You mean to call forth his ghost? Then too did his ghost come to me, looking true to the man in life, kneeling over me that night I lay alone upon the beach weary of heart as I am now. I could hold him not in mine embrace, nor could he stay, but still I heard him speak one last time.

[There hangs not a trace of hesitance in his answer: he knows at once what he wants.]

His name is Patroclus, son of Menoetius of Actor's stock. If you will shortly meet me in the park where the pyre shall be piled high, I can bring a photograph that you can discern his shade from the countless others that clog Hades' gates, waiting for the ferryman Charon to fetch them.