Greek Gods Box Set: Books 1 - 4 Holly

Rayner
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GREEK GODS BOX SET
Books 1-4
HOLLY RAYNER
 CON TE N TS

The Greek's Green Card Bride

1. Dimitris
2. Eva
3. Dimitris
4. Eva
5. Dimitris
6. Eva
7. Eva
8. Eva
9. Eva
10. Eva
11. Eva
12. Dimitris
13. Eva
14. Dimitris
15. Eva
16. Eva
17. Eva
18. Eva
19. Dimitris
20. Eva
Epilogue

The Greek’s Fated Twins

1. Cassie
2. Cassie
3. Cassie
4. Angelos
5. Cassie
6. Cassie
7. Cassie
8. Angelos
9. Cassie
10. Cassie
11. Angelos
12. Cassie
13. Cassie
14. Cassie
 15. Angelos
16. Cassie
17. Cassie
18. Cassie
19. Angelos
20. Cassie
21. Angelos
22. Cassie
23. Cassie
24. Cassie
25. Angelos
26. Cassie
27. Angelos
Epilogue

Saved by the Greek Doctor

1. Trish
2. Nikos
3. Nikos
4. Trish
5. Trish
6. Trish
7. Nikos
8. Trish
9. Trish
10. Nikos
11. Trish
12. Trish
13. Trish
14. Nikos
15. Trish
16. Trish
17. Nikos
18. Trish
19. Trish
20. Trish
21. Nikos
22. Trish
23. Trish
24. Nikos
25. Trish
26. Trish
27. Nikos
28. Trish
Epilogue
The Greek’s Hired Triplets
1. Portia
2. Aristos
3. Portia
4. Aristos
5. Portia
6. Portia
7. Portia
8. Aristos
9. Portia
10. Portia
11. Portia
12. Aristos
13. Portia
14. Aristos
15. Portia
16. Aristos
17. Portia
18. Portia
19. Portia
20. Aristos
21. Portia
22. Aristos
23. Portia
24. Aristos
25. Portia
26. Portia
27. Aristos
28. Portia
29. Portia
Epilogue

Also by Holly Rayner

THE GREEK'S GREEN CARD BRIDE
 Copyright 2022 by Holly Rayner

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole
or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and
recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written
permission of the author.

All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age.
Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are
entirely coincidental.
CHAPTER 1
 DIMITRIS

D imitris Atheos strode through the lobby of the US State Department,

pushed through the revolving glass doors, and took out his phone.
He blinked against the blinding early afternoon light and wished for his
sunglasses, which he’d left in his hotel room. After hitting the “call” button
on his phone’s screen, he waited for his lawyer to pick up.
He could hear wind and waves on the other end of the line when the call
connected.
“Dimitris!” Stavros said happily. “How did the meeting go?”
Dimitris smiled at the sound of his lawyer’s voice. At sixty-six, Stavros was
thirty years older than him, and though Dimitris tried to keep the
relationship professional, he couldn’t deny that Stavros had become sort of
a father figure over the years.
Before Dimitris could answer, Stavros went on. “I’ve been thinking about
you! I said to myself, ‘the meeting started mid-morning, so the boy should
be out by now.’ I was worried about what was holding you up. Did they—”
Wind whipped over the phone speaker on Stavros’s end, cutting him off
mid-sentence.
Dimitris waited for the wind to die down, and then said, “It was grueling,
Stavros. Five hours in a stuffy room.” He loosened his tie and began the
trek down the wide marble staircase that cascaded from the Department of
State’s massive front facade. “But I’m interrupting. Are you out with
Katerina?”
“Yes, and the kids and granddaughter. Took the boat out to the bay. Wind’s
picked up since we came out, but it’s a beautiful night… You’re not
interrupting, Dimitris. The meeting has been on my mind all afternoon. Five
hours, hm?”
Dimitris could picture his white-haired, tanned friend out on his yacht,
surrounded by his family. Katerina, his wife, was a few years younger than
Stavros, and just as fit and vibrant as her husband. They had several
children and a handful of grandkids. Dimitris had been out on their yacht
more than a few times, and he could imagine the feel of the sea breeze on
his face and the fading warmth of the evening sun as it set. Though Dimitris
loved to travel, it was hard to find a place that compared in beauty and
natural wonder to his home, Athens, Greece.
“Five hours. Nonstop negotiations,” Dimitris said.
He reached the sidewalk and slowed to a stop. Though it was September,
and he’d expected some hints of autumn in the air in Washington, DC, it felt
like the middle of summer. Hot, muggy air pooled over the concrete and
pavement. He put up a hand to block the sun and peered down the block. As
he did this, a black limo pulled away from the curb a few cars down and
moved in his direction.
“Well?” Stavros asked, eager for more details.
Dimitris smiled again. He felt the excitement he’d been holding back during
the long, tense meeting begin to return. “They liked my product. They said
it’s leagues better than others they’ve tested. They’re ready to buy!”
He felt flooded with energy as he said this. A contract with the US
government was big news, and he’d been dreaming of the possibility for
years.
He felt confident that the deal would push his company, which
manufactured parts used in rockets, to the very top of the global market.
Atheos Propulsions Systems was already successful, but that didn’t stop
Dimitris from wanting to grow even more. Now it looked as though his
dream was going to come true.
“Dimitris, that’s fantastic!” Stavros said happily. “Well done!” There was a
muffled, scratchy sound on the other end of the line as Stavros held the
phone against his chest. His voice became distant as he called out,
“Katerina, it’s Dimitris! Yes, yes, he’s still abroad. He just signed a contract
with the US government!”
When Stavros came back on the line, Dimitris spoke up.
“They didn’t sign anything yet,” he said. “There’s some paperwork to sort
through first.”
A whole freaking stack of it, he thought, recalling how tall the pile of
paperwork had been on the polished mahogany table in the meeting room.
He walked up to the limo, which was now waiting at the curb right in front
of him. The driver hopped out to open the back door. Dimitris’s assistant,
Anna, a serious and efficient woman in her fifties, was already seated in the
back with her laptop out in front of her, her phone to one ear.
Rather than slide into the seat facing her, Dimitris turned and looked up into
the cloudless blue sky. The sun beat down on the city. Around him, men and
women in business attire bustled back and forth on the busy sidewalk. A
few people ate lunch on benches under the canopy of large trees that had
been planted to provide shade and ambiance.
“No problem,” Stavros said. “Send it along and I’ll take a look. Probably
just formalities. You know governments—so much red tape. I’ll be in the
office tomorrow, and I’ll take a look first thing.”
“Thanks, Stavros,” Dimitris said. “I’ll have Anna send over the
documents.”
After a few more moments of chatting, Dimitris got off the phone and
turned to face the limo once again.
The interior of the vehicle was air-conditioned, of course, but it looked just
as stuffy and sterile as the room he’d just come from.
He stepped forward, and Anna peered over her reading glasses in his
direction. He’d texted her the good news about how the meeting went just
as it had come to a close.
“I got your text,” she said in her usual clipped tone. “I just scheduled a
conference call with the marketing department, due to begin in twenty
minutes. They’re going to draw up a few press releases which we can put
out as soon as the contract goes through. I thought we could—”
She stopped short as Dimitris shook his head.
“No?” she said, acknowledging his gesture. “You don’t want to talk with
them?”
“Not right now,” he said. “I need to stretch my legs… to walk. I need fresh
air.” If there was one thing Dimitris had learned as the CEO of a multi-
billion-dollar company, it was that he had to take care of himself. When he
felt burnt out, nothing seemed to flow.
“Cancel all of my calls for the afternoon,” he instructed Anna. “I’ll fit them
in tomorrow.” He opened up his messenger bag and removed a thick folder.
“Could you send copies of these documents to Stavros at some point this
afternoon?”
She nodded and accepted the paperwork. “Of course, sir. I’ll scan them
right away.”
Dimitris thanked her then informed the driver that he wouldn’t be needing a
lift.
The driver gave a nod of understanding. “Beautiful day out,” he said
politely. “I can see why you prefer a walk. Where are you heading?”
“Not sure yet,” Dimitris said honestly.
He waited while the limo pulled away, and then he turned on his heel and
walked down the sidewalk. He had to weave through oncoming pedestrians
as he walked. Once in a while, a faint breeze brushed past, but it wasn’t
nearly enough to provide relief from the heat.
It felt good to move after so many hours of sitting. He didn’t have a
particular destination in mind, and it felt good to relax and simply wander
for a while. He could hear the distant sound of music, like a band playing in
an open-air venue, and he let his feet carry him in that direction.
The music grew louder as he neared the marina, and Dimitris felt himself
relax even more. An afternoon of listening to music by the water was just
what he needed. But not in this stuffy shirt, he thought, as he pulled at his
collar again and then loosened the top two buttons. And I have to get out of
these shoes, too.
A clothing store across the street caught his eye.
Ten minutes later he emerged with a newly acquired black T-shirt and a pair
of sandals. He continued his walk toward the water, and the music grew
louder.
The guitar playing was very good. Dimitris had never learned to play an
instrument, having dedicated all of his focus and energy to growing his
business. Though he didn’t play, he appreciated musicians who could really
let it rip. He loved watching talented people express their gifts, in whatever
form that might take. To Dimitris, there was something almost spiritual
about it.
He was eager to watch the performance. A left turn took him onto a new
street and gave him a view of sparkling green water in the distance. He
could see colorful tents set up along one stretch of the waterfront, and
amidst the tents, there was a covered bandstand. Dimitris eyed his
surroundings, looking for a place to change into his new shoes and shirt.
An alleyway to his right drew his attention. He stepped into it and was
happy to find it empty. It was a relief to get his shoes off and put on the new
sandals instead. He started unfastening the buttons on his top, eager to shed
the cloying layer.
Time to relax, he thought, and take in the sights of the city. I’m here for
work, but this afternoon I’m just going to enjoy myself and see what DC has
to offer.
CHAPTER 2
 E VA

