whenever I went
ashore. Personally I'm against firearms. You generally find, after a
row, that the dead man had a revolver in his hand. Unarmed strangers are
not often touched.

"Number Forty-eight was a long while coming. Car after car came down the
steep incline of _Victoria_ and turning round eastward rumbled off along
_Paseo Colon_. I walked a few steps down one of the dark avenues and sat
down on a seat to finish my cigar. It was like walking into a dark room.
I could hear the roar of the city, yet at the same time I could hear
some local sounds plainly. A musty smell came up on the breeze from the
river. Suddenly I heard the long deep note of a steamer's whistle: the
Mihanovich Mail Boat leaving for Monte Video. I sat there quietly,
thinking of nothing in particular, just glancing up now and then to note
the numbers of the trolleys. At the sound of the whistle, though, I fell
to thinking of Mihanovich. What a romance that man's life must have
been! They tell me that about forty years ago he'd landed in that place,
a Russian Pole, ignorant of the language, without any money or friends,
a low-down beach-comber. And here he was, a millionaire. Every tug on
the river has his big M on the funnel. He had fleets of steamers, mines,
railways, banks; and he was even tendering for the contract of the new
docks the city wanted. No wonder others came to make their fortunes. No
gentility needed to make _him_ succeed. And thinking of him, somehow I
began to wonder if my brother might not make good out in the colonies
say, some distant part of the world. Some time before this my uncle had
told me that Frank had been released. Good behaviour had reduced his
time to about twenty months. Surely, if he started in some place where
they didn't ask too many questions he might get another chance. And I
hoped so. I had no malice against him. He was one of those who can't
keep their nature down; women were the curse of him. Well, perhaps
prison had changed him. My uncle had said that he was 'changed,' but
that might be for the worse. And just when the old chap was deciding to
pay the passage out to New Zealand--buy him a ticket and see him on
board--my brother had vanished again.

"Mind you, the interest I took in the matter was, you might say, purely
dispassionate. I turned the case of my brother over in my mind as you
might turn over the problems of a book you are half through. I'm not
sure that at the moment when I was interrupted I w