That morning Watson Scott had a visitor who gave his name as Alvarez Lazaro.
Lazaro was a slender man of medium height, with snow-white hair and face that seemed to indicate he had passed through great suffering of some sort, for it was strangely drawn and deeply lined. His age seemed uncertain, but Scott, who was an excellent judge, would have placed him well along in the fifties, although his step and carriage was like that of a much younger man.
He was expensively dressed, wore a big sable overcoat, and had on his fingers a number of rings set with precious stones.
Old Gripper surveyed the visitor with unusual interest. There was something about the man that fascinated him—something that attracted, yet repelled.
"I'll not take up much of your time, Señor Scott," said Lazaro, in a soft, musical voice. "I know you are a very busy man. I have called to make inquiries about this railroad they say is soon to be built in my country. I hear you are president of the company."
Scott knitted his heavy brows. "Where had he heard that voice before?" he asked himself.
"You are from Mexico, Mr. Lazaro?" was his question.
"I am, señor."
"What do you wish to know about the Central Sonora Railroad?"
"It is settled that the road will be constructed?"
"Yes. Every preparation is being made to begin work upon it."
"The company is formed and the stock issued?"
"The stock is not yet issued."
Lazaro had taken a seat on a chair toward which Scott had motioned him.
"But it will be——"
"As soon as we think proper."
"You are confident that the road will pay?"
"If I did not think so, I'd not be so deeply interested in it."
"Naturally not, for I understand you are a very shrewd man of affairs, señor."
The complimentary words of the Mexican were wasted on Scott, who believed a man usually dealt in compliments when he was seeking something to his own advantage.
"Who are your intimate associates in this great project, if I am not presuming too far by asking, Señor Scott?"
"Mr. Warren Hatch, Mr. Sudbury Bragg, and Mr. Frank Merriwell are in the company."
"It seems that I have heard of Señor Merriwell. Has he not a rich mine down there somewhere in Sonora?"
"He has."
"Then it is likely he will be the one most benefited by the building of this road?"
"It certainly will be a great thing for him."
Lazaro nodded slowly. He knew Watson Scott was surveying him in a puzzled manner, but he seemed wholly unconscious of the fact.
"The stock of this company you think will be a profitable investment for those who may purchase it, señor?"
"I believe so."
"Of course your company intends to retain a controlling interest in the road?"
"Exactly."
"Does Señor Merriwell intend to hold a large amount of the stock?"
"I believe he has pledged himself to take a certain amount of it."
"I have heard that he has other valuable mines besides the one in Mexico."
"You seem very much interested in him?"
"Not particularly, although to my ears there has come a rumor at some time that his claim to the mine in Mexico is a very flimsy one and that he may lose it."
"Wind, sir—nothing more. The rumor was foundedon the claims of a countryman of yours, Señor Porfias del Norte, who held an old and worthless land grant to the territory in which Merriwell's mine is located. The grant had been revoked, and Del Norte could have done nothing had he lived."
"Then he is dead?"
"Dead and buried so deeply that nothing but the horn of old Gabriel can ever bring him up."
"Then it is likely that Señor Merriwell may escape some annoyance, at least. I think he will be glad of that."
"I'm not sure about it," said Old Gripper, with a flitting smile. "Merriwell is a fighter, and he seems to enjoy trouble. But we are not progressing. You have asked me a lot of questions, but have not yet stated your business."
"I am contemplating investing in Central Sonora when it is placed on the market."
"Ah!"
"Yes, señor. I have some money I wish to invest in something solid and promising. I presume you will be ready enough to put out much of that stock, and it may start a little slow. On your assurance that you believe it a good thing, I will take some shares."
"How much do you contemplate investing?"
"What will be the par value of the stock?"
"One hundred dollars a share."
"Then," said Alvarez Lazaro, with perfect nonchalance, "you may put me down, if you are willing, for one thousand shares."
Old Gripper blinked.
"That is one hundred thousand dollars," he said.
The Mexican bowed.
"Which will be as much as I care to invest in a single enterprise."
The interest of Watson Scott was at a high pitch now.
"It happens that I know nothing whatever about you, Mr. Lazaro," he said. "I have had other men come here and make similar propositions; but have found, on investigation, that they had not a dollar behind them. If you can produce credentials or letters from——"
"I can produce plenty of letters, señor. I have them from many notable men of my country, including President Diaz. I do not carry them with me, you understand; but I can produce them whenever I choose. If you wish, I will make an appointment with you, at which I'll satisfy you beyond a doubt that I am exactly what I represent myself to be. If it is possible, I should like to have you dine with me to-night at the Waldorf. I hope you may find it convenient to accept my most urgent invitation, señor."
Now, under ordinary circumstances Watson Scott would not have contemplated such a thing. Lazaro had appeared unheralded and unannounced, and Scottknew absolutely nothing of the man. Yet all through that interview Scott had experienced an almost mastering desire to know something about him. He could not understand why he should take such unusual interest in the stranger, but from the moment the man had entered the office Old Gripper was beset by a conviction that this was not their first meeting.
"I don't know," he said, in a hesitating manner that was wholly unnatural with him who was generally so settled and decisive. "I suppose——"
"You will accept," nodded Lazaro, as if it were decided. "At what time will it be most convenient for you to come."
"Why—er—when do you dine?"
"Whenever Señor Scott chooses," bowed the man with the snowy hair. "Any hour from six to nine will please me."
"Well, I'll be along between six and half-past," said Scott, and then wondered why he had said it.
"It is well," bowed Lazaro, rising. "I will now intrude no more on your precious time."
Scott stood up.
"Hang it all!" he exclaimed. "I'd swear I know you! Isn't it possible we have met before. I can't seem to remember your face, but your eyes and your voice seem to stir some forgotten memory within me."