E va couldn’t believe the heat. “Isn’t it supposed to be cooler than this in

September?” she asked her best friend, Nikki, as the two walked side
by side. “It feels like freaking August.”
She waved a hand in front of her face, hoping that it might provide some
relief. She was happy that she’d thought to pack a tank top with her when
she went to work that morning, for her shift as a hostess at The Red Door
Grille. There was no way she’d have ventured out in the afternoon heat in
the thick polyester polo shirt that she had to wear as a uniform each day.
Nikki ignored Eva’s question. “Oh! I can hear him playing!” Guitar music
floated through the air, getting louder with each step that they took.
Nikki went on. “I swear, he’s been practicing for like two or three hours
every day. Isn’t he getting good?”
“Really good,” Eva said.
Nikki’s husband, Clint, was a guitarist in a modestly successful local band.
Eva always enjoyed their music, and she was excited about the performance
ahead.
“This is the new song he wrote!” Nikki said, grabbing Eva’s arm. “We’re
missing it!”
Eva pointed to an alley across the street. “Let’s duck through there,” she
suggested. “It’ll save us some time.”
She waited for a few cars to pass and then stepped lightly across the road.
Her sandals made slapping sounds against the pavement. As soon as she
stepped into the alleyway, she felt the air temperature drop a few degrees,
thanks to the shade provided by buildings on either side.
A figure at the far end of the alley caught her eye—and stopped her in her
tracks.
He was shirtless, and his abs rippled with definition. He had dark, curly
hair, and his body was out of this world. For an instant, she thought that she
was hallucinating due to the heat. There was no way a man that good-
looking really existed.
“Hottie, twelve o’clock,” Nikki said in a hoarse whisper.
Eva blinked a few times. If Nikki saw him, too, that meant he was real.
She felt her breath catch in her throat. It was a few seconds before she
managed to inhale and exhale again, and another few before she could
respond to Nikki.
“What is he doing?” she whispered.
They both watched as the man reached for something in a paper shopping
bag at his feet. It was a black T-shirt. He pulled it over his head, hiding his
drop-dead-gorgeous bare torso from view.
Then he turned, stepped out of the alley and into the sunlight beyond. When
he was bathed in sunlight, Eva saw that his skin was a deep bronze. She
caught sight of dark stubble on his chiseled jawline. He reached a hand up
and ran it through his dark hair, and sunlight glinted off of a gold bracelet
that he wore around one of his tanned wrists.
Eva couldn’t take her eyes off of him.
She watched, speechless, as he adjusted the messenger bag on his shoulder,
and then headed in the direction of the waterfront.
Nikki spoke first. She turned to Eva and raised her brows. “Wow. I sure am
glad we took this shortcut. You saw that, right?”
“How could I miss it?” Eva said. Now that the handsome stranger was out
of sight, she was beginning to gather herself. “He was gorgeous!”
Nikki laughed. “Well, you’ve been saying how much you wish you had a
guy. Here we are, taking a random shortcut, and we see a Greek god right in
front of us, with his shirt off. Girlfriend, if that’s not a sign, I don’t know
what is.”
Eva started walking again. She didn’t want Nikki to miss all of the song
being performed, and it wouldn’t last much longer. “You’re right, that was
pretty magical,” she said.
“Dang, I wish I took a picture,” Nikki lamented. “That was a once-in-a-
lifetime sighting—like a rare bird or something.”
Eva chuckled. “And what do you think Clint would do if he found a picture
of a smokin’ hot stranger on your phone? Think he’d be thrilled about
that?”
“Probably not,” Nikki admitted. “Hey, you’re the single one. You should
have taken a picture of him. Better yet, you should go find him. It looked
like he was heading to the wharf, right? When life gives you lemons,
you’ve got to make lemonade.”
Eva laughed again. “So in your analogy, that guy was the lemons?”
“Exactly,” Nikki said. They emerged out into the street. The music grew
louder. Smells from the various food vendors wafted through the air around
them.
“Oh, who am I kidding,” Nikki said. “You’re not going to go hit on Mr.
Hottie. I know you better than that. You haven’t been out on a date in ages.
I swear, if I was single, I’d track him down and give him my number in a
flash.”
Eva knew her friend wasn’t kidding. She’d known Nikki for six years, and
for four of them, Nikki had been single. Eva wasn’t crazy about going out
to bars and clubs, but when she’d first moved to DC, Nikki had managed to
drag her out almost every weekend. Eva had been new to the city, and Nikki
was a sweet, outgoing waitress at The Red Door Grille where Eva had
found work. Eva was grateful for their budding friendship, so she’d
reluctantly agreed to accompany Nikki on many weekend-night adventures.
She’d seen Nikki flirt with many guys, and eventually get serious with
Clint.
Then came the wedding bells. Eva was sure that soon the two would buy a
house in the suburbs, and news of a baby wouldn’t be too far behind that.
Thinking about this made Eva feel uncomfortable. She’d relied on Nikki so
heavily since moving to DC all on her own. The whole fiasco in Long
Island, with her family, had left her feeling raw and vulnerable. It had been
scary to venture off on her own, and Nikki had helped her with that
transition. What would life be like once Nikki moved on to a new chapter of
her life?
She didn’t want to think about it.
Not on that afternoon, which was filled with music, sunshine, and sparkling
water. She followed Nikki to the area in front of the bandstand, and Nikki
immediately started bouncing up and down and waving, trying to get Clint’s
attention.
A few rows of seats were crowded into the area, but for the most part,
people were standing and dancing to the tunes that emanated from large
rectangular black speakers. Clint gave Nikki and Eva a wave, and Eva
waved back.
A sign advertising fresh-squeezed lemonade in the periphery of the area
caught her eye, and she realized how thirsty she was. During her morning
shift she’d sipped ice water covertly each time she returned to the hostess
stand between seating customers, but seeing as the shift had been so busy,
she hadn’t drunk nearly enough.
“I’m going to go get a lemonade—you want one?” she asked Nikki.
Nikki nodded happily, and then started singing along to the song that the
band was playing.
Eva headed for the lemonade stand. On her way, she pulled her phone from
her purse. She joined the line for lemonade, and then turned back to the
bandstand to snap a few photos. Clint was big on using social media, and
Eva knew he’d appreciate the shots for his band’s various pages and
accounts.
For a moment or two, she focused on getting good photographs that she
could share with Clint. By the time she put her phone back into her purse,
she saw that the line had moved ahead quite a bit while her attention had
been diverted.
She hurried forward. “Sorry about that,” she said absentmindedly to the
person in line behind her. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I thought I was going to have to cut in front of you,” a deep, accented
voice said. The accent sounded Mediterranean, and the voice was attractive
and warm, and flavored with a flirtatious tone.
She glanced behind her to see who was speaking, and immediately her
heartbeat sped up. It was the handsome guy she and Nikki had spotted in
the alley, just moments before. He was even more attractive up close.
His black, wavy hair was pushed back from his forehead as if he had a habit
of running a hand through it. Angular brows capped his dark eyes, which
sparkled with lively awareness. Stubble covered his chin and jawline,
framing his full lips. His skin, everywhere that it was visible, was bronzed
as though he spent hours on the beach. The black T-shirt he wore hugged
his muscular pecs, biceps, and abs. He wore a gold bracelet on one wrist,
