He thrust the box back in the cupboard, drew forth a second like it, unlocked it, and took out more writings. Selecting two, he spread ink and papyrus before him, and copied with feverish haste. Once he hesitated, and almost flung back the writings into the casket. Once he glanced at the notes he had prepared for his speech against the defrauding contractor. He grimaced bitterly. Then the hesitation ended. He finished the copying, replaced the second box, and barred and concealed the cupboard. He hid his new copies in his breast and called in Bias.
“I am going out, but I shall not be late.”
“Shall not Hylas and I go with lanterns?” asked the fellow. “Last night there were foot-pads.”
“I don’t need you,” rejoined his master, brusquely.
He went down into the dimly lighted street and wound through the maze of back alleys wherein Athens abounded, but Democrates never missed his way. Once he caught the glint of a lantern—a slave lighting home his master from [pg 98]dinner. The orator drew into a doorway; the others glided by, seeing nothing. Only when he came opposite the house of the Cyprian he saw light spreading from the opposite doorway and knew he must pass under curious eyes. Phormio was entertaining friends very late. But Democrates took boldness for safety, strode across the illumined ring, and up to the Cyprian’s stairway. The buzz of conversation stopped a moment. “Again Glaucon,” he caught, but was not troubled.
“After all,” he reflected, “if seen at all, there is no harm in such a mistake.”
The room was again glittering in its Oriental magnificence. The Cyprian advanced to meet his visitor, smiling blandly.
“Welcome, dear Athenian. We have awaited you. We are ready to heal your calamity.”
Democrates turned away his face.
“You know it already! O Zeus, I am the most miserable man in all Hellas!”