The Mexican slowly shook his head.
"I have traveled much," he said, "and have metmany people; but I am certain it has never been my good fortune to be presented to you, Señor Scott. Of course it is possible that you may have seen me somewhere and some time in the past; but I would swear that never until I entered this office did I place my eyes on you. Your face is one not easily forgotten."
"And yours is one no man should forget, sir. I presume I am mistaken."
Lazaro paused at the door.
"If you found it convenient to bring along one of your associates in this railroad deal, say Señor Hatch or Señor Bragg, I should be glad."
"Not likely I can. It is barely possible I might bring Merriwell."
"As I understand, he is too young, Señor Scott. I had rather meet men older and wiser. I cannot tell why, but the youth of Señor Merriwell has somehow prejudiced me against him."
"When you meet him, if you do, you'll find him wise far beyond his years and as keen as a rapier."
"No doubt you are right, señor; but I do not care to make an effort before him to establish my responsibility. I should feel that the situation ought to be reversed and that he should be seeking to satisfy me."
"I believe I understand your feeling on that point, Mr. Lazaro; but you feel that way because you do not know him. However, we'll leave him out to-night. Good day. Look for me at the time set."
"Thank you, señor. Good day."
Alvarez Lazaro bowed himself out of the office with the grace of a Frenchman.
Old Gripper stood quite still a number of moments, frowning deeply.
"Confound it!" he cried. "The impression that I have met that man grows stronger and stronger. But where—where?"
A man in a heavy overcoat and a slouch hat was walking rapidly through one of the streets of New York leading into a squalid quarter of the East Side. Twice he stepped past a corner and stood there some time, observing the persons who passed in the direction he had been walking. Once he stepped quickly into a doorway and stood there peering back along the street until he seemed satisfied and concluded to resume his walk.
Plainly this man feared he might be followed.
Finally on a block not far from the river, where everything looked wretched and poverty-stricken, he ascended the low steps of a house and quickly entered a doorway. The uncarpeted hall was dirty and dark. The stairs were worn and sagged a little.
Two flights of stairs did the man climb, and then, in a significant manner, he rapped on a door at the back of the house. There was a stir within the room. The door was flung open by a slender, dark-faced, dark-eyed boy, who joyously exclaimed:
"Welcome, Señor Hagan! You were a great time coming."
The man stepped into the little room, and the door was closed behind him.
"Lock it, Felipe!" he exclaimed. "Take no chances of having some one walk in on us without warning, me boy."
The key was turned in the lock.
There was a bed, a chair, and a washstand in the room. The floor was uncarpeted and the walls unpapered.
"It's a poor sort of a hole you're cooped in, Felipe," observed the visitor, flinging off his hat and unbuttoning his overcoat.
"Paugh! It is vile!" exclaimed the boy, with an expression of disgust. "But here you say they will not look to find me. It was here you brought me, and here I have remained, only sneaking out at night to buy food. Tell me the truth, Señor Hagan, are the police still looking for me?"
"It's your life you can bet on it, me lad. Frank Merriwell has them rubbering for you, and it's myself who has been watched and shadowed all the time since the night we were pinched. If he had anything good and sufficient against me, Merriwell would have me nabbed in a jiffy."
"You're sure the officers did not follow you here?"
"Trust Bantry Hagan," laughed the Irishman. "I took good care of that. I fooled the plain-clothes chap who was following me round, gave him the slip, and then came to see ye. Lucky for us I had a pull with one of the bluecoats the night of the raid at Worden's. It would have been easy for me to get assistance in ducking that night; but I wouldn't go without ye, and you had the irons on. It looked bad."
"The handcuffs are yet to be made that will hold those hands, Señor Hagan," said Felipe, with a laugh.
"Sure you made me wink when you slipped your hands out of them slick and easy. Then it was not so hard to bribe the police to let us both slip away in the darkness as they marched the prisoners downstairs and out through the passage. At that we could not have done it only for my pull with Riley. It's surprised Mr. Merriwell must have been in the morning when he learned that neither of us had been locked up."
"Fiends destroy him!" cried the boy. "How I hate him! I would love to kill him!"
"It's that thing ye'd better not do, unless you want to ruin your prospect of ever handling any of the money he is making from that mine."
"I failed to frighten him that night when I had him with my knife at his throat. He told me I would not kill him, and I am sure he believed it."
"Oh, he's a nervy lad, all right," nodded Hagan. "Del Norte found that out. If he had lived——"
There was a step outside; a sharp knock on the door.
Felipe leaped back toward the window, outside of which was the fire escape. In a moment he had the window open.
Hagan stepped quickly to the door, against which he placed his solid body, at the same time calling:
"Who is it that knocks? and what do you want here?"
"It is I, Señor Hagan," answered a voice that made the Irishman gasp and caused his eyes to bulge. "Have no fear. Open the door!"
"It's the voice of the dead!" gasped Hagan, his usually florid face gone pale.
"Who is it?" questioned Jalisco.
Instead of answering, with fingers that were not quite steady, Hagan turned the key in the lock and opened the door.
Into the room boldly walked a man who wore a sable overcoat, had hair of snowy white, and eyes of deepest midnight.
Hagan stared at this man in amazement.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I am Alvarez Lazaro, of Mexico," was the answer, in that same soft, musical voice that had so startled the Irishman.
"But that voice—that voice!" muttered Hagan. "And those eyes! Man, ye gave me a start! Why do you come here? What do you want?"
"I have come to meet the enemies of Frank Merriwell."
"The divvil ye say!" cried Hagan, his excitementflinging him into the brogue he so nearly avoided in quieter moments. "Why do ye come here for that?"
"Because I know you both are his enemies."
"And you—if I didn't know Porfias del Norte to be dead and buried—— But even then you'd not be the man. You're thirty years older; but you have a little of his looks and his voice in perfection."
