Part 19 (1/2)
”What's this? Your hands seem a-quiver. Whom has that constable tied up behind him?”
”Seuthes!” cried Glaucon, bounding back, ”Seuthes, by every G.o.d, and pinioned like a felon.”
”Ay!” groaned the prisoner, lashed to a horse, ”what have I done to be seized and tried like a bandit? Why should I be set upon by these gentlemen while I was enjoying a quiet pot of wine in the tavern at Daphni, and be haled away as if to crucifixion? _Mu! Mu!_ make them untie me, dear Master Glaucon.”
”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.
”Do not come. A painful scene may be impending.”
”What my husband can hear, that can I,” was her retort. ”Ah! but why do you look thus dreadfully on Glaucon?”
”I have warned you, lady. Do not blame me if you hear the worst,” rejoined Democrates, barring the door. A single swinging lamp shed a fitful light on the scene-the whimpering prisoner, the others all amazed, the orator's face, tense and white. Democrates's voice seemed metallic as he continued:-
”Now, Seuthes, we must search you. Produce first the letter from Glaucon.”
The fat florid little Corinthian was dressed as a traveller, a gray chalmys to his hips, a brimmed brown hat, and high black boots. His hands were now untied. He tugged from his belt a bit of papyrus which Democrates handed to Themistocles, enjoining ”Open.”
Glaucon flushed.
”Are you mad, Democrates, to violate my private correspondence thus?”
”The weal of Athens outweighs even the pleasure of Glaucon,” returned the orator, harshly, ”and you, Themistocles, note that Glaucon does not deny that the seal here is his own.”
”I do not deny,” cried the angry athlete. ”Open, Themistocles, and let this stupid comedy end.”
”And may it never change to tragedy!” proclaimed Democrates. ”What do you read, Themistocles?”
”A courteous letter of thanks to Ageladas.” The senior statesman was frowning. ”Glaucon is right. Either you are turned mad, or are victim of some prank,-is it yours, Cimon?”
”I am as innocent as a babe. I'd swear it by the Styx,” responded that young man, scratching his muddled head.
”I fear we are not at the end of the examination,” observed Democrates, with ominous slowness. ”Now, Seuthes, recollect your plight. Have you no other letter about you?”
”None!” groaned the unheroic Corinthian. ”Ah! pity, kind sirs; what have I done? Suffer me to go.”