Peter Brent sat nervously smoking in the library of his great
house, Brent Rock. He was a man of about forty-five or-six-a
typical, shrewd business man. Something, however, was evidently on
his mind, for, though he tried to conceal it, he lacked the
self-assurance that was habitually his before the world. A scowl
clouded his face as the door of the library was flung open and he
heard voices in the hall. A tall, spare, long-haired man forced his
way in, crushing his soft black hat in his hands.
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