"Do you think so? Then perhaps it came through my long acquaintance with him. Dear friends sometimes acquire each other's mode of speech and little mannerisms, it is said."
"Were you Del Norte's friend?"
"His nearest and dearest friend in all the world. This may seem strange to you, considering the difference in our ages, but it is the truth. From me he never had a secret. I knew all his plans, his hopes, his ambitions—everything—everything that he knew and felt."
"Strange he never spoke to me of you," muttered Hagan.
"Not strange, for he was not given to talking freely to any one but me. And now he is dead! But I am here to avenge him. I have learned that he was buried alive in a cave, and the thought of his frightful sufferings before he died has torn my soul with anguish. They say the real cause of his death was the gringo, Merriwell. I am the avenger of Porfias del Norte, and I have sworn to make him suffer even as Porfiassuffered, and then to destroy him at last. It is an oath I shall keep."
"My, but you Mexicans are fierce at revenge and that sort of a thing!" said Hagan, with a look on his face that was almost laughable. "Here's Felipe—I've been cautioning the boy and holding him in check to keep him from slicing up Merriwell."
Lazaro turned to Felipe.
"What great wrong has Merriwell done you?" he questioned.
Then Felipe hurriedly told how Frank was working a rich mine on land that had been granted to Sebastian Jalisco by the first president of Mexico, General Victoria, and how the American had declared the grant a forgery and had refused to pay a dollar of tribute to Felipe.
"Dear boy," said Lazaro, with an air of gentleness, "I do not blame you if you can compel the gringo to give you anything; but Porfias had the only real title to that property that was worthy of consideration. Had he lived, he would have wrested everything from Merriwell. Now that he is dead, I shall take his place and do the work as he would have done it."
"Of course, you think Señor del Norte's claim the only rightful one," said Felipe; "but the grant to Guerrero del Norte was made eight years after that of President Victoria to Sebastian Jalisco. Besides, señor,President Pedraza's grant was revoked by President Santa Anna, and therefore is now wholly worthless."
"There is no need to discuss it," said Lazaro, "You have my sympathy; but I must urge you, for your own sake and for mine, to attempt no harm to Merriwell. Leave him to me, and you shall have the pleasure of seeing all his plans go wrong, his fortune dwindle, his friends drop away, his sweetheart taken from him, his strength sapped, his beauty destroyed, and, at last, his life crushed out of his broken body."
"It's a big job ye've contracted," said Bantry Hagan. "I'm afraid, me man, you don't realize what you're up against."
"You think I cannot accomplish it?"
"I have me doubts, and big ones they are."
"Time will convince you. I learned of the existence of Felipe Jalisco, learned he was in this city, wished to see him, but knew not where to find him. I found you, and I said you should lead me to the boy. You did so."
"You don't mean to tell me ye followed me here?"
"I followed you, even though you fooled the officer who was watching you. I followed you, even though you stopped at corners and watched all who passed, seeking to make sure you were not followed. I saw you stand in the doorway and gaze back along the street; but you did not observe me. Thus you led meto Felipe Jalisco. To-night I strike my first blow at Frank Merriwell."
"How?"
"In my own way. First I will ruin his scheme to build a railroad in Sonora. For that purpose the first blow shall be made this night."
"You're like Porfias del Norte turned into his own father!" declared Hagan. "When you talk you are him to the life, only that you are an old man with a furrowed face and snow-white hair. He was in the very flush of vigorous youth."
A sigh escaped Lazaro's lips, and that sigh was precisely like many a one Hagan had heard Del Norte heave.
"Ah, yes," said the man, with pathetic sadness; "I have looked in a mirror, and I know I am an old, old man. But Frank Merriwell shall not find me too old to wreak vengeance upon him!"
The main dining room of the Waldorf-Astoria was well filled, almost every table being taken. The place was brilliantly lighted, the guests fashionably dressed, and the scene one to impress the unaccustomed visitor. The hidden orchestra was discoursing music to suit the taste of the most critical.
Seated at a table on the Fifth Avenue side were two men who attracted more or less attention. Old Gripper Scott was known by sight to many of those present, and, being one of the great American money kings, naturally received more than cursory notice.
But it seemed that the remarkable-appearing white-haired man, who sat opposite Old Gripper, was surveyed with even more interest than that accorded the great financier. His deeply furrowed face, his snowy hair, and his black, piercing eyes gave him a remarkable look that was certain to attract the second glance of any one who chanced to observe him.
"Who is he?" was the question asked by scores of diners.
"He's a fabulously wealthy Mexican who has come on to take a hand in some of Old Gripper's deals," explained one man, who seemed to know something about it.
Watson Scott found Alvarez Lazaro the soul of polished politeness. The musical talk of the Mexican was very entertaining, yet strangely soothing.
"After we have our coffee," said Lazaro, "I will convince you beyond doubt, señor, that my pledge to take one thousand shares of Central Sonora at par may be considered by you the same as the actual deposit of the money for the stock. I never like to talk business while dining. I know you Americans have your downtown luncheon clubs, where you go to discuss business affairs while you eat; but I do not think I could ever bring myself to adopt the habit."
"It has been found necessary in order to save time," said Scott. "With the New Yorker of affairs time is money."
"I understand that, señor; but still my prejudice against it persists. It will not take me long after dinner. You can spare a little more time. I shall regret to part from you even then."
"Are all your countrymen so free with complimentary speeches?"
"Unlike you men of the North," retorted Lazaro, "we do not hide our feelings, but speak them freely. Perhaps it is a failing, for I find that Americans often become suspicious when praised or complimented; but still, what my heart feels my tongue persists in revealing before I can check it."
"All right," nodded Scott, with something like a touch of gruffness; "but don't lay it on too thick."
