So the criminal was sent to death and Democrates was showered with congratulations. Only one person seemed hardly satisfied with all the young orator did,—Themistocles. The latter told his lieutenant candidly he feared all was not being done to apprehend the Persian emissary. Themistocles even took it upon himself to send Sicinnus to run down several suspects, and just on the morning of the day preceding the Panathenæa—the great summer festival—Democrates received a hint which sent him home very thoughtful. He had met his chief in the Agora as he was leaving the Government-House, and Themistocles had again asked if he had smelt aught of the Persian agent. He had not.
“Then you would well devote more time to finding his scent, and less to convicting a pitiful embezzler. You know the Alopece suburb?”
“Certainly.”
“And the house of Phormio the fishmonger?” to which Democrates nodded.
“Well, Sicinnus has been watching the quarter. A Babylonish carpet-seller has rooms opposite Phormio. The man is suspicious, does no trading, and Phormio’s wife told Sicinnus an odd tale.”
“What tale?” Democrates glanced at a passing chariot, avoiding Themistocles’s gaze.
“Why, twice the Barbarian, she swears, has had an evening visitor—and he our dear Glaucon.”
“Impossible.”
“Of course. The good woman is mistaken. Still, question her. Pry into this Babylonian’s doings. He may be selling more things than carpets. If he has corrupted any here in Athens,—by Pluto the Implacable, I will make them tell out the price!”
“I’ll inquire at once.”