As Van Zandt enters and closes the door behind him the Spanish captain glances up and their eyes meet.
"Great heavens! Am I dreaming," mutters Van Zandt. And then he stands with white face and clenched fists, staring at the man before him.
The latter returns the stare. "I trust you will know me again senor," he remarks, ungraciously, as he sets down his glass and strikes a match to ignite a cigarette.
"I believe I have had the misfortune of meeting you before," Van Zandt replies, folding his arms and regarding the other with blazing eyes.
The Spanish captain shrugs his shoulders. "May I ask where?" he inquires coolly.
"In the United States."
"The senor is mistaken. I have never been in the states."
"You lie!"
"Curse you! What d'ye mean?" demands the Spanish captain in the purest of English, as he drops his hand upon his sword hilt. The man at the table near by lays down his paper and turns a pair of interested eyes toward the young men.
"You lie!" repeats Van Zandt, moving not a step. Then he says in a voice passionate with hatred and ringing with the exultation of a Nemesis about to strike:
"So, Ralph Felton, I have found you at last!"
CHAPTER LIII.
A WOMAN'S VENGEANCE.
The cigarette falls from the Spanish captain's nerveless
fingers and his face turns gray.
"Who are you?" he gasps.
"My name is Phillip Van Zandt. I don't wonder, Ralph Felton, that you fail to recognize me by that name, though it is my true one. But you will understand why