slate gray dress pants, and sandals.
She felt herself blush as she recalled the sight of him bare-chested
“Oh—you can go ahead if you’re in a hurry,” she said, stepping aside.
“I’m just teasing,” he said, the corner of his lips rising up in a playful smile.
“I’ve got all day. Did you get good photos? The light is pretty good right
now for it.”
She smiled and nodded. “I think so. It’s incredible what phones can do these
days. My friend is in the band, and I figure he could use the shots for a
social media post or something.”
“That’s nice of you,” the guy said. His eyes lingered on her features, as if he
was appraising her. She felt slightly self-conscious, but also flattered by his
lingering look.
“I’m Dimitris,” he said, after a moment.
“Eva,” she said.
“So you’ve seen these guys play before?” he asked, motioning to the
bandstand.
“A few times, actually,” Eva said. “My friend’s husband is the guitarist.”
“He’s good,” Dimitris said with a nod of approval. “I liked the last song.”
The line shifted forward.
“They just wrote that one,” Eva said as she took a few steps ahead. “I like
it, too. But my favorite is one that they’ve been playing for years, called
‘Tumbleweeds.’ I hope they haven’t played it yet.”
“So you’re going to stick around and listen for a while?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, definitely,” Eva told him. “My friend Nikki is here too, and she
always stays until the end of her husband’s shows… How about you?”
He grinned, as though he was happy that she was asking. “Well, yeah, I
guess I am.”
Eva felt a rush of excitement course through her as he said this. His words
were laden with double meaning, as if he was deciding right then and there
to listen to the show because he wanted to be in her presence. She really
liked that. She felt as though the air between them was charged with
intense, electric energy. He was so gorgeous, dark, and intriguing, and she
was incredibly flattered by the way he was looking at her—as if he was
appreciating her beauty.
Eva didn’t think of herself as beautiful, though she knew that some people
perceived her that way. She was used to hearing flattering statements from
guys, but she rarely reacted. But there was something about the way
Dimitris was complimenting her without words, simply by letting his gaze
linger on her features and frame, that deeply affected her.
For the first time in ages, she felt pretty.
They reached the front of the line. “Two lemonades,” Eva said, holding up
two fingers.
“Make that three,” Dimitris said, as he laid a fifty-dollar bill up on the
countertop. He turned to Eva. “I’m buying,” he said.
His voice carried so much authority that she didn’t even think twice about
accepting his offer. “Thank you,” she said, sliding the wallet that she’d
removed from her purse back into its compartment. “That’s sweet of you.”
“My pleasure,” he said.
The vendor placed three drinks on the counter, and then moved to get
change for Dimitris. “Keep it,” Dimitris said.
Wow, Eva thought. Handsome, and generous, too. Either that, or he doesn’t
understand US currency very well. She could tell from Dimitris’s accent
that he was from another country, possibly Greece.
With drinks in hand, they headed over toward the gathering in front of the
stage.
Eva motioned to where Nikki was standing, bobbing her head to the music.
“That’s my friend Nikki,” she said. “You’re welcome to come watch the
show with us, if you like.”
“I’d love that,” he said warmly.
Eva was struck by how self-confident he was. He carried himself with an
air of self-assuredness that she rarely saw in other men. It was as though he
was completely comfortable with himself.
When they joined Nikki, Eva introduced Dimitris.
Nikki’s eyes grew wide, and Eva worried that her friend would make some
embarrassing remark about how they’d seen Dimitris in the alleyway on
their way to the show. Thankfully, Nikki kept her lips zipped on that topic,
and instead asked Dimitris a few polite questions about his travel plans.
The band picked up steam and broke into a string of songs that were louder
and more upbeat than the ones they’d opened the show with. For the next
hour or so, the three of them enjoyed the music, Eva and Nikki chatting
with Dimitris between songs.
As the show wrapped up, Nikki excused herself so that she could go help
Clint pack up his gear. She gave Eva a meaningful look as she departed, and
Eva knew just what it transmitted—do not let this guy out of your sight.
Eva didn’t have to be told twice. She was enjoying her time with Dimitris,
and she didn’t want the afternoon to end.
“Are you hungry?” Dimitris asked once they were alone.
“Famished,” Eva admitted.
“Want to grab a bite together?” he asked. “I was in meetings all day, and I
skipped lunch. I feel like I could eat a horse. Isn’t that the expression, in
English?”
Eva laughed and made a mock grimace by scrunching up her nose. “It is—
and it’s one of my least favorite sayings. Who would really eat a horse?
Yuck! I don’t like that one or ‘I’ll keep my eyes peeled.’”
“I promise not to say either of those again,” Dimitris said with a grin.
She nodded. “Then I’d be happy to get dinner with you.”
Dimitris pointed to a building across the way. The wharf was lined with
seafood restaurants. “How about Cindy’s Boathouse?” he asked, as he read
the golden script above the front door.
“I love Cindy’s,” Eva said. “The fried shrimp basket is killer, and she has
the best house IPA on tap.”
“Killer?” Dimitris repeated. He headed in the direction of the restaurant,
and Eva was surprised at how natural it felt to fall into step with him.
“Yeah, killer,” she said. “Oh, right. English is your second language. It’s
just a saying that means really good.”
“Ah,” he said. “And you’re okay with that saying? It’s not as bad as
keeping your eyes peeled?”
Eva laughed. “Hey! You promised not to say that!”
Dimitris’s deep laughter bubbled like a brook. “My mistake,” he said.
There was a small crowd near the entrance to Cindy’s, and Eva watched a
couple approach the podium that was positioned near the door. The hostess,
a girl who looked like she’d just graduated high school, made a note in the
binder in front of her. The couple turned away, and Eva caught a fragment
of their conversation as they passed.
“An hour and a half wait… that’s just ridiculous!” the woman said with
disgust.
“Must be because the concert just finished,” the man grumbled.
Eva turned to Dimitris. “We should probably go somewhere else,” she said
to him. “I just heard that couple say there’s an hour and a half wait to be
seated.”
“And forgo a killer basket of fried shrimp?” Dimitris teased. “No way. Let
me go see what I can do.”
Eva waited at the edge of the crowd and watched Dimitris weave through
bodies on his way to the hostess’ stand. She was sure he’d be turned away,
so she started running through alternative restaurants in her head.
As she mentally considered their options, she watched Dimitris exchange
words with the hostess. He pulled a bill from his wallet, handed it to her,
and then spoke a few more words and flashed a polite and charming smile.
Eva could see the young woman practically melting in his presence. In fact,
every woman they’d passed had done a double-take in Dimitris’s direction.
His good looks were arresting, and more than a little unique.
As he made his way back through the crowd, Eva saw that he looked
satisfied.
He beckoned her forward. “They’re going to seat us up on the rooftop,” he
said. “I hope that’s okay with you.”
“The rooftop is prime seating!” Eva said. “Those tables are always the first
to go. How did you manage that?”
“I have my ways,” Dimitris said.
The hostess showed them to their table. She had to gather up the remains
from the last diners, which included a few pint glasses and two paper-lined
red baskets, and then she wiped the table down.
“Your server will be right with you, Mr. Atheos,” she said. “And I’ll bring
two IPAs as you requested.”
“Wow—Mr. Atheos,” Eva said, as the hostess disappeared back down the
stairs. “You really made an impression on her.”
“I guess I did,” Dimitris said casually. He leaned back in his chair and took
