Achilles’s eyes rested on him fondly. It had been lonely in the shop—but now the long days of waiting were repaid... they had their clue. Even now the detectives might have followed it up. The little lady would be found. He hurried over the last things—his heart singing—and called the boy to him.
“I go away,” he said, looking at him kindly. “You stay in shop—till I come.”
“Yes, father.” The boy’s eyes were happy. It was good to be in the close, dark, home place with its fruity smell and the striped awning outside. “I do all right!” he said gaily.
The father nodded. “To-morrow you go with push-cart—little way—every day little way—” He waited a moment while the boy’s face took in the words—he spoke with slow significance—“Some day you see—those men—then you run—like devil!” he said quickly, “you tell me!”
The boy’s teeth made a quick line of light and his face flashed. “I tell—quick!” he said, “I know those men!”
He left the shop and was lost in the crowd. He was going first to the city hall for news—then he would seek Philip Harris. The plan that he was shaping in his mind needed help.
But at the city hall there was no news. The chief of police seemed even a little irritated at the sight of the dark face and the slim, straight figure that stood before him. He eyed it a moment, almost hostilely; then he remembered Philip Harris’s command and told the man what steps had been taken and the reports that had come in thus far through the day. The Greek listened without comment, his dark face smouldering a little over its quick fire. “You find nothing?” he said quietly.
“Not a damn thing!” answered the chief.
“I go try,” said Achilles.
The man looked at him. Then he laughed out. The door opened. It was the detective in charge of the case. He glanced at Achilles and went over to the chief and said something. But the chief shook his head and they looked carelessly at Achilles, while the chief drummed on the desk. Achilles waited with slow, respectful gaze.