‘Yes; and on the evening of the day after to‐morrow I will be at the Sublician Bridge. It will involve much riding, but I can be nigh you and yet return to Tivoli before morning breaks.’ Cestus held up his hands in affected admiration. ‘You are inspired, patron! But hold; how if the old man will not come forth with me? What then comes of all this fine scheme?’ ‘Nothing,’ replied Afer calmly. ‘We shall have to wait and devise again.’ ‘I care not for this complicated notion. I prefer to have not so many cooks to the broth. There is nothing so sure, and so easy, as a little dust of a certain kind in his wine or meat.’ The knight shook his head. ‘It is too effective, my Cestus, and too common. It would not fail to be talked about. No; our rough footpads leave the least suspicion.’ ‘Well, you are perhaps right; for when the watchmen find the old man in the gutter next morning, it will be said that he met his end at the hands of thieves, who gave him a knock a little too heavy—not the first since this good city was built.’ Afer nodded and said, ‘Come to‐night, as I bade you.’ ‘I will. Am I not to have the honour of following you toward the city?’ ‘No,’ replied the knight, turning away; ‘I go to the camp. Be discreet—this will make us or mar us.’ Cestus bowed and loitered away leisurely in the direction of the Esquiline Gate, whilst Afer walked quickly toward the Viminal Plain, on the border of which lay the ramparts of the Pretorian camp. CHAPTER VI. Whilst this conversation, which we have related, was passing between Afer and his client, a small coasting vessel was ascending the river Tiber, making slow headway against the current. In the little poop‐house, along with the captain of the craft, was standing Masthlion, an interested observer of all that passed within view, as they wound up the famous stream. To go back a little. We left the potter retiring to rest full of a determination to proceed to Rome. He arose next morning with a mind unchanged, and soon after dawn took his way to the cliffs. As he was about to set his foot to descend the steps which led down to the Marina, the head of an ascending individual showed up above the level. He was a short, thick‐set man, with a mahogany complexion, shaggy beard and moustache. Each made an exclamation and then shook hands. ‘I was coming with no other reason than to seek tidings of you, Silo.’ ‘Good!—here I am myself, Masthlion.’ ‘I thought it about your time. Are you for the Tiber?’ ‘Direct.’ ‘When?’ ‘At noon, or before. I don’t want to lose this wind,’ said the sailor, casting his eye to the eastward. ‘I have business in Rome—give me a passage.’ ‘In Rome! You? What has bitten you? Come, and welcome.’ ‘I will come about noon then.’ ‘An hour before, Masthlion; and if I want thee before that I will send.’