"One question perhaps I may ask while we are waiting for the dessert, even if it seems too much of business."
"Fire away."
"I would like to know that this scheme is assured."
"The construction of the railroad?"
"Yes, señor."
"Of course it——"
"If anything serious were to happen to important members of your company—to you, Señor Scott, we will say?"
"Why, I suppose the others would push her through."
"But if something happened to Señor Hatch and Señor Bragg?"
"Well, now you're supposing a wholesale calamity! I don't know what would happen if we were all knocked out before construction began—before the stock was placed on the market."
"It might put an end to the project?"
"It might," admitted Old Gripper.
"That would be most unfortunate for Señor Merriwell," said the Mexican, as if he almost feared something of the sort was going to take place.
Coffee was finally brought.
"Señor," said Lazaro, "I know it is impolite to turnto look behind one, but sitting at the third table back of you is a tall, thin man with a prominent nose, and I am certain I have met him somewhere, but I cannot recall his name. If you could get a look at him without too much trouble——"
Watson Scott was not given to great stiffness anywhere. He drew his feet from beneath the table, placed them at one side of his chair and half turned on the seat, looking round at the man indicated by Lazaro.
As Old Gripper did this the Mexican leaned far over the table and reached out his hand as if to touch his companion on the elbow. Instead of doing this, he seemed to change his mind; but his hand swept over the small cup of black coffee that stood in front of the other man, and something fell into that cup.
"That is Henry Babcock, of the Cuban Plantation Supply Company," explained Scott, turning back.
"Then I was mistaken," said the Mexican. "I have never met the gentleman."
They sipped their coffee, Lazaro continuing talking.
Scott emptied his cup.
"I've had a hard day, but that will keep me awake for the next four hours," he remarked. "I'm going to the theatre with a party of friends to-night, and I don't want to nod over the old play."
After a brief time a vexed look came to his rugged face, and he swept his hand across his eyes.
"Is anything wrong, señor?" questioned Lazaro.
"I'm afraid my eyes are going back on me. They're blurry now. I swear I hate to take up wearing spectacles!"
Directly he leaned his head on his hand, with his elbow on the table.
"I fear you are not feeling well, Señor Scott," said the man of the snowy hair and coal-black eyes.
"I'm not," confessed Old Gripper thickly. "Can't understand it. Never felt this way before. I'm afraid I'm going to be ill. Let's get out of here."
Already Lazaro had paid the check and tipped the waiter. They arose and started to leave the dining room. With his second step Watson Scott staggered.
In a moment his companion had him by the arm, expressing in a low tone the greatest regret and anxiety.
"I want air!" muttered Scott. "I—I'm going home. Please get my topcoat and hat for me. My check is somewhere in my pocket. Get a hansom, for that will give me a chance to breathe."
Lazaro felt in Scott's pocket and found the check, for which he obtained the man's overcoat and hat. He expressed his sorrow that this thing should happen, and, with the aid of an attendant, assisted the tottering man outside and lifted him into a hansom. Scott's wits seemed wholly muddled, for he could not give his home address; but this was not necessary, for the driver happened to know it.
The hansom turned away, and Alvarez Lazaro wheeled to reënter the hotel.
He found himself face to face with Frank Merriwell.
Lazaro halted.
Frank had stopped in his tracks, his eyes fastened on the man.
A moment they stood thus, and then the Mexican bowed, saying with cold politeness:
"Your pardon, señor. You are in my way."
That voice gave Merry a greater thrill than had the sight of the man's face. It was like one speaking from the grave, for the low, gentle voice had all the soft music of one Frank believed forever stilled by death.
And those eyes—they were the same. But that snow-white hair and the deeply furrowed face—how different!
Yet about the man's face there was something that strongly reminded the youth of Porfias del Norte.
"I beg your pardon," said Merry, in turn. "But the sight of you gave me a start. For a moment I fancied I knew you—that we had met before."
"But now you realize your mistake, señor; now you know we have never met until this moment."
"It is not likely that we have; but still you remind me powerfully of a man by the name of Porfias del Norte."
"I knew him."
"You knew him?"
"I did, señor. He was my bosom friend. Who are you that knew my friend?"
"My name is Merriwell."
Alvarez Lazaro seemed to straighten and become rigid, while into his dark eyes crept an expression of hatred which he no longer tried to hide.
"At last, Señor Merriwell," he said, the music having left his voice; "at last we meet! On the morrow I should have sought you."
"For what purpose?"
"To let you know that I have come."
"How could that interest me?"
"You will be interested before you see the last of me."
Frank recognized the threat in the voice of the man.
"What are you driving at? I don't understand you."
"Possibly not. I have said that Porfias del Norte was my bosom friend."
"Yes."
"He is dead."
"Yes."
"It was through you that he came to his death."
"He brought it on himself, and richly he meritedit!" declared Merriwell hotly. "If ever a wretch got just what was coming to him it was Del Norte!"
The eyes of Lazaro were gleaming with a smoldering fire.
"Why did he deserve it? Was it because he found you usurping his privileges, enriching yourself from his property, while you refused to acknowledge his rights?"
"He had no legal rights. He was a villain, every inch of him. He proved it by his dastardly conduct. Yes, he richly merited all that came to him."
"Have you thought what a terrible death he died? Have you thought of him entombed alive, beating with his bare hands the stone walls within which he knew he must die, suffering the most frightful tortures that a human being may know? Have you thought of him smothering for want of air, his throat parched, his head bursting, his mind deranged? Have you thought of him praying to the saints, shrieking, moaning, sobbing, and dying at last in that horrible darkness? And yet you say he received no more than he merited!"
"Poor devil!" muttered Merry. "It was a fearful thing. Even though he once tried to cut my tongue out, even though he meant to torture me and then kill me, I would not have had him endure such suffering."
