“Put down your prisoner,” ordered Democrates, “and all you constables stay without the house. I ask Themistocles, Hermippus, and Glaucon to come to an inner room. I must examine this man. The matter is serious.”
“Serious?” echoed the bewildered athlete, “I can vouch for Seuthes—an excellent Corinthian, come to Athens to sell some bales of wool—”
“Answer, Glaucon,” Democrates’s voice was stern. “Has he no letters from you for Argos?”
“Certainly.”
“You admit it?”
“By the dog of Egypt, do you doubt my word?”
“Friends,” called Democrates, dramatically, “mark you that Glaucon admits he has employed this Seuthes as his courier.”
“Whither leads this mummery?” cried the athlete, growing at last angry.
“If to nothing, I, Democrates, rejoice the most. Now I must bid you to follow me.”
Seizing the snivelling Seuthes, the orator led into the house and to a private chamber. The rest followed, in blank wonderment. Cimon had recovered enough to follow—none too steadily. But when Hermione approached, Democrates motioned her back.