"I knew him."
"You knew him?"
"I did, señor. 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, Señor 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."