‘Humph!’ muttered he, bestowing a parting glance at the dry figures and empty basin; ‘plague on the aediles for falling short of water just at this time! No matter—water, or no water! omen, or no omen! I shall still remain a faithful client to my patron.’ And he followed on with a grin. After proceeding another hundred yards Afer stopped before the porch of a dwelling, small and modest, but pleasantly situated, overlooking no small portion of the city.
‘Step in, man, and drink a cup of wine while we arrange terms,’ said he, with ironical politeness.
But some suspicion was awakened in the breast of the other and he did not stir. ‘Bring it to me—I will wait here,’ said Cestus, with a shake of his head.
‘But you have not told me what you want.’
‘Six thousand will serve me.’
‘You are growing modest, Cestus—come and I will give it you.’
But Cestus still refused to proceed inside the house.
‘Why—what do you fear?’ demanded Afer.
‘You said something over there, where we met, that I liked not, patron,’ returned Cestus doggedly; ‘there is something about you now that bodes no good. I will, therefore, put no wall between me and the open street.’
‘What I said over there was true enough,’ said the knight, drawing near and fastening upon him a peculiar look; ‘there are scores in Rome who would have said “dead men tell no tales,” and, acting on that, would have made you a breathless carcase long ago, if they had suffered the behaviour which you have favoured me with. Fool, do you think I would hurt you any more than you would harm me. No; you are as necessary to me as I to you—I have more work for you to do—come!’