"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. "They will give her up for
ten thousand dollars--to-night." He glanced at the clock on the wall,
ticking its minutes, hurrying to six o'clock.

The dark eyes had followed the glance; they came back to the man's
face--"You pay that--ten thousand dollar?" said Achilles.

"I shall be damned first!" said the man with slow emphasis. "But we
shall find them--" His square, red jaw held the words, "and _they_ shall
pay--God! They shall pay!" The room rang to the word. It was a small
bare room--only a table and two chairs, the clock on the wall and a
desk across the room. "Sit down," said Philip Harris. He motioned to the
chair before him.

But Achilles did not take it, he rested a hand on the back, looking down
at him. "I glad--you not pay," he said.

The other lifted his eyebrows. "I shall pay the man that finds her--the
man that brings her back! You understand that?" His bright, little
glance had keen scorn.

But the face opposite him did not change. "I find her," said Achilles