e 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, senor; 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, senor. 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, Senor 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 merited it!" 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