" "I must see it, before I let you into the city." These words were half meant for the traveller, whom he was scrutinizing very suspiciously.
While the man in the Persian dress was feeling in his sleeve for the passport, the whip-bearer turned to some comrades who had just come up, and pointed out the scanty retinue of the travellers, saying: "Did you ever see such a queer cavalcade?
There's something odd about these strangers, as sure as my name's Giv.

Why, the lowest of the king's carpet-bearers travels with four times as many people, and yet this man has a royal pass and is dressed like one of those who sit at the royal table." At this moment the suspected traveller handed him a little silken roll scented with musk, sealed with the royal seal, and containing the king's own handwriting.
The whip-bearer took it and examined the seal.

"It is all in order," he murmured, and then began to study the characters.

But no sooner had he deciphered the first letters than he looked even more sharply than before at the traveller, and seized the horses' bridles, crying out: "Here, men, form a guard round the carriage! this is an impostor." When he had convinced himself that escape was impossible, he went up to the stranger again and said: "You are using a pass which does not belong to you.

Gyges, the son of Croesus, the man you give yourself out for, is in prison and is to be executed to-day.