Nothing had surprised him more than the fact, that Clodianus' intrigues in the capital were in connection with the efforts of Cinna and Nerva, and this discovery almost overwhelmed him. If the rebellion were to succeed--as seemed most likely--Cneius Afranius was one of the heroes of the situation, and a full disclosure of all the crimes which Stephanus had, until now, so successfully concealed, was a mere question of time. After all that the Gaulish lawyer had attempted up to the present date, it seemed more than doubtful whether he would pay any heed to the appeal of a moon-struck enthusiast like Eurymachus, even supposing that Stephanus could carry into effect any scheme in favor of Quintus Claudius. Come what might, one thing was certain: in the new order of things, the steward of the deposed Empress must fall from his high estate, unless he could prove his connection with the conspiracy by some conspicuous service, and so secure beforehand the gratitude of the future sovereign. By degrees a resolution took form in his terror-stricken mind, which had already suggested itself to him several times, though on other grounds--the resolution to murder Domitian. The Empress' lust of power and then his fears of the prosecution under a law, which Caesar might be planning--a fable invented by Clodianus--had some time since prompted the idea, which he had always set aside because Caesar’s excessive suspiciousness had made it seem impracticable. Now, however, opportunity was more favorable. The extraordinary events of the day made an extraordinary step less startling. Besides, he had, as he thought, no choice. Soon after sunrise a vague report spread through the Palatium that, late the night before, Stephanus had detected a suspicious-looking personage wandering about in a strange way, at no great distance from the Caesar’s residence, that he had collared the man and snatched from him an important document, relating to the conspiracy; in the struggle the stranger had given him a somewhat deep wound in the left arm. In point of fact Stephanus, when he came out of his office in the morning, had his arm in a sling,[170] and to judge from the blood which had stained through the linen, though the bandages were thick, the wound must have been a serious one. Anyone, however, who could have watched the steward an hour before in the solitude of his chamber, would have seen him scratch his skin with his sharp dagger, carefully spot the bandages with blood, and then bind the poniard itself close to his arm like a splint, with strips and folds of linen. At the third hour Stephanus craved the favor of an audience of Caesar, as he desired to show him a highly-important letter, which was intended to meet no eyes but those of the sovereign. Domitian had already heard of the steward’s misadventure, and he had been on the point of commanding his presence, when his petition was laid before him.