and dapper men who did not look up as they went.
The house settled again to quiet, and the long afternoon, while Achilles
waited. The light from the high windows grew dusky under chairs and
tables; it withdrew softly along the gleaming books and hovered in the
air above them--a kind of halo--and the shadows crept up and closed
about him. Through the open door, a light appeared in the hall. A moving
figure advanced to the library, and paused in the doorway, and came
in. There was a minute's fumbling at the electric button, and the soft
lights came, by magic, everywhere in the room. The servant gave a
quick glance about him, and started sternly--and came forward. Then he
recognised the man. It was the Greek. But he looked at him sternly. The
day had been full of suspicion and question--and the house was alive to
it--"What do you want?" he said harshly.

"I wait," said Achilles.

"Who told you to come?" demanded the man.

"I come. I wait," said Achilles.

The man disappeared. Presently he returned. "You come with me," he
said. His look was less stern, but he raised his voice a little, as if
speaking to a child, or a deaf man. "You come with me," he repeated.

Achilles followed with quick-gliding foot--along the corridor, through
a great room--to a door. The man paused and lifted his hand and knocked.
His back was tense, as if he held himself ready to spring.

A voice sounded and he turned the handle softly, and looked at Achilles.
Then the door opened and the Greek passed in and the man closed the door
behind him.

A man seated at a table across the room looked up. For a minute the two
men looked at each other--the one short and square and red; the other
thin as a reed, with dark, clear eyes.

The short man spoke first. "What do you know about this?" His hand
pressed a heap of papers upon the desk before him and his eyes searched
the dark face.

Achilles's glance rested on the papers--then it lifted itself.

"Your name is Achilles?" said the other sharply.

"Achilles Alexandrakis--yes." The Greek bowed.

"I know--she called you Mr. Achilles," said the man.

A shadow rested on the two faces, looking at each other.

"She is lost," said the father. He said it under his breath, as if
denying it.

"I find her," said Achilles quietly.

The man leaned forward--something like a sneer on his face. "She is
stolen, I tell you--and the rascals have got at their work quick!" He
struck the pile of papers on the desk.