"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 rea.s.sure her, but Merry laughed at her and declared she was getting superst.i.tious 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 ma.s.sive 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."

CHAPTER XXIII.

OLD SPOONER.

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 repet.i.tion 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 wholly worn 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."