The slaves were all picked men of large frame and muscle, and they urged the boat through the water at a swift pace. The dusk was beginning to fall, and the distant shore was barely visible, though the dark masses of mountain above were sharply outlined against the clear sky. They skirted the stupendous cliffs, upon the brink of which, far above, rested the walls of the villa Jovis. The sea broke with a sullen, dismal plash against the perpendicular wall of ragged rock, and the boat was still moving in the shadow of the overhanging cliffs, when Plautus, in his deep tones, bade the men cease rowing. They lay on their oars, and the boat, with its freight of motionless forms, glided silently along like a phantom. Masthlion looked up to account for the sudden command. The frowning, towering rocks, the portentous gloom, and the cold inky water sent a shudder through his frame. ‘Surrentine,’ said the voice of Plautus, ‘you are the potter who came to show to Caesar a curious kind of glassware?’ Masthlion answered in the affirmative. The question took him by surprise, so completely had all thoughts of his unlucky invention been displaced by those of Neæra. ‘Are you alone possessed of the secret of making that same glass?’ ‘I alone—why, friend?’ replied Masthlion. ‘Why,’ said the cloaked Plautus in his grating tones, ‘because it has been decreed that you shall take your secret with you elsewhere.’ ‘Elsewhere!’ cried Masthlion, with a sharp foreboding; ‘what mean you—where am I to take it?’ ‘Where it can never be found again—to the bottom of the sea!’ As Plautus uttered the words he threw up his arm. Simultaneously the potter’s throat was grasped from behind by a hand of iron. As he fell helplessly back, a poniard was plunged deep into his heart—all in a brief second of time, ere he could make a sound or motion. The assassin raised his weapon for another stroke, but it was unneeded—he had already done his terrible work too well. His victim had died on the instant, without a murmur; his gentle heart was still for ever. The voice of Plautus broke on the terrible silence. ‘Habet!’ he said, ‘a good stroke—Caesar’s justice must be done. Now for the daughter, whom he is bound to father in this one’s place. We must get on—quick, in with him!’ A heavily‐weighted cord was produced—there was a sullen plunge, and the boat again went foaming through the water to complete its mission of violence. CHAPTER XXI. When the craft was brought up at the landing‐place on the mainland, Plautus, followed by five of his crew, sprang ashore and with all haste made toward the posting‐house. The superintendent was in a long stable, overlooking the business of feeding and making snug for the night the animals under his charge. ‘Horses!’ demanded Plautus laconically, as he strode inside, followed by his gang. ‘Humph—on whose business?’ said the superintendent suspiciously. ‘Caesar’s!’