At last he decided upon Roland Packard as a safe man, strong in his hatred of Merriwell. With his malicious plot well matured, he sent for Packard, without divulging anything of his purpose, but hinting mysteriously about “mutual interests” and “a man we both hate,” which he was confident would bring Roland to his room even though he might otherwise have ignored the invitation; for Packard was not an admirer of Defarge, and their hatred of Frank was the only common ground between them.
But, as Defarge had hoped, the hint that the man they both were desirous of injuring was the reason for the summons was sufficient.
As usual, Packard was in anything but a pleasant mood when he entered Defarge’s room, and also, as usual, he had been drinking heavily.
“Well, you sent for me,” was Packard’s greeting. “What do you want?”
“Don’t!” whispered Defarge, slipping across the room and closing the door securely. “Be careful not to talk too loud. I would not have him catch on for the world, and some one might hear us.”
“I supposed so. If I remember correctly, you have not been in love with Frank Merriwell in the past.”
“Hardly,” admitted Defarge, although he took care to keep his voice lowered. “You know I have hated him. Sit down, Packard, and we will talk this matter over.”
Packard finally accepted the chair which Bertrand urged him to take. It was near a little table, on which sat a cut-glass decanter that contained a reddish-amber liquid. Defarge had placed that decanter in a conspicuous position for the purpose of having it fall beneath the eyes of his visitor.
Roland Packard, a Yale “medic,” had within a short time made a reputation for himself as a heavy drinker. On entering college he had seemed no worse than scores of other students in this respect, but circumstances and his own disposition had led him into bad ways. This Defarge knew very well, and he had rightly fancied that the sight of that decanter and its contents would attract Roland.
Defarge drew another chair near the table on which sat the decanter. There were glasses on it also. The curtains of the window were closely drawn.
Bertrand studied the face of his visitor closely for a moment, and what he saw there seemed to trouble him a little, for he shrugged his shoulders with an unconscious gesture of dismay. He even hesitated about offering Packard any of the contents of the decanter. The latter seemed to understand that something was the matter, and he frowned blackly.