strange to him. The words had been printed. Then it flashed upon him
that he had received a letter once before addressed in the same
way--the letter from the League about Barry. Was this, too, from
that address? He opened it.

It was.

He read it, and gasped. The worst had happened. The gold bat was in the
hands of the enemy.




XIII

VICTIM NUMBER THREE


"With reference to our last communication," ran the letter--the writer
evidently believed in the commercial style--"it may interest you to
know that the bat you lost by the statue on the night of the 26th of
January has come into our possession. _We observe that Barry is still
playing for the first fifteen._"

"And will jolly well continue to," muttered Trevor, crumpling the paper
viciously into a ball.

He went on writing the names for the Ripton match. The last name on the
list was Barry's.