THE FIRST STROKE.
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, senor, 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, senor; 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, senor."
"Of course it----"
"If anything serious were to happen to important members of your
company--to you, Senor Scott, we will say?"
"Why, I suppose the others would push her through."
"But if something happened to Senor Hatch and Senor 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 Senor Merriwell," said the Mexican,
as if he almost feared something of the sort was going to take place.
Coffee was finally brought.
"Senor," said Lazaro, "I know it is impolite to turn to 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, senor?" 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, Senor 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 reenter 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, senor. 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, 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 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 the same 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.