t 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."

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 repetition of the hesitating knocking.

"Who are you?