al.” “Well then,” continued Phanos, “speak frankly. To what places do you want to be el

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ected?” La

on Phanos

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mon—and then

, a small,

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the others—ob

stout man

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eyed the comma

, with a p
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rieker,” he said to him, “the only one of you who fled.” And, with a smile that showed he had noticed everything, he pointed to the door of t

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he bleaching-room and added, “You’ll find him in there.” No command could have been more welcome to Hipyllos. His heart throbbed with joyo

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us anticipation; he had a presentiment that he was near his aim. XXIII. The sentinel at the door made way at a sign from Phanos, and Hipyllo

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s hurried into the bleaching-room. A suffocating odor of sulphur, mingled with a horrible smell of urine and soap, greeted him. A copper lamp

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tripod placed near the wall, and he scanned the whole apartment with a single glance. At the back were five recesses in the wall containing reservoirs of water, where lay soaking the material to be stamped by the slaves on the morrow. In the middle of the workshop stood a

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large stone table, on which lay some batlets. On the left, over a pole under the ceiling, hung a purple robe, in whose lower folded part was flung an iron teasel. Behind this article of clothing one could see the drying-room, where Hipyllos188 noticed hundreds of garment

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s hanging on long poles. He was going to creep under them, when he heard a smothered sound from the opposite direction. Here, ranged along the wall, stood a number of wicker baskets, the height of a man, which resembled hen-coops. Clothes were spread over five or six wher

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e, as the vapor in the room showed, sulphur had been recently lighted to give them the requisite whiteness. From one of the centre ones issued a strange stifled moaning. “I have him!” murmured Hipyllos smiling, as he took hold of the handle on top shaped like an owl,

    the sacred bird of Athens. When he had removed the basket, Acestor sat crouching before him with half-closed

    eyes, panting and groa

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