Part 12 (2/2)
”Perhaps to divert suspicion,” said Dionus.
”Possibly.” Demetrio felt the body with experienced hands. ”Dead at least half an hour. If Conan tells the truth about when he entered the Temple, he could hardly have slain the man before Arus entered. True, he might be lying-he might have broken in earlier.”
”I climbed the wall after Arus made his last round,” growled Conan.
”So you say.” Demetrio brooded over the dead man's throat, which had been crushed to a pulp of purplish flesh. The head sagged awry on splintered vertebrae. Demetrio shook his head in doubt. ”Why should a murderer use a cable thicker than a man's arm? And what terrible constriction could have so crushed his neck?”
He rose and walked to the nearest door opening into the corridor.
”Here is a bust knocked from a stand near the door,” he said, ”and here the floor is scratched, and the hangings in the doorway are pulled awry... Kallian Publico must have been attacked in that room. Perhaps he broke away from his a.s.sailant, or dragged the fellow with him as he fled. Anyway, he staggered out into the corridor, where the murderer must have followed and finished him.”
”And if this heathen isn't the murderer, then where is he?” demanded the prefect.
”I have not exonerated the Cimmerian yet,” said the inquisitor. ”But we'll investigate that room-”
He halted and wheeled, listening. From the street sounded a rattle of chariot wheels, which approached and then abruptly ceased.
”Dionus!” barked the inquisitor. ”Send two men to find that chariot.
Bring the driver here.”
”From the sound,” said Arus, who was familiar with all the noises of the street, ”I should say that it stopped in front of Promero's house, just on the other side of the silk merchant's shop.”
”Who is Promero?” asked Demetrio.
”Kallian Publico's chief clerk.”
”Fetch him here with the driver,” said Demetrio.
Two guardsmen clomped away. Demetrio still studied the body; Dionus, Arus, and the remaining policemen watched Conan, who stood sword in hand like a bronze figure of brooding menace. Presently sandaled feet echoed outside, and the two guardsmen entered with a strongly-built, dark-skinned man in the leather helmet and long tunic of a charioteer, with a whip in his hand, and a small, timid-looking individual typical of that cla.s.s which, risen from the ranks of artisans, supplies right-hand men for wealthy merchants and traders. The small man recoiled with a cry from the sprawling bulk on the floor.
”Oh, I knew evil would come of this!” he wailed.
Demetrio said: ”You are Promero, the chief clerk, I suppose. And you?”
”Enaro, Kallian Publico's charioteer.”
”You do not seem overly moved at the sight of his corpse,” observed Demetrio.
The dark eyes flashed. ”Why should I be moved? Someone has only done that which I longed to do but dared not.”
”So!” murmured the inquisitor. ”Are you a free man?”
Enaro's eyes were bitter as he drew aside his tunic, showing the brand of the debtor slave on his shoulder.
”Did you know your master was coming here tonight?”
”Nay. I brought the chariot to the Temple this evening as usual. He entered it, and I drove toward his villa. However, before we came to the Palian Way, he ordered me to turn and drive him back. He seemed much agitated.”
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