d, striking, whirling, while the Kentuckian
planned his campaign.

Little by little he drew his implacable opponent toward the charcoal
cross-mark on the floor. The great sword rose high--he feigned weakness
and dropped his chair. Then, as the toreador dodges the mad onslaught
of the maddened bull, he leaped aside and the sword struck the ground.

Before it could be raised, he swung from his side position, with the
heavy antique chair, against the vizor. The equilibrium of the armored
man was none too stable, as he missed his stroke--and his head went
back. Again the Kentuckian charged, this time with a barehanded clinch,
the chair dropped.

Around the metal waist his arms went and he forced the other back but
half a foot.

It was enough!

"_Santa Madre!_" came from the helmet, as the figure stumbled through
the opening trap-stone.

There was a scream, which suddenly ended at highest pitch--a splash ...
then _silence_.

Jarvis staggered back, with dilated eyes upon the fatal hole--he wiped
the cold beads off his clammy brow, and staggered toward the table for
support.

Rusty's head came out from the shelter of the stone coping--and he
smiled an ashen imitation of amusement.

"Whar's yoh friend, Marse Warren?"

Jarvis' head was low upon his breast, as he answered quietly:
"Water--and a long drop! There's a real ghost due to haunt castle now,
Rusty."

"I knowed them battleship boogies was spooks!"

Warren picked up the great sword which had fallen by the trap as the
man went through. He walked up the stairs.

"Oh, Marse Warren, don't!"

"What's the matter?" and he snarled it. "Do I scare you?"

"You can't scare me--I'm scared already!"

Jarvis made a fencing feint at the other figure. There was no response;
again he tried. Then he rushed it, and knocked the armor over.

"I guess he's genuine--and harmless."

"Oh, Marse Warren, you'se got gall, shore. I'll jest finish dis
battleship--so he won't jump no moh." He had grabbed the armor and
started toward the trapdoor. "I'm goin' to sink him in de harbor!"

"Don't do that--it takes a thief to catch a thief. I'll make a ghost
out of you, Rusty. Come here."

Objecting, timorous, and still overcome with his native superstition,
Rusty was nevertheless forced to don the armor--a sad misfit he was, at
that.

"Somebody was working in this room, Rusty. It's a cinch that the
treasure was here. It's a cinch that we interrupted, and it's still in
its little