They then began shouting at each other. "What did you let him go for?"
"You brass-bound idiot, you're the one who let him go!"
The man called Justinius came back with an elegant person who announced himself as the corniculatis, or adjutant prefect. This individual waved a perfumed handkerchief at the struggling group and said: "Let him go, you chaps. Yes, you, too, Sulla." (This was the state policeman.) "There won't be anything left of him to interrogate if you keep that up."
From the way the others in the now-crowded room quieted, Padway guessed that the adjutant prefect was a pretty big shot.
The adjutant prefect asked a few questions, then said: "I'm sorry, my dear old commentariensius, but I'm afraid he's our man."
"Not yet he isn't," squeaked the chief. "You fellows can't just walk in here and grab a prisoner any time you feel like it. It would mean my job to let you have him."
The adjutant prefect yawned. "Dear, dear, you're such a bore. You forget that I represent the pretorian prefect, who represents the king, and if I order you to hand the prisoner over, you hand him over and that's the end of it. I so order you, now."
"Go ahead and order. You'll have to take him by force, and I've got more force than you have." The chief beamed Billiken—like and twiddled his thumbs. "Clodianus, go fetch our illustrious city governor, if he's not too busy. We'll see whether we have authority over our own jail." The clerk departed. "Of course," the chief continued, "we might use Solomon's method."
"You mean cut him in two?" asked the adjutant prefect.
"That's it. Lord Jesus, that would be funny, wouldn't it? Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho!" The chief laughed shrilly until the tears ran down his face. "Would you prefer the head end or the legs end? Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho!" He rocked on his seat.