in his surroundings.
Eva watched his eyes rove the rooftop, and then return to her. She liked the
feel of being the focus of his attention.
“You’re used to being called ‘Mister,’ aren’t you?” she guessed.
“I’m in business,” he said. “I have employees. Some of them call me by my
first name, but not all. Over the years, I’ve gotten used to it. I am almost
forty, after all. Well, thirty-six. How about you?”
For a moment, Eva thought he was asking her how old she was. She had no
problem with telling him she was thirty, but it seemed uncharacteristic of
him to ask such a direct question. He seemed so socially adept and aware of
how his actions and remarks affected those around him.
Before she could answer, he clarified his questions. “I mean, are you a
‘Miss’ or do you go by Eva?”
Eva was bemused at the thought of her colleagues at The Red Door Grille
calling her Miss Sharpe. She still hadn’t gotten used to the last name she’d
adopted six years prior, when she’d moved from Long Island to Washington
DC. She’d left so much behind in Long Island, including her old identity.
The thought made her stomach tighten with familiar anxiety. She pushed it
away and focused again on the bizarre scenario of the staff at the restaurant
addressing her with such formality.
“Where I work, we mostly just get each other’s attention by saying ‘hey!’ or
‘yo!’’’
“I take it you’re not in business, then,” Dimitris said with a chuckle.
“Nope. I’m in the restaurant industry. I’m a hostess at a grill up in Penn
Quarter.”
“Ah! Really? Funnily enough, I’m going to be in that area tomorrow
evening. My assistant scheduled a trip to the Cutler Gallery for me, for an
art opening. She also made reservations for me at a restaurant just down the
block from the gallery at six, which should be really good. Or should I say
—killer.” He grinned.
Eva giggled. “There you go,” she said. “I think you should try using that
phrase in your next business meeting. So, you like art?”
“Love it,” he said. “If I wasn’t so obsessed with my work, I like to think I’d
do something creative with my time. How about you?”
Before Eva could answer, the server appeared, carrying a small tray with
two glasses of beer on it. He lowered the tray, placed the beers on the table,
and then went about introducing himself. Dimitris handled the order by
requesting two baskets of fried shrimp. He looked to Eva to see if she had
anything to add, but she declined.
As Dimitris chatted with their server for a moment about the view, Eva
mused over the fact that Dimitris had a creative side. She’d guessed that,
because of the way his hair was just slightly longer and wilder than most
businessmen she met. The wraparound gold bracelet was a tip-off, too.
He said he was obsessed with work, but he was nothing like the suit-
wearing men that filled the city to the brim. So many of those men seemed
to move on autopilot, as though they were sleepwalking through life.
Dimitris, on the other hand, struck her as a person who was intent on
enjoying life to the fullest.
Her thoughts turned to the way he had ordered for her. He was acting as
though they were on a date. Were they?
As Eva turned the details of the evening over in her mind, she realized that
they were. Dimitris was so good at making her feel comfortable and relaxed
that she didn’t at all have that nervous, first-date feeling.
There was a sensation of giddiness, she realized, in the pit of her stomach. It
was pleasant and made her feel more alert than usual to her surroundings.
The rooftop deck was surrounded by a wall that was painted bright
turquoise and lined with twinkling white lights. The aroma of food, the
sound of happy conversations, and even the faint humming sound of traffic
on the city streets beyond all came together to create a bouquet of
sensations.
“Cheers,” Dimitris said as the waiter departed. “To a beautiful night, spent
in good company.”
Eva tapped her glass against his.
The IPA tasted even better than she remembered. Their conversation flitted
from one topic to another, and Eva found herself enjoying Dimitris’s
company more and more as the sun sank low over the river, and then
disappeared entirely.
She liked hearing about his home country, Greece, and the travel adventures
he’d had all over the world. She, in turn, told him about her love for
painting, and what it was like to live and work in DC.
After two beers, shrimp, and a shared dessert of chocolate cheesecake, Eva
let Dimitris guide her back down to the street. It was late, and she knew that
she should be getting home to bed if she wanted to have a hope of
functioning well at work the next morning. And yet, she didn’t want to
leave Dimitris’s side.
It was a strange feeling, knowing that he was only in town for a short while.
Though it was sad to know that their evening together couldn’t lead to any
sort of relationship, given the fact that Dimitris lived in Greece, it was also
liberating. She didn’t have to overanalyze her every move, as she often
found herself doing on first dates with other men.
She wasn’t worried about the implications of a kiss, so when Dimitris
leaned in, just before the cab she’d called arrived, she met his lips with hers
without hesitation.
The kiss was warm, passionate, and tasted like chocolate.
Eva wished it could have lasted forever. It was, without a doubt, the best
kiss she’d ever experienced, and she thought about it for the entire ride
home to her apartment. It lingered in her mind while she showered and got
ready for bed, and then stayed with her as she laid her head on her pillow
and waited for sleep to come.
CHAPTER 3
Another random document with
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“If they were not, I’d give you a black eye!”
“Go ’way!” said Ready. “I think you’re horrid!”
Frank’s rooms were crowded now, and a chatter of conversation
arose. Of course, Merry was the center of interest, but he found an
opportunity to draw back and look around. These were the loyal
friends he had made—the dear friends of his school and college
days. They had clung to him through thick and thin, and he felt his
heart swelling with affection toward them all. Even Dade Morgan was
included, for Morgan had tried his best in these final college days to
prove that he was repentant for the past and ready to do anything in
his power to make atonement.
Memories of old times came rushing upon Frank in that moment. He
thought of his first meeting with Hodge at Fardale, and of the
adventures, struggles, and triumphs that followed. He thought of his
coming to Yale, of his freshman struggles, of the enemies who
seemed to rise around him as he toiled upward and onward, of the
friends who were here and who had remained firm in every change
that befell him.
Oh, those grand days of toil and pleasure at Yale! He felt that he
would give much to live them all over again. But the end had come,
and now he was going out into the world—going to bid Yale farewell!
This thought brought him a feeling of unspeakable sadness. It
seemed that he was leaving the only home he knew. Home—yes, it
was home for him. In truth, he had no other. Life lay before him, and
he was to set his course toward a high goal when he received his
sheepskin and turned his back on his alma mater. But he felt that he
was being parted from the happiest portion of his life.
Then his eyes fell on the girls. Bart had found Elsie and was talking
to her, his dark face flushed, his eyes glowing. She smiled and
nodded as he was speaking.
“They are happy,” said Frank, to himself.
He did not know that at that moment Hodge was praising him to the
skies, telling what a remarkable game he had played and how he
had covered himself with glory in the battle against Harvard. He did
not know that somehow such praise was the pleasantest thing Elsie
Bellwood could hear.
He saw Inza, and she looked toward him. She smiled, and he felt his
heart throb.
Home! Yes, Yale had been his home; but now before his vision there
seemed to rise the picture of another home and he hastened to
Inza’s side.
 CHAPTER II.
ANTON MESCAL.

