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, had failed to bring any solution of the riddle. He knew now that the girl with whom he had imagined himself in love was selfish and shallow, but he could not believe her criminal, nor did he for an instant think that she was a part of the conspiracy to rob the Bears of their championship. That he was in any danger he did not consider possible. He went uptown determined to hasten the interview as much as possible and arrived at the Baldwin mansion shortly after eight o'clock. Presently Helen Baldwin came. She was wearing a dark street gown and her face was pale, dark rings under her eyes showing that she had been suffering. "Larry," she said quietly, "you'll think me hateful and wicked. I have had a terrible time these last two days, and I have been thinking. "I wanted to tell you I was a foolish, vain girl. I didn't love you; I was in love with the thought of being mistress to James Lawrence's fortune. I was conceited and silly and never thought of any one but myself; but I did like you, Larry--I do. You will believe that, will you not?" "Yes," he said simply. "I thought baseball was just a silly game," she went on, as if each word cost her a pang. "I couldn't understand why you gave up so much; why you insisted upon staying with the team. I didn't know that here in the East it is a great business and that hundreds of thousands of people take it so seriously. Uncle Barney asked me to get you to quit, and I told him you would. My vanity was hurt when you refused." "You found out what it means for me to quit?" he asked. "Yes. Uncle Barney came home in a terrible rage. He had been drinking and when he saw me he swore about you. He swore he'd fix you."