No doubt any other gate was equally well watched.

Agias drove straight ahead, as though he had seen nothing.
"Hold!" and one of the constables was at the heads of the mules, and another was waving a lantern up into the face of the occupants of the gig.
"Rascals," roared Agias, menacing with his whip, "are you highwaymen grown so impudent!" "We have an order from the triumviri," began one officer.
"_Eho!_" replied Agias, settling back, as though relieved not to have to fight for his purse, "I can't see what for; I owe nothing.

I have no suit pending." "We are to search all carriages and pedestrians," recommenced the constable, "to find if we may a certain Artemisia, a runaway slave-girl of the most noble Greek gentleman, Pratinas." "My good sirs," interrupted Agias, "I am already like to be very late at my dear friend Cimber's dinner party"-- he mentioned the name of the owner of a very large villa not far down the road; "I have with me only Midas, my mute valet.

If you detain me any longer I shall complain--" And here a denarius slipped into the hands of the officer with the lantern.
"I think it's all right, Macer," was his report to his comrade.

The latter left the heads of the mules.
"_Mehercle!_ how handsome some of those Egyptians grow!" commented the first constable.
But the rest of his remarks were lost on Agias.