"You are so kind—so tender of heart!" sneered Lazaro. "Paugh!"
He made a gesture of anger that was precisely thesame as Del Norte might have done. Strange there was something about this old man that so powerfully resembled the youthful Del Norte!
"You have his manner, his voice, his eyes! You might be his father."
"I am simply his friend, Alvarez Lazaro—his friend and his avenger!"
"Then you——"
"I have sworn to avenge him!"
The Mexican leaned toward Frank, swiftly hissing:
"I have sworn to ruin you, to wreck your ambitions and your life, to make you suffer even as Porfias suffered in his last moments! Now you understand me! Now you know what to expect from me!"
"You're insane! I see madness in your eyes! Be careful that you do not bring on yourself the fate that befell Del Norte."
"No danger of that. I know how to accomplish what I have set myself to do. All your great plans shall go amiss. When you see things going wrong, when you find your fortune melting away, when the very earth seems crumbling beneath your feet, think of me and know my hand is behind it all. This night I have struck the first blow!"
Then Lazaro stepped swiftly to one side, passed Merry, and entered the splendid hotel.
Frank Merriwell and Inza Burrage were driving in Central Park the following forenoon. At this early hour there was not the great number of turnouts in the park that would be seen later when languid society came out for its airing.
"Inza," said Frank, "I no longer feel it absolutely necessary to make all haste back to Mexico. I shall take my time about it. The reports from the mine are favorable, and everything is progressing well. Hodge and Browning will return to the city to-morrow. They both expect that I'll be ready to start straight for Mexico. They'll be surprised to find I have it fixed so there is no need of haste."
"The railroad project——"
"Is settled."
"The railroad will be built without your taking an active part in its actual construction?"
"Yes; the newly organized company will look after that. Leave it to Watson Scott. I saw an item in a morning paper saying that Mr. Scott was suddenly taken ill at the Waldorf last night; but that he was resting comfortably this morning, and his physician did not apprehend any serious result. If anything serious did happen to Old Gripper, it might retard the railroad project for a time."
"Now that Del Norte is gone, it seems that you should not have any great trouble, Frank?"
Immediately Merry thought of the man with the snowy hair whom he had encountered in front of the Waldorf; but he decided to say nothing to Inza of that meeting. He did not wish to alarm her.
"Yes," he laughed; "I feel like celebrating, and I have a little scheme."
"What is it?"
"Why can't we make up a party to visit Niagara and St. Louis."
"Oh, splendid!" cried Inza eagerly.
"Then you like the idea, sweetheart?"
"I think it grand!"
"And Elsie——"
"I'm sure she'll be in for it. Although she has not said much, I know she dislikes to have Bart go away."
"Then we'll carry out my plan. You may accompany us as far as St. Louis—perhaps farther."
Inza bubbled with pleasure over this plan, beginning at once to talk of the fine times they would have.
A closed carriage was passing them, going somewhat faster, in the same direction.
Happening to glance toward the window of this carriage, Inza suddenly uttered a low cry and grasped Merry's coat sleeve.
"Look look!" she exclaimed.
"What is it?"
"That man!"
"Where?"
"In that carriage. He was looking from the window, but he has leaned back now. I looked straight into his eyes, and it gave me a fearful shock, for they seemed to be the eyes of Porfias del Norte!"
"How did the man look?"
"He had a strange face that was deeply lined, and his hair was very white."
"Alvarez Lazaro!" thought Merry. "The self-styled avenger is seeking his opportunity."
Having driven in the park for some time, they finally halted at a little restaurant, a man appearing to take charge of their horses.
Near at hand a man was stretched on the ground beneath an automobile, engaged in tinkering at it.
Merry was about to enter the building with Inza when another man appeared, approached the one who was working at the automobile, and impatiently questioned him in regard to the progress he was making.
"There is Mr. Hatch," said Frank. "I'll speak to him. I'll join you inside in a few moments, Inza."
He turned back and approached Warren Hatch, who was standing and frowningly watching the efforts of the one who was tinkering at the automobile.
"Good morning, Mr. Hatch," said Merry.
The face of Hatch cleared a little, and he shook hands with Frank.
"Glad to see you, Merriwell. Did you just drive up? Should have been away from here thirty minutes ago, but something happened to this old machine, and Casimer is having a dickens of a time fixing it. I've been to see Scott."
"How is he?"
"A sick man—a mighty sick man."
"What is the matter?"
"That's the queer thing about it. Doctor hasn't told. Don't believe he knows."
"It is rather queer."
"First the doctor fancied it might be something like paralysis or apoplexy; but it's not. You know Scott was taken while dining at the Waldorf with a man who claims to be interested in the Central Sonora project and expresses a desire to take on one thousand shares of the stock."
"I didn't know about that."
"Yes. I talked with Scott. He's weak and almost helpless. Can barely wiggle a finger, but he can talk, and his mind is not affected."
"Why, the paper said he was very comfortable this morning."
"He may be; but I'd rather see him more frisky."
"You do not apprehend a serious termination?"
"I hope not. Scott has a constitution like iron, and he won't die easily. Still, I shall be worried if he shows no signs of improvement to-day. Do you know, he told me that the man he dined with last night was a Mexican. I haven't much use for them. Found one here talking to Casimer a short time ago—a fellow with the whitest hair I've ever seen."
Frank started.
"I believe I've seen that man," he said. "He passed us in the park."
"He was parley vooing with Casimer and bothering him," said Hatch. "I politely informed him that I was in a hurry, and asked him not to bother my chauffeur. Say, he turned and looked at me with a pair of black eyes that seemed as dangerous as loaded pistols. 'I beg your pardon, señor,' he purred. 'If I have bothered your chauffeur or delayed you in the least, I am very sorry. I trust you may get started soon and meet with no more serious accident to-day than this little breakdown.' I swear there was something in his manner so offensive that I felt like hitting him, and yet he was the very soul of politeness."
