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, Senor 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 excitement flinging 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 Porfias suffered,
and