Mr. Achilles

Achilles Alexandrakis was arranging the fruit on his stall in front of his little shop on Clark Street. It was a clear, breezy morning, cool for October, but not cold enough to...

She nodded reassuringly. “His fruit-shop--and--oh, I forgot--” She reached into the little bag at her side, tugging at something. “He gave me these.” She produced the round box...

Outside the door the horses pranced, champing a little at the bit, and turning their shining, arching necks in the sun. Other carriages drove up and drove away. Rich toilets ali...

But Miss Stone did not look at him. “Drive to the Greek’s. You know--where she went before.” She would not give herself time to think--sitting a little forward on the seat--of c...

Life was busy for Achilles. There were visits to the hospital--where he must not speak to his boy, but only look at him and catch little silent smiles from the bandaged face--an...

The boy had grown refined by his illness--the sturdy hands that had guided the push-cart had lost their roughened look and seemed the shape of some old statue; and the head, poi...

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 fol...

The two figures amid the rows of the marked garden paused, in the enveloping dusk, and leaned on their hoes, and listened--a low, peevish whistle, like the call of a night-jar,...

The child lay with her hands clasped, breathing lightly. The sound of voices came drowsily from the kitchen... she must not go to sleep! She sat up and leaned toward the little...

Behind a velvet curtain, the butler’s voice called frantic words--a telephone bell rang sharply and whirred and rang a long fierce call and the butler’s voice took it up and flu...