A dark-faced, Spanish-appearing man stopped Roland Packard on

the steps of the Tontine Hotel.
“Get out of the way!” snarled Roland, who had been drinking.
“Wait,” said the man, in a soft, not unpleasant voice. “I wish to speak
to you. It is important.”
Roland was in anything but a pleasant mood. He had seen Frank
Merriwell cover himself with glory in the game against Harvard, and,
having foolishly bet that the Cambridge men would win the
championship, he had taken to drink immediately after the game.
“It’s got to be cursed important!” he snapped, looking the stranger
over. “I don’t know you. What’s your name?”
“Anton Mescal.”
“Never heard it before. Are you one of these blooming old grads who
are overrunning the town?”
“No.”
“Then what in blazes——”
A group of men came out of the hotel and descended the steps.
They had gray hair about their temples, and some of them were bald
beneath their hats. They carried canes, their faces were flushed, and
they looked hilariously happy. They were a group of “old grads,” and
they had been celebrating Yale’s victory. With them the celebration
had just begun; it would extend all through the night. As they rolled
down the steps, clinging to one another’s arms, they were talking
excitedly:
“He’s the greatest pitcher Yale ever produced!” asserted one.
“Come off, Smithy, old man!” cried another. “You know the class of
’Umpty-six had the champ. This fellow——”
“Don’t talk, Sluthers!” interrupted another. “Baseball was different
then. Whoever heard of curves? This Merriwell——”
“Is a marvel!”
“He’s a dandy!”
“’Rah for Merriwell!”
“Let’s all cheer! Yow! I feel just like cheering! Cheer for Merriwell!”
Then they bumped against Roland Packard, who snarled at them.
One of them grasped him; others followed the example of that one.
They bore him down the steps to the sidewalk.
“What’s the matter with you?” the grad who had grasped him first
demanded. “Are you a sorehead? Well, by thunder, I want to hear
you cheer for Merriwell!”
“You’ll want a long time!” declared Roland, savagely. “Let go of my
collar!”
“Boys,” said the old fellow fiercely, “here’s a chap who won’t cheer
for Merriwell.”
“Shoot him!” advised another, who was rather unsteady on his feet.
“Don’t bother with him! Shoot him on the spot, Bilton!”
“What spot?” asked Bilton.
“Any old spot.”
“All right,” said the one who had Roland by the collar, “I’ll do it.”
He was just intoxicated enough to be reckless, and he actually took
a revolver out of his hip pocket.
“Brought this to celebrate with,” he declared. “Loaded it for that
purpose; but I guess I’ll shoot this fellow.”
Then he fired straight at Roland’s breast.
Packard fell back with a gasping cry, and the dark-faced man caught
him. The other old grads were appalled by the act of their
companion, who himself was rather dazed, not having intended to
fire the revolver; but he quickly recovered, saying:
“He isn’t hurt, gentlemen! The danged thing is loaded with blanks.”
Packard threatened to call for the police, not one of whom happened
to be near.
Not wishing to get into trouble on account of the reckless act of their
companion, the old grads hastened away.
Anton Mescal, the man with the dark face, laughed a little, as he
said:
“Is this the East? Why, I didn’t suppose men were so careless with
their guns here. For a moment I fancied I must be at home.”
Packard swore.
“Infernal old fools!” he muttered. “I’m going to follow and have them
arrested! I’ll put that drunken idiot in the jug for this! Why, he would
have shot me dead if the thing had been loaded with a ball
cartridge!”
“Better let them go,” urged Mescal. “I want to talk with you about
something important.”
“But I don’t know you.”
“I introduced myself just before those men attempted to stampede
us.”
Packard seemed in doubt. He wanted to follow and make trouble for
the man who had been so reckless with his revolver, and yet
something was urging him to listen to the stranger, who claimed to
have important business with him.
“If we stay here,” he said, “we’ll get bumped into again by these
gray-haired Yale men of other days.”
“Yet I must stay here. Let’s get off the steps, where we can watch
both entrances. I am not going to be given the slip again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Something I will explain if you prove to be the man I think you are.”
“You are from the West?”
“That’s right, partner. Come down here.”
They moved aside on the walk, where they took pains to avoid the
groups of hilarious men who were circulating in that vicinity.
“You do not like Merriwell,” said the man who called himself Mescal.
“You refused to cheer for him, even when that man drew a gun on
you.”
“I didn’t suppose the howling chump was crazy enough to shoot.”
“Still you refused to cheer for Merriwell, and everybody else is
howling for him.”
“What of that?” asked Packard suspiciously. “Haven’t I got a right to
refuse?”
“Of course. The very fact that you did refuse convinced me that I had
made no mistake in my man. You dislike Merriwell, when everybody
else seems wild about him. You seem to be his only enemy here.”
“That’s right. There were enough of them once, but I’m the only one
left.”
“What has become of them all?”
“He has triumphed over them, and they have bowed down to worship
him. They are howling themselves hoarse over him to-night.”
“You mean——”
“They have become his friends, or else they have been driven out of
college.”
“How does it happen that you have not succumbed?”
“Because I will not!” panted Roland fiercely.
“He has never defeated you?”
Packard hesitated about answering, for he knew that in everything
that had brought about a contest between himself and Merriwell the
latter had been victorious.
“Only temporarily,” he asserted. “I never give up.”
“Good!” exclaimed Mescal. “I am more than ever satisfied that you
are the very man I want.”
Packard now demanded a full explanation. His curiosity had been
awakened. Still Mescal, the soft-spoken man from the West, was
rather cautious.
“Would you like to strike Merriwell a last blow?” he asked.
“Would I?” said the medic. “Ask me!”
For a moment the Westerner knitted his brows. He had asked
Packard, and the slang of the East bothered him. But the expression
on Packard’s face demonstrated his meaning, and Anton Mescal
nodded.
“I thought so,” he said. “I may be able to give you the opportunity.”
“But you have not explained,” insisted Roland.
“I will. It takes a little time.”
“Then let’s go in here and get a drink. I’m dry and tired.”
Mescal shook his head, grasping the student by the arm.
“Stay here,” he directed. “It is necessary if you wish to strike
Merriwell.”
This surprised Roland.
“What are you coming at?” he growled. “Think I’m going to hit him
with my fist?”
“No. I am watching for a man who is in that hotel. I must not miss
that man when he comes out.”
“How is he connected?”
“I have followed him pretty nearly three thousand miles, trying to
watch him night and day. Four times he has given me the slip, and
four times I have picked up his trail again. I have tried in every
possible way to accomplish my purpose before he could reach this
place, but thus far I have failed.”
This was interesting, and yet Packard failed to see how it was
related to Merriwell.
“I’ll explain,” said the Westerner. “This man is the bearer of an
important message to Frank Merriwell.”
“Ah! that’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you can’t stop him now unless you kidnap or kill him.”
“I don’t want to stop him.”
“What, then?”
“I want to get hold of that message.”
“You wish to know what it is?”
“I know now.”
“Hey? Then why do you wish to get hold of it? Why the dickens have
you put yourself to so much trouble?”
“Because I do not wish it to reach the hands of Merriwell.”
“The bearer——”
“Hasn’t the least idea what the message is.”
“Oh-ho!”
“He is simply a messenger—nothing more. He has been instructed
to deliver an oilskin envelope to Merriwell. He knows absolutely
nothing of the contents of that envelope. If he were to lose it, he
would fail utterly in his task.”
Packard nodded, and made a motion for the man to go on.
“This message,” said Mescal, “is of the utmost importance to
Merriwell. It will do him great damage not to receive it. Get it and
place it in my hands, and you will strike Merriwell a terrible blow.
Besides that, I will give you five hundred dollars in cold cash.”
“Five hundred dollars?” gasped Packard doubtingly.
“Just that. I mean it, and here is the money, to convince you that I
can keep my word.”
The Westerner displayed a roll of bills, the outside one being for the
amount of five hundred dollars.
Now, Roland Packard was involved in debt, and knew not how to
clear himself. Of a sudden, he fancied he saw a way to wipe out his
debts and strike a blow at Merriwell at the same time, and his
bloodshot eyes shone greedily.
“How am I to do this?” he asked.
“That is for you to settle.”
“You mean that——”
“That you are to find a way. I am at the end of my resources, else I
would not have applied to you. It was by chance that I heard you
spoken of as the only enemy of Merriwell remaining in Yale, and it
was by chance—a lucky one—that you happened along and were
pointed out. I lost no time in stopping you right here, hoping you
might be the man to do this work.”
“I’ll do it if possible; but how is it to be done?”
“Again I say that is something for you to find out. I will point out to
you the man who has the message, and you are to follow him and
get it if you can. If you succeed, the money is yours the moment you
place that oilskin envelope in my hands. Are you ready to try it?”
“You bet! When——”
“Now!” whispered Mescal, as he stepped behind Packard, so that the
student was between him and a man who was descending the steps
of the Tontine. “There goes the man with the message!”
 CHAPTER III.
THE MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE.

