“Settle that with Stephanus! If the villain will not confess, it is certainly permissible to egg on his loquacity.”
Quintus frowned. After a few minutes of reflection he went up to Stephanus, at the very instant when two slaves came on to the terrace with a steaming cauldron of water.
“A very painful incident!” said Claudius coolly.
“Most painful!” replied Stephanus in the same tone. “I mean to try, whether the error may not be remedied.” And as he spoke he gave a highly-significant nod to the slaves, who had set the cauldron down on the ground close to him. Quintus involuntarily stepped forward and put out his hand in remonstrance.
“I hope, my good friend,” he said, still perfectly coolly, “that you only intended to frighten this villain—good taste alone must prohibit....”
Stephanus changed color slightly, and the slaves looked terrified into his face. The tension of the situation was interrupted by the return of the armed men, who had been sent after the fugitives and now came back breathless and streaming with sweat.
“My lord,” the foremost began, “we return as jaded as a pack of hounds, but with empty hands.”
“So I see,” said Stephanus in chill tones. “And what tavern did you stop at, and what wenches did you stop to kiss.”
“Forgive us, my lord!” groaned another sinking on to his knees, partly from exhaustion, and partly from terror. “We rushed up the hill like blood-hounds,[185] but they had too much the start of us.”
Stephanus looked down.