The next day, life in the little shop went on as if there had been no break. With the early light, Yaxis was off, to the south, pushing his tip-cart before him and calling aloud—bananas and fruit and the joy of Alcibiades’s return, in his clear, high voice.... In the shop, Achilles arranged the fruit—great piles of oranges, and grape fruit and figs—and swung the heavy bunches of bananas to their hooks outside, and opened crates1 and boxes and made ready for the day. By and by, when trade slackened a little, he would slip away and leave Alcibiades in charge of the shop. His mind was busy as he worked. He had something to do that would take him away from the shop—every day for a while, it might be—but the shop would not suffer. Alcibiades was strong—not well enough, perhaps, to go out with the new push-cart that had replaced the old one, and waited outside, but strong enough to make change and fill up the holes in the piles of oranges as they diminished under the swift rush of trade.
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 kindly2. “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 awning3 outside. “I do all right!” he said gaily4.
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 spoke5 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 th............