Philip Harris whirring out at night and sitting on the terrace in the
dusk, the light of his cigar glimmering a little, as he watched the
Greek boy flung on the ground at his feet, his eyes playing with the
stars. He knew them all by name under the skies of Greece. Achilles had
taught them to him; and he counted them, like a flock, as he lay on the
terrace--rolling out the great Greek names while they girdled the sky
above him in a kind of homely chant.

When the boy had gone to bed Philip Harris remained smoking thoughtfully
and looking still at the stars. He had had a long talk with the surgeon
to-day and he had given his consent. The boy was well, he admitted--as
well as he was likely to be--perhaps. Give him three more days--then, if
nothing happened, they might question him.

Philip Harris threw away his cigar--and its glimmering light went out in
the grass. Overhead the great stars still circled in space, travelling
on toward the new day.




XX

THE TEST IS MADE

"I will ask the questions," Achilles had said, in his quiet voice, and
it had been arranged that he should come to Idlewood when the surgeon
gave the word.

He arrived the next night, stepping from the car as it drew up before