San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1926-01-17

struck.
Outside there was intense quiet,
for South street paid for quiet; II
a street musician had put his nose
around the corner he would have
been strangled with the strings
from his own instrument. Then
the sound of a motor-car's engine.
A gentle, murmuring, insinuating
sound that suggested aloofness
from all other cars. Marcus Swete
went quickly to the door OF his
room and listened to Brasher pass
ing along the hall to greet the Wis
itor; there were no lights in the
hall, although dusk had fallen and
the corners were in deep shadows.
There was a whispered converse
ton; the hall door closed; the foot
steps on the stair leading up to the
private sitting-room sounded rather
stealthy, but the listening Mr..
Swete smiled with satisfaction and
walked back to the fireplace to
await.
The person that Brasher ushered
into the room was neither young
nor old, but one might have made
a score of guesses vainly at his
correct age. There was what we
call personality in every line of
the face; it was face that one
wouldn't easily forget: the eyes
were deep-set and extraordinar-
lily penetratve; his voice was mu-
steal, persuasive and yet behind
the note of persuasion there was
command, or sternness.
Marcus Swete motioned the Wis
itor to a chair and passed a signal
to Brasher, who withdrew so that
he might take up his position on
the landing outside, a guard against
intrusion. There wasn't another
soul in all London besides Brasher
and his master who knew of the
visits to South street of the
strange, compelling figure that
had come up the semi-dark stairs.
There wasn't a soul in Mayfair, at
least, who wouldn't have been i'm
intrigued had it known of
the visits. For here, in the person
of this stranger, was the secret of
Marcus Swete's life-the hand, if
you will, that guided him in his
ife's work, in his vendetta.
GAS usual?" queried Swete, ap-
the sideboard as though
ne were about to fetch wine or
spirits.
"As usual" was the reply.
Swete poured a thimbleful of
peppermint into a tumbler and
filled it up with water from the
;pirit kettle which the faithful
Brasher had prepared a few mo-
ments before the clock struck the
hour.
STRANGE taste," he said, hand
ing over the glass.
Strange man"-with a low mu-
steal laugh.
Swete seated himself opposite his
guest, lit a cigarette and lazily
watched the blue smoke ascend to
tie ceiling. Then
''News-if any?"
"Sir James files his petition to-
morrow"
"Splendidw
"Talks of suicide"
Hasn't the courage. He'll bor-
row from his friends"
Has been on his knees pleading
for leniency."
Swete knocked the ash off his
cigarette end with a forefinger.
What mercy did he show Lord
Brunton?" he asked fiercely. "For-
get Sir James for a moment: tell
me what is the position of Adam
Anscombe?"
"He keeps it from his family,
but he's very near the waterline."
Splendid, again."
81 fancy he's relying on his
daughter doing we'll"
Marrying a fortune? Has she
found the MANI"
81 haven't met the young lady
yet, but they tell me she might
make a good match if her temper
were more certain"
an see she doesn't" said Mar
Gus Swete.
"Still bitter"-with a shake of
the head-"and yet when her sis
ter Margot-"
"That was entirely a different
matter" said Swete, quickly.
"What ] did then was the result
of-of natural chivalry, if you
Ike. Ny conscience made me pay
for il when / came to reflect on
what they did TO my father, Lord
Brunton
81 beg your pardon"-softly and
with sincere sympathy.
Marcus Swete rose from his
chair and stood with his back TO
the fireplace. The room was hazed
by the dusk; outside the street