Frank nodded, and Hatch noted a singular expression on the face of the youth.
"What are you thinking of?" he inquired. "Something is running through your head."
"It is. Did you ask Mr. Scott the name of the man with whom he dined last evening."
"Yes."
"It was——"
"Alvarez Lazaro."
"I thought it!"
"Why, how did you know any——"
"The white-haired man you met here is Alvarez Lazaro."
"No?"
"And this Lazaro has boldly informed me that he was once the bosom friend of Porfias del Norte and is now his avenger."
"What's that?" gasped Hatch. "Why, what does he propose to do?"
"He has threatened all sorts of things. Look out for him, Mr. Hatch. So he dined with Mr. Scott, did he? And Mr. Scott was taken ill at the Waldorf! Mr. Hatch, when I leave here I shall call on Mr. Scott's physician and have a talk with him. My suspicions are thoroughly aroused."
"You don't suspect foul play, do you?"
"As I have said, my suspicions are thoroughly aroused. This whole affair is queer."
At this moment the chauffeur uttered an exclamation of satisfaction, backed from beneath the machine, wrench in hand, and announced that the breakdown was remedied at last.
Frank remained until the machine was ready to start and Warren Hatch had stepped into it. Mr. Hatch waved his hand and was soon lost to view down the splendid park road.
Just as Merry was on the verge of entering the restaurant, Inza, pale and agitated, came hurrying to him.
"That man is here!" she said, her voice shaking. "I don't know why he frightens me so. I was seated inside, glancing at a magazine, when I happened to look up, and there he stood not more than five feet away. I had not heard a sound, but he was there, and those eyes were fastened on me in a manner that made my blood turn cold. I gave a cry and sprang up. Then he spoke, and, if possible, his voice terrified me even more than his eyes, for it was the voice of your bitterest enemy, Porfias del Norte. Of course, I know Del Norte is dead, Frank; but this man alarms me all the more because of that."
"What did he say to you?"
"He begged my pardon and said he had not meant to alarm me. He was very courteous, just the same as Del Norte. Can he be a relative of your enemy?"
"I don't think so, Inza. Where is he now?"
"He left at once by the door on the opposite side."
"I'd like to see him a moment," said Merriwell grimly.
"Keep away from him, Frank!" implored Inza,grasping his arm. "I don't understand it, but I have a feeling that he will bring some trouble to us."
It was not an easy matter to fully reassure her, but Merry laughed at her and declared she was getting superstitious and whimsical.
At the first opportunity he went in search of Lazaro, but was just in time to see the closed carriage he believed occupied by the Mexican disappearing in the direction of Fifth Avenue.
Central Park is crossed by four sunken transverse roads, running east and west. These roads are mostly used by heavy trucks and wagons carrying merchandise. The park roads cross above them on massive foundations of arched masonry. Almost everywhere the pleasure roads of the park are guarded on either side by protecting walls at such places as might be productive of accident by permitting a frightened horse to plunge over into one of the sunken roads.
On the return drive Frank and Inza came upon a gathering of curious persons at the end of one of these walls. They were gazing down toward the road below.
On reaching the spot, Frank saw a wrecked automobile lying down there. Evidently the machine had veered from the road, shot past the end of the wall, plunged down the bank, and leaped off into the road, in its final plunge turning completely over.
Something caused Merry to pull up and inquire if any one had been hurt.
"Yes, sir," answered one of the bystanders. "An officer told me that the owner of the machine was badly—perhaps fatally—injured. The chauffeur jumped right here as the machine left the road, and he escaped with a few slight bruises."
"Seems to me that was strange behavior for the chauffeur. As a rule, drivers stick to their machines to the last. Who was the owner?"
"Why, it was Mr. Warren Hatch, the——"
"Mr. Hatch?" gasped Frank.
"Do you know him, sir?"
"Yes. Where have they taken him?"
"To some hospital. The officer yonder will tell you, I think."
On arriving at his hotel, Frank found a letter addressed to him. He tore it open and read as follows:
"The first and second blows have been struck!"The Avenger."
"The first and second blows have been struck!
"The Avenger."
Felipe Jalisco always leaped to his feet like a cat when a knock sounded on his door. He could tell in a twinkling if it was Hagan who knocked. This time he knew it was not. The rap had been faltering and feeble.
Jalisco's hand sought the knife he always carried.
"Who is it?" he demanded.
The reply to this question was a repetition of the hesitating knocking.
"Who are you? and what do you want?" sharply cried the Mexican lad.
"I am very sorry to disturb you," said a cracked, unsteady voice. "I have the next room. You can do me a favor."
Now Felipe was lonesome. Staying hidden in that squalid room had made him wretched and homesick. He longed to talk to some one, and he cautiously opened the door.
Outside stood a man bent as if with age, leaning heavily on a crooked cane. He was the picture of poverty. His threadbare clothes had been mended in many places. His dirty, gray hair was long and uncombed. The soles of his shoes were almost whollyworn away, and the uppers were broken in two or three places. He brushed his hair back from his eyes with a trembling hand that seemed unfamiliar with soap and water.
"I hope I have not disturbed you," he said meekly. "I have torn the sleeve of my coat on a nail. I would like to borrow a needle and thread to mend it. I must keep myself looking as well as I possibly can, for my lawyer may call any moment to inform me that I have won my suit and am a very wealthy man."
"I am sorry, señor," said Felipe; "but it is not my fortune to possess a needle and thread."
The old man lifted one trembling, curved hand to the back of his ear, which he turned toward the speaker.
"I didn't quite get your answer," he said. "I am a trifle deaf—only a trifle."
