on't feel so sure," said the other--"He may do it yet--right under
our noses. I've done it myself--you know."

The chief looked at him curiously.

"_I_ used to do it--time and again," said the man, thoughtfully. "_I_
couldn't 'a' told you--_how_. I'd study on a case--and study--and give
it up--and then, all of a sudden--pop!--and there it was--in my head.
I couldn't have told how it got there, but it worked all right!" He
lighted a cigar and threw the match from him, puffing slowly. "I'd do
it now--if I could." He was lost in thought. "There's something in
his eyes--that Greek. I'd like to be inside that black skull of his a
minute." He sauntered across the room and went out.

The eyes of the chief of police looked after him vaguely. He drew a
column of figures toward him and began to add it--starting at the bottom
and travelling slowly up. He was computing his revenues for the coming
year.

XXIV

IT FLOATS A LITTLE

Achilles found Philip Harris at luncheon, and waited for him to come
back, and laid his plan before him.

The millionaire listened, and nodded once or twice, and took up the
receiver and gave an order. "He'll be at your place every day," he said
to Achilles as he hung it up. "You tell him what you want--and let me
know if there's anything else--money--?" He looked at him.

But Achilles shook his head. "I got money," he said quickly. "I get
money--six--seven dollar--every day. I do good business!"

The millionaire smiled, a little bitterly. "I do good business, too; but
it doesn't seem to count much. Well--let me know--" He held out his hand
and Achilles took it and hesitated and looked at the seamed red face
that waited for him to go--then he went quietly out.

He would have liked to speak swift words of hope--they rode high in his
heart--but something in the face put him off and he went out into the
sunshine and walked fast. He looked far ahead as he went, smiling softly
at his dream. And now and then a man passed him--and looked back and
smiled too--a shrew, tolerant, grown-up smile.

At ten o'clock the next morning Philip Harris's big touring car drew
up in front of the striped awning; it gave a little plaintive honk--and
stood still. Achilles came to the door with swift look. He turned back
to the shop. "I go," he said to Alcibiades, and stepped across the
pavement, and was off.

At two o'clock he returned to the shop, his face covered with big beads
of perspiration, his hat gone