The man with the message was smooth-faced and shrewd-

appearing. He stepped out from the Tontine briskly. He was dressed
in a plain gray suit of clothes.
“After him!” whispered Mescal. “He has the message! Get it
somehow—anyhow! Get it before Merriwell reads it!”
“I’ll do my best,” promised Packard. “Where’ll I find you?”
“Here—at this hotel.”
Without another word, Roland Packard started after the man in gray.
Up Chapel Street went the man, with Roland not far behind.
The student was trying to think of some way to secure the message.
He was desperate, and desperate schemes flitted through his brain.
He thought of attacking the man on the street and trying to go
through his pockets; but New Haven was thronged with visitors, old
and young, and Packard found no opportunity, knowing full well that
all chances of success were against him. Desperate though he was,
he had no relish for arrest on the charge of assault and robbery. But
Roland’s eyes were open, and he was on the watch for an
opportunity. Still, something told him that the man was going directly
to Merriwell, and he felt that his show of accomplishing his purpose
was becoming smaller with every step.
Already preparations were being made for a hilarious time in the
vicinity of Osborne Hall that night. Packard knew there would be
speeches, cheering, red fire, and all that, but he gave it no thought
now.
“All New Haven has gone daffy over Merriwell!” he muttered to
himself, as he heard Frank’s name spoken many times by passing
men. “Anybody would think there was nothing else to talk of!
Merriwell eclipses class day, senior prom, graduation, everything.
Oh, if I could get a last crack at him right in the height of his glory!
And to make five hundred plunks at the same time. I must do it
somehow!”
But how?—that was the question. He ground his teeth as he saw his
chances diminishing. The campus was reached, and the man in gray
made directly for Vanderbilt.
“Going straight to Merriwell’s room!” thought Roland. “Perhaps I’ll
have a chance on the stairs.”
No one paid much attention to Packard. Everybody seemed
hilariously happy. He was close behind the bearer of the message
when that individual entered Vanderbilt; but the opportunity did not
come. It seemed that a perfect stream of men was making for
Merriwell’s room or coming from it.
“Just pouring congratulations on him,” said the medic. “Oh, he’s the
king-pin here!”
He saw the messenger reach the door of Frank’s room, which was
standing wide open. Within that room there seemed to be a mass of
happy students.
“No use!” grated Packard. “I didn’t get a chance!”
Just then Oliver Packard and Hock Mason came out and descended
the stairs. Neither of them observed Roland.
“He has been there,” muttered Merry’s enemy, looking after his twin
brother, whom he so closely resembled in outward appearance,
although otherwise there was not the slightest similarity.
Then a sudden thought came to him. In the past he had been
mistaken for Oliver a score of times, and again he might perpetrate
the deception. No one would expect him to boldly enter Merriwell’s
room. If any one had observed the departure of Oliver, it might be
fancied that Oliver had returned, if Roland were seen.
“I’ll do it!” he muttered, and he boldly followed the messenger into
the room.
He saw Frank in the midst of his friends. He would have given ten
years of his life to win such homage from that admiring throng. Yet
he could not help seeing that Frank Merriwell bore himself with
perfect modesty, as if feeling himself no better than his humblest
friend. Merry’s position was most difficult, and only a man of
remarkable tact could have filled it without seeming to pose. It was
this atmosphere maintained by Frank at all times that had made him
so popular. He did not betray exaltation, and yet in no way did he
lower himself by his quiet, unaffected manners.
The man in gray slowly pushed forward till he could touch Frank’s
arm. In a moment when Merry was not engaged, the stranger spoke,
saying:
“Mr. Merriwell, I beg your pardon for bothering you now, but my
business is most important. I will trouble you only a minute, if you will
kindly step aside.”
Frank was surprised, but his courtesy was sufficient to enable him to
betray it only by a slight lifting of the eyebrows. Then he excused
himself to those immediately about him and stepped apart with the
man.
“I would not have bothered you now,” said the stranger, “but I am the
bearer of an important message to you, and I wish to get it out of my
hands without delay, as there is danger that I may lose it. I shall not
feel easy till I have turned it over to you, when my task will be
completed.”
“A message?” said Frank. “From whom?”
“I do not know. I know nothing, save that I have been paid a large
sum of money to bring it to you, and to guard it with my life till it is in
your hands.”
Such a statement as this was calculated to arouse interest.
“And you do not know whom the message is from?”
“I do not. It was not my place to make inquiries. All I know is that I
have been pursued from Colorado to this city by a man who has
seemed determined to rob me of it.”
This added to the interest.
“But he did not succeed?”
“No, sir. I am here, and I have the message, which I will now hand
over to you.”
From an inner pocket the man took an oilskin envelope, which he
gave to Frank, who looked at it curiously. On the envelope were
traced these words:
“To Frank Harrison Merriwell; not to be opened until the day after he
graduates from Yale.”
The moment Frank saw that writing, which was wavering and
unsteady, he uttered a little exclamation, his face paling.
“It’s from my father!” he murmured. “I wonder what it can be!”
The messenger now presented a receipt for Frank to sign, having
produced a fountain pen.
Merry signed the receipt, although for some reason which he himself
did not fully understand his hand was not as steady as usual.
“There,” said the man, “I thank goodness that my task is
accomplished!”
“Who gave you this?” asked Frank.
“My chief.”
“Your chief? You mean——”
“I am in the employ of the Great Western Detective Agency, of
Denver, and my chief placed this in my hands. He stated that I was
to receive two thousand dollars if I delivered it into your hands. He
had been asked to name a man who was reliable, and I was chosen.
The man who sent the message fixed the remuneration I was to
receive. What he paid the chief I do not know.”
Strange thoughts ran riot in Frank’s brain. He had not heard from his
father for some time, and he had not seen Mr. Merriwell since they
parted in Florida. The last letter had assured Frank that his father
was safe and comfortable, and, knowing the peculiarities of the man,
he had not worried much for all of the period of silence. But now
something told Merry that strange things were soon to happen.
“You have performed your duty well,” said Merry, as he returned the
pen to the man in gray.
“Thank you,” said the stranger quietly. “And now I will bid you good-
by.”
Then he quietly departed, leaving the mysterious message, and
Frank stood there studying the oilskin envelope, wondering what it
