merriwell will win,” said a slender man in black. “He should have been barred from the race.” “How is it possible to bar him?” inquired a stout man. “On the plea of professionalism.” “But he is not a professional, you know,” said the third man, who looked like a Spaniard and spoke with a slight foreign accent. “If he isn’t he should be,” declared the slender man. “I don’t see why.” “He’s too good.” “Oh, not at this game.” “Yes, at this game.” “What makes you think so?” asked the Spaniard. “He wins at almost anything he undertakes.”