‘Ay, in the city, where plenty of people could be found to help me; but here—stop! will you send for his slave, a Greek lad named Erotion?’ Afer started. These unlooked‐for words shot a thrill of terror to his heart and roused him to desperation. ‘He shall not come,’ he cried fiercely. ‘You will terrify him into bearing false witness against me. You are banded against me. I claim a suitable delay, until I can reach Rome, to gather evidence against this conspiracy.’ ‘You are unreasonably moved, Afer; we may as well listen to what your slave has now to say as to wait longer. It cannot make any possible difference to you, whether he speak the truth now or then,’ remarked Caesar grimly. ‘Bring the slave hither, if he be in the palace.’ Zeno knew that he was close at hand and went to fetch him. In the few moments’ interval the strained attention of the company relaxed into a low murmur of conversation. Caesar sat with his cheek on his hand and his eyes fixed on no one in particular. The Prefect stole round to the side of his friend Afer and whispered, ‘What is all this, Afer?’ ‘You have heard, like me, for the first time, Prefect,’ replied the other, ‘the conspiracy of a rogue.’ ‘A clever rogue, by Hercules,’ observed the other, and at that moment Zeno re‐entered with the young Greek Erotion. ‘Come hither into the midst,’ said Caesar. Erotion, with a look of mingled astonishment and alarm, cast an uneasy glance around, whilst bethinking himself of any misdeed which was about to be visited upon him. He came forward into the middle and betrayed unmistakable surprise at seeing Cestus. His master’s eyes were, moreover, fixed on him with a peculiar, meaning expression which he failed to interpret, and which tended to further embarrass him. ‘Are you the slave of Domitius Afer, called Erotion?’ demanded Caesar. ‘I am.’ ‘Stand forward a step, Suburan. Now, slave, look at that man and say whether you know him.’ The young slave’s eyes instinctively turned a fleeting sidelong glance at Afer ere he complied, whereupon Tiberius peremptorily bade him turn his back on his master. ‘Look upon no one but him I have pointed out to you; speak truly and fear not. If you speak false, Caesar has the means of discovering it, and then woe upon you. Do you know him?’ ‘Yes,’ was the trembling reply. ‘His name?’ ‘Cestus.’ ‘Where and when have you seen him?’ ‘In Rome, in various places.’ ‘Where did you see him first?’ ‘In the Subura, I think.’ ‘What took you there?’ ‘I bore a message from my master.’ ‘To this man?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you remember that message?’ ‘It was a command for him to meet my master.’ ‘Where?’ ‘I forget.’ ‘How long ago was this?’ ‘About three years, I think—I cannot be certain.’ ‘How long have you been the slave of Afer?’ ‘Nearly four years.’ ‘Have you ever seen this man since then?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘What business had you with him?’ ‘Only to tell him where my master was to see him.’