contained. For the time he forgot his surroundings, forgot the friends
who were present, forgot the triumphs of the day, and gave himself
up to vain speculation.
His father was a most mysterious man, seldom doing anything in a
conventional manner. Yet somehow it seemed to Merry that this did
not account for the care and expense to which Mr. Merriwell had
gone in order to have the message safely delivered into the hands of
his son.
Of course Frank had no thought of opening that envelope before the
time set—the day after graduation. He wondered if it could be that
the envelope contained a check for a large sum of money which he
was to use in starting out in a business career. Anyhow, it was
certain, Merry thought, that the contents must be valuable.
He was not aware of a pair of greedy eyes fastened upon him. He
was not aware of a person who moved cautiously toward him without
attracting attention.
Roland Packard was desperate. The message had been delivered,
but as yet Merriwell knew nothing of its import. Packard reasoned
that this was his last chance to earn that alluring five hundred
dollars.
Reaching a favorable position, Roland glanced round toward the
door, observing that, for the present, the coast was clear.
Then he turned, and, like a flash, his hand went out, his fingers
closing on the envelope, which was snatched from Merriwell’s grasp.
Without a word, without a sound, the desperate student leaped
toward the door.
Merry, who had thought himself surrounded by friends, who to the
last man were constant and true, had been taken utterly by surprise,
but he quickly recovered.
“Stop, Packard!”
With that cry, he sprang after Roland, who was vanishing through the
door. In a moment there was great excitement in the room.
Hans Dunnerwurst had seen the envelope snatched from Merry’s
fingers, and he tried to overtake Roland, shouting:
“Come away back mit dot! Id dit nod belonging to you!”
In his rush for the door he collided with Ephraim Gallup, who likewise
had leaped after the thief, and they went down heavily in the
doorway, locked fast in each other’s arms.
“Gol ding a fool!” spluttered the youth from Vermont.
Merry was compelled to leap over them both, which he did, dashing
out after Packard. Half-way down the stairs Frank clutched Oliver,
who was calmly returning to Merry’s room.
“Give it up!” commanded Merry sternly.
Oliver was astounded.
“Give what up?” he asked.
“The message.”
“What message?”
“You know. This is no time for joking, and it is a very poor joke, at
best.”
“Joke?” said Oliver wonderingly. “What are you talking about,
Merriwell? I know nothing of any joke.”
Frank held him off and looked at him sternly. Merry’s friends were
swarming to the head of the stairs.
“Frank’s got him!” they cried.
“Yaw!” shouted Hans Dunnerwurst. “Dot vos der lobsder vot didded
id! Holdt him onto, Vrankie!”
“Shut yeour maouth, yeou dinged Dutch chump!” came from Gallup.
“Yeou come nigh fixin’ it so he couldn’t git him.”
“Roight ye are, Gallup, me bhoy,” put in Mulloy. “Thot Dutch chaze is
foriver in th’ way.”
To the eyes of Merry the look of amazement on Oliver Packard’s
face seemed genuine.
“What has happened?” Oliver asked. “I heard the sudden
commotion, and then you came leaping down here at me.”
“Make him give it up, Merry!” cried the students above.
“I’ve got nothing to give up,” protested Oliver, his face, which had
turned pale, now flushing hotly. “What do they mean?”
Frank Merriwell was doing some swift thinking just then. He had not
seen Oliver leave the room in company with Hock Mason, and he
had not observed Roland’s face fairly as the latter whirled with the
snatched envelope in his grasp; but he realized that Oliver’s actions
in the past had stamped him as in no respect likely to perpetrate
such a trick, while it was very much like his brother.
But it did not seem that Roland had been in the room. That he would
dare come there in the midst of Merry’s friends seemed utterly
beyond reason, and not worthy of consideration. Yet Frank asked
Oliver a question:
“Where is Roland?”
Again Oliver’s face paled.
“Roland?” he said. “I don’t know.”
“Didn’t he pass you just now on these stairs?”
“He did not.”
Frank’s face was hard and grim.
“Come up to my room,” he commanded.
Oliver did not demur. He saw Frank’s friends regarding him with
looks of accusation, but, knowing he was not guilty of any wrong-
doing, he quietly ascended the stairs and entered Merriwell’s room.
At that moment, panting, yet trying to still his breathing and his
thumping heart, Roland Packard was listening behind the closed
door of another room near Merriwell’s, into which he had darted. He
had seen the door slightly ajar, and had leaped in there as he fled
with the stolen message.
As Oliver, surrounded by Frank’s friends, entered Merriwell’s room,
Roland opened the door the least bit and cautiously peered out. His
ears had told him something of the truth, and he chuckled to think
that his brother had appeared just in time to fall into the hands of the
pursuers.
“He’s all right,” thought the young scoundrel. “And he turned up at
just the right moment to divert suspicion from me long enough for me
to get away. My last blow at Merriwell will be effective, and I’ll make a
ten-strike at the same time.”
He saw Merriwell’s door closed by some one who meant to make
sure that the captured suspect should not break away and escape.
Then Roland stole swiftly out from the room and hastened down the
stairs, chuckling with evil triumph.
Oliver Packard was in a bad scrape, and somehow his face seemed
to indicate that he felt guilt. Still he persisted in being told what had
happened. When he heard the story, he firmly said:
“This is a mistake, Merriwell—I swear it! I left this room ten or fifteen
minutes ago in company with Hock Mason, as I can prove. I left
Mason outside and came back. I was just in time for you to rush out
and grasp me on the stairs. This is the truth, as Heaven hears me!”
There were murmurs of doubt on all sides. Many of Merry’s friends
had never trusted Oliver fully, being inclined to judge him by the
conduct of his brother. Some of them had remonstrated with Frank
for his friendliness with Oliver. These were the ones who now
muttered their incredulity on listening to the words of the suspected
student.
Oliver turned pale as he heard that muttering.
“Search him!” said somebody.
“Search him!” was the cry.
“Yes, search me!” panted Oliver. “I demand to be searched!”
“No,” said Frank, as his hand fell on Oliver’s shoulder. “I believe you!
I am satisfied that you speak the truth. It is a mistake.”
“But we saw him with the envelope in his hand,” said Dade Morgan.
“It was not I!” asserted Oliver.
“No, it was not you,” agreed Merriwell, “but it was one who hates me
and who looks so much like you that we were all deceived.”
“My brother!” muttered Oliver huskily.
“It must have been,” nodded Frank. “He has stolen that message,
which is of great value to me.”
“Merriwell,” exclaimed Oliver Packard excitedly, “I’ll recover the
message for you! Trust me to get it. I will restore it to you, if I live!”
 CHAPTER IV.
THE FALSE MESSAGE.

