But the boy had thrown himself forward with a long cry, sobbing.
"I--want--to--see," he said, "it--hurts--here." His fingers touched
the faint line along his forehead. And Achilles bent and kissed it, and
soothed him, talking low words--till the boy sat up, a little laugh on
his lips--his grief forgotten.


So the detectives went back to the city--each with his expensive
cigar--cursing luck. And Achilles, after a day or two, followed them.
"He will be better without you," said the surgeon. "You disturb his
mind. Let him have time to get quiet again. Give nature her chance."

So Achilles returned to the city, unlocking the boy's fingers from his.
"You must wait a little while," he said gently. "Then I come for you."
And he left the boy in the garden, looking after the great machine that
bore him away--an unfathomable look in his dark, following eyes.




XXI

A CONNOISSEUR SPEAKS

The next day it rained. All day the rain dripped on the roof and ran
down the waterspouts, hurrying to the ground. In her own room the
mistress of the house sat watching the rain and the heavy sky and
drenched earth. The child was never for a minute out of her thoughts.
Her fancy pictured gruesome places, foul dens where the child sat--pale