“Stop that!” he cried, as loud as he could shout. “Who dares to use such violence here? I am a Roman citizen and will have you punished for your insolence.”
“Open the door, or we will break it in,” said a voice outside.
“It will be the worse for you if you do.—Who are you, that come to attack my house by force?”
“Hold your tongue. I am here in the name of the city-prefect.”
“And what do you want with me?”
“That you shall soon know. Open the door, or by Jupiter...!”
“Very good, I will open it.”
He went forward and took hold of the bolt; as he did so he heard that some of the men outside were on horseback; this discovery chilled his blood and almost paralyzed him. He stood motionless with his hand on the bolt, which he had half thrust out of the staple.
Just then a shrill whistle from the atrium reached his ear; it gave him new life.
“In a minute—directly,” he shouted to the men, who were again rattling at the door with their spears and swords. “This bar sticks—I will call the slaves.”