Roland Packard was exultant as he hastily left Vanderbilt. Safe in his

pocket was the precious message.
“I have it! I have it!” he laughed, as he hastened away. “Oh, that was
a piece of luck! Let Oll fight it out with them. He’ll get off somehow,
and they never can prove I did it.”
He seemed utterly regardless of the shame and humiliation he had
cast upon his brother by his rascally act. Having sunk lower and
lower, Roland’s conscience no longer gave him much trouble, no
matter what he did.
“Five hundred dollars!” he muttered. “All mine! That will clear me of
every debt.”
He was hastening to find Anton Mescal, when, of a sudden, he
stopped.
“If that man is willing to pay five hundred dollars for this message the
old envelope must contain something of great importance.”
That set him to thinking, and soon he softly exclaimed:
“I’d like to know what is in that envelope! It might be worth much
more than five hundred dollars to me.”
He was on Chapel Street, opposite the green. Glancing around to
make sure he was not watched, he took the envelope from his
pocket and examined it.
“Sealed!” he muttered, in disappointment. “Too bad! But for that, I
might——”
He grew silent, examining the seal.
“This is luck!” he finally laughed. “The seal was struck with a ring
made to represent the symbol of one of the old freshman societies.
The man who struck that seal may have received the ring from
Merriwell himself. I know where to find another ring exactly like that.”
Packard thrust the envelope into his pocket and hastened straight to
a jeweler’s shop, where he soon purchased a ring which he knew
would strike a seal exactly like the one on the envelope.
From the jeweler’s store he went to a stationer’s, where he
purchased a stick of sealing-wax like the wax used on the oilskin
envelope.
Then came the hardest thing to obtain, an envelope like the one in
his pocket; but, after much search, Packard secured just what he
wanted.
“Now, I am going to know what the message is!” he exulted.
At first he started for his own room, but he did not go far.
“Oliver may be there,” he thought, “or he may come before the job is
done. I must not go there.”
In a moment he thought of a place, and then he proceeded straight
to a little club-room, where some of the reckless Yale men often
gathered to play cards.
The club-room was deserted now, as everybody seemed out to take
part in the gay time that night. Roland knew there was little danger
that he would be disturbed, for it was not probable that any Yale man
would care to play cards on such a night.
The place had been lighted by ordinary kerosene-lamps, and Roland
had one of these burning in short order. Then he set to work to open
the envelope. At first his hands trembled, which caused him to stop
and wait for his nerves to become steadier. He took a silver flask
from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and drank from it.
“There!” he said; “that will fix me.”
Slowly and cautiously he worked with his knife, removing the seal
from the envelope. When this was done he found some trouble in