Felipe raised his voice.
"I have not a needle and thread. I would willingly assist you if I had. I am sorry."
"I am sorry, too," sighed the old man, looking regretfully at the rent in his sleeve. "I should be greatly mortified if my lawyer came and found me in this condition."
The boy felt that this wretched old man would be better company than none at all.
"Won't you come in and sit down?" he asked.
"Eh?"
"I would be pleased to have you come in, señor."
"Oh, I don't know. I'm not dressed for calling. But then, as we room near each other, I presume you'll see me often in my working clothes."
He entered the room and lowered himself upon the chair that Felipe placed. The boy sat on the bed.
"Did I understand you to say, señor, that you have the next room?"
"Eh? A little louder, please."
Jalisco repeated the question.
"Yes, yes," answered the old man. "I have just taken it. Had to pay a week in advance, and it happens that it took all my money, therefore I'm unable to purchase a needle and thread. But," he quickly added, "in a very few days, when the law gives me my rights, I shall have money enough to purchase all the needles and all the thread in this city without realizing that I have spent anything at all."
"Then you expect to come into an inheritance, señor?" questioned the boy loudly.
"Not just that," was the answer. "I shall obtain my rights. I shall be given a just reward for the invention that was stolen from me and has made other men rich."
Between the old man and the boy there seemed to be a bond of sympathy which the latter felt.
"So you, too, have been robbed?" he cried.
"Basely robbed!" declared the visitor nodding histrembling head. "My name is Roscoe Spooner. I invented what is known as the Guilford Air Brake. The product of my brain was stolen from me by Henry Guilford, who has made so much money from it that he is now a very rich man. But everything he possesses, his splendid home, his carriages, horses, and his yacht, are rightfully mine. He has enjoyed his stolen wealth a long time, but it will not be his much longer. My suit against him must be decided in my favor, and then I shall come into my own."
Felipe was interested.
"How long ago did you perfect this invention?"
"How long? It seems almost a hundred years; but it really was not fifteen."
"How was it stolen by this Guilford, señor?"
"I trusted him. He told me he would furnish the capital and would place my invention on the market. I believed him an honest man. I permitted him to have my model. He patented it, calling it the Guilford Air Brake. When I demanded my just share of the profits, he laughed in my face and called me a crazy old fool. He even had me arrested for annoying him. And my invention has filled his pockets with hundreds of thousands of dollars."
"That was in truth a most dishonest thing, old gentleman. What then did you do?"
"I found a lawyer to take the case and brought suit against him."
"I would have killed him!"
"I have thought of that. Once I did borrow a pistol and go in search of him; but when we met I could not bear to think of the terrible thing I had contemplated, and he never knew how near to death he was."
"It is not my way. At least, had you tried, you might have frightened him into giving you something."
"Had I tried that, it would have cost me my liberty. I am sure he would have lodged me in prison."
"Perhaps so," muttered Felipe. "You're a simple old fool, and you wouldn't know how to work it."
"What did you say?" asked the old man, who had seen the boy's lips move, but apparently had not understood his words.
"This Guilford must be a very wicked man. Your suit against him was useless?"
"The verdict favored him, but I appealed. In the end I shall win. My lawyer has told me so. He may appear to-day, or to-morrow, or the next day, and inform me that I have won. I am looking for him any time."
"And he'll never come," muttered the boy.
"I shall not stay here long," asserted the old inventor. "My room is very poor, but when I think that it is only for a short time that I must occupy it, then I am contented. I had a room in another place, whereit cost a great deal more: but I decided to move and economize while waiting for my rights."
Felipe wondered how the old man existed, deciding at once that he must pick up a meagre living by begging.
"I, too, am waiting here until I come into my rights," said the boy. "Like you, I have been robbed. Unlike you, I'll not wait so long. Either I'll have what is mine, or I'll kill the man who has robbed me."
"'Thou shalt not kill.' To have the stain of blood on one's hands must be terrible."
"The Jaliscos belong to a family that kills."
At this juncture there came another knock at the door, but this time Felipe knew who it was.
He had the door open in a moment, and Bantry Hagan walked in.
"Oh, it's company you have, me boy!" exclaimed the Irishman, looking wonderingly at old Spooner.
"A gentleman who has the next room. He dropped in to borrow a needle and thread."
"It's careful you'd better be, Felipe."
"Never fear; it is all right."
The old man dragged himself up from the chair.
"I'll go back to my room," he said. "I hope I have not taken up too much of your time."
"Not at all, señor. I shall be pleased to have you come again."
When old Spooner was gone and the door closed, Hagan observed:
"What cemetery did you dig him from, Felipe? Who is he, me boy?"
"A deranged old man, who thinks he has invented something and that it was stolen from him. He expects to recover his rights and become very rich. He has the next room."
"Then it's careful we'd better talk, for he may hear."
"No danger, Señor Hagan, for he is extremely deaf. I am glad you came, for I was tired shouting to make him understand me. What is the good news you bring?"
"Things are moving, Felipe. By my soul, I believe this vengeful being is really keeping his oath to make it warm for Frank Merriwell. When I was here last night I told you that old Gripper Scott had been taken ill and that Warren Hatch was in the hospital from a smash-up that had broken several of his ribs."
"Si, señor."
"Felipe, my eyes have been opened since last night. Alvarez Lazaro dined with Watson Scott the night the latter was taken ill. He talked confidentially with the chauffeur of Warren Hatch a short time before Hatch was smashed up in his automobile."
"You think, Señor Hagan, you think—what?"
"Whist! Don't be after breathing that I told you;but it's a fancy I have that Señor Lazaro could tell us the cause of the mysterious illness of Watson Scott, and could explain just why the automobile of Warren Hatch plunged down an embankment and smashed him up, while his chauffeur leaped and escaped. Lazaro is striking first at the railroad builders."
