'The corner is decorated with carvings,' said the Cimmerian. 'It was easy to climb. I gained .the roof before this dog came around the building again. I went across the roof until I came upon a trap- door which was fastened with an iron bolt that went through it and was locked on the inside. I was forced to hew the bolt in twain with my sword—'
Arus, remembering the thickness of that bolt, gulped involuntarily and moved further back from the barbarian, who scowled abstractedly at him, and continued.
'I feared the noise might wake somebody, but it was a chance I had to take. I passed through the trap-door and came into an upper chamber. I didn't pause there, but came straightway to the stair—'
'How did you know where the stair was?' snapped the Inquisitor. 'I know that only Kallian's servants and his rich patrons were ever allowed in those upper rooms.'
A dogged stubbornness shadowed Conan's eyes and he remained silent.
'What did you do after you reached the stair?' demanded Demetrio.
'I came straight down it,' muttered the Cimmerian. 'It let into the chamber behind yonder curtained door. As I came down the stairs I heard the noise of a door being opened. When I looked through the hangings I saw this dog standing over the dead man.'
'Why did you come from your hiding place?'
'It was dark when I saw the watchman outside the Temple. When I saw him here I thought he was a thief too. It was not until he jerked the watch-bell rope and lifted his bow that I knew he was the watchman.'
'But even so,' persisted the Inquisitor, 'why did you reveal yourself?
'I thought perhaps he had come to steal what—'the Cimmerian checked himself suddenly as if he had said too much.
'-What you had come after, yourself!' finished Demetrio. 'You have told me more than you intended! You came here with a definite purpose. You did not, by your own admission, tarry in the upper rooms, where the richest goods are generally stored. You knew the plan of the building—you were sent here by someone who knows the Temple well to steal some special thing!'
'And to kill Kallian Publico!' exclaimed Dionus. 'By Mitra, we've hit it! Grab him, men! We'll have a confession before morning!'
With a heathen curse Conan leaped back, whipping out his sword with a viciousness that made the keen blade hum.
'Back, if you value your dog-lives!' he snarled, his blue eyes blazing. 'Because you dare to torture shopkeepers and strip and beat harlots to make them talk, don't think you can lay your fat paws on a hillman! I'll take some of you to hell with me! Fumble with your bow, watchman—I'll burst your guts with .my heel before this night's work is over!'
Wait!' interposed Demetrio. 'Call your dogs off, Dionus. I'm not convinced that he is the murderer. You fool,' he added in a whisper, 'wait until we can summon more men, or trick him into laying down his sword.' Demetrio did not wish to forgo the advantage of his civilized mind by allowing matters to change to a physical basis, where the wild beast ferocity of the barbarian might even balance the odds against him.
'Very well,' grunted Dionus grudgingly. 'Fall back, men, but keep an eye on him.'
'Give me your sword,' said Demetrio.
'Take it if you can,' snarled Conan. Demetrio shrugged his shoulders.
'Very well. But don't try to escape. Four men with crossbows watch the house on the outside. We always throw a cordon about a house before we enter it.'
The barbarian lowered his blade, though he only slightly relaxed the tense watchfulness of his attitude. Demetrio turned again to the corpse.
'Strangled,' he muttered. 'Why strangle him when a sword-stroke is so much quicker and surer? These Cimmerians are a bloody race, born with a sword in their hand, as it were; I never heard of them killing a man in this manner.'
'Perhaps to divert suspicion,' muttered Dionus.
'Possibly.' He felt the body with experienced hands. 'Dead possibly half an hour,' he muttered. 'If Conan tells the truth about when he entered the Temple he would hardly have had time to commit the murder before Arus entered. But he may be lying—he might have broken in earlier.'
'I climbed the wall after Arus made the last round,' Conan growled.
'So you say.' Demetrio brooded for a space over the dead man's throat, which had been literally 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 pliant cable apparently thicker than a man's arm?' he muttered. 'And what terrible constriction was applied to so crush the man's heavy 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 polished floor is scratched and the hangings in the doorway are pulled awry as if a clutching hand had grasped them—perhaps for support. Kallian Publico must have been attacked in that room. Perhaps he broke away from the assailant, or dragged the fellow with him as he fled. Anyway, he ran staggeringly out into the corridor where the murderer must have followed and finished him.'
'And if this heathen isn't the murderer, where is he?' demanded the prefect.
'I haven't exonerated the Cimmerian yet,' snapped the Inquisitor. 'But we'll investigate that room and—' He halted and wheeled, listening. From the street had sounded a sudden rattle of chariot wheels, which approached rapidly, then ceased abruptly.
'Dionus!' snapped 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'd say 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.'
'Bring him here with the chariot driver,' snapped Demetrio. 'We'll wait until they come before we examine that room.'
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 sandalled feet re-echoed outside, and the two guardsmen entered with a strongly built, dark-skinned man in the helmet and tunic of a charioteer, with a whip in his hand; and a small, timid-looking individual, typical of that class which, risen from the ranks of artisans, supplies right-hand men for wealthy merchants and traders.
This one recoiled with a cry from the sprawling bulk on the floor.
'Oh, I knew evil would come of this!'
'You are Promero, the clerk, I suppose. And you?'
'Enaro, Kallian Publico's charioteer.'
'You do not seem overly moved at the sight of his corpse,' observed Demetrio.
'Why should I be moved?' the dark eyes flashed. 'Someone has only done what I dared not, but longed to do.'
'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?'
'No. I brought the chariot to the Temple this evening for him as usual. He entered it and I drove toward his villa. But before we came to the Palian Way, he ordered me to turn and drive him back. He seemed much agitated in his mind.'
'And did you drive him back to the Temple?'
'No. He bade me stop at Promero's house. There he dismissed me, ordering me to return there for him shortly