"And I am cooped here!" cried the boy. "I'll stay no longer! Why should I? I'm going out! I'm going to have a part in this!"
"And it's pinched you'll be in a minute."
"The police——"
"Are looking for ye now, just the same. Besides that, this Merriwell is doing his best to get track of ye. I didn't wish to worry you, so I didn't tell how he tried to follow me last night when I came here."
"Did he? Did he?"
"Sure he did. I don't know just where he ran across me, but first I knew he was tracking me through the streets."
"You came just the same."
"When I had neatly given him the slip. Oh, I fooled him, Felipe. I left him to wonder where I had gone."
"Lazaro followed you here."
"Because I did not get my eye on Lazaro, as I did on Frank Merriwell. Don't worry, boy; he'll never find ye through me."
"If he came here, he'd not get away alive!" hissed Felipe.
"Make no mistake about him, me lad; he can fight with the best of them. Some friends of his have arrived in town, and I think they're taking up the most of his attention now. It's planning some sort of a trip they are."
"I can't stay here in this place much longer, Señor Hagan. I shall go mad!"
"Wait a little. I met Lazaro this morning on Broadway. Says he, 'If you see Felipe to-day, tell him I will come and cheer his heart with good news this night.' I'll drop round myself, so it's not lonesome you'll be."
"Well, I will wait a little longer," said Felipe.
Had it been possible for Hagan and Felipe to look into the next room just then they would have been greatly surprised by the singular conduct of old Spooner.
Between the two rooms there was a door, one panel of which was cracked. No longer bent and shaking, the man in the adjoining room was standing with one ear pressed close to the split panel. In spite of the fact that he had seemed quite deaf while talking with the Mexican lad, his appearance just now was that of one listening intently.
Shortly after Hagan left, Felipe heard the door of old Spooner's room open and close, following which there was a faltering, shuffling step on the stairs and the thump, thump, thump of a cane, growing fainter until it could be heard no longer.
"The old man has gone out to beg," thought Jalisco.
After leaving the house, old Spooner faltered along the street, turned several corners, and finally arrived at another house, which he entered.
Ascending one flight of stairs, he unlocked a door and disappeared into a hall room, closing and locking the door behind him.
Fully thirty minutes passed before that door was unlocked and opened again.
Out of that room stepped a tall, straight, clear-eyed, manly looking youth, who bore not the remotest resemblance to the tottering old man who had entered.
This youth ran down the stairs, left the house, and turned westward, swinging away with long strides.
"Merriwell," he muttered, as he walked, "I almost believe you could have been a successful detective had you chosen that profession."
Some time later he arrived at a Broadway hotel and found assembled in a suite of rooms several persons, who greeted his appearance with exclamations of great satisfaction.
"We were getting worried about you, Frank," declared Inza, hurrying to meet him and giving him both her hands. "We had almost decided that something serious had happened to you."
"Didn't know but this new freak with the snowy hair had gobbled you up," said Bart Hodge.
"Told you he was all right," grunted Bruce Browning, who was lounging on the most comfortable chair in the place.
"You were so weary you didn't want to bother about going to make inquiries for him," said Elsie Bellwood. "Mrs. Medford was on the point of applying to the police."
"According to all the stories I hear," put in Mrs. Medford, "I believe it best for you to get out of this wicked city just as soon as possible, Frank."
Frank laughed.
"If everything goes well," he declared, "we'll be ready to start by day after to-morrow."
"Tell us just where you have been and what you have been doing," urged Inza.
"I've been doing a little character work."
"Character work?"
"Yes. I can't get over my old penchant for acting."
But, although they were very curious, he evaded making a complete explanation then.
A little later he found an opportunity to speak with Bart and Bruce without being overheard by the girls or Mrs. Medford.
"Look here, you two," he said, "I'm going to need you to-night. Don't make any plans about dinner or the theatre. Provide yourselves with pistols, for you may have to use them. Be ready when I want you."
"This is rather interesting," said Hodge. "What's the game, Frank?"
"The game will be to capture a nice little bunch of human tigers."
"Human tigers!" grunted Browning. "That sounds like the real thing, old man. Can't you put us wise a little more?"
"Not now. I'm going to call up my friend Bronson, the detective, and get him into it, for I believe he will be needed. I hope that this night I'll be able to effectually checkmate some very dangerous rascals."
Merry did not use the phone in the suite, but went down to the booths in the hotel lobby. There he called up police headquarters and asked for Bronson.
"He's just come in," was the answer. "Have him to the phone in a moment."
Directly Bronson himself inquired what was wanted.
"This is Merriwell," explained Frank. "Is there anything that will prevent you from giving me your services to-night?"
"Well, nothing that I know of, if the business is important; but I'll have to know what's doing in order to make it right here."
"I don't like to explain over the phone," said Frank."If you can wait, I'll jump into a cab and come right down to tell you all about it."
"I'll wait," was the assurance.
Merry lost no time in taking a cab for police headquarters, where he found the plain-clothes man waiting for him.
"Bronson," said Merriwell, "I've found Felipe Jalisco."
"Have you? Well, it will give me some satisfaction to again get my hands on that slippery chap."
"But I believe I have found something far more important. You know I told you that I was convinced of foul play in the Watson Scott affair, and also in the seeming accident that happened to Warren Hatch."
"Which seems entirely improbable to me."
"I think I'll be able to convince you to-night that I was not mistaken in either case. Further than that, I hope to place within your grasp the wretch who drugged Scott and bribed Hatch's chauffeur to bring about that accident."
"If you can do that, and if we succeed in securing the villain, it will be a corking piece of work. I think it will prove the sensation of the hour."
"Listen," said Frank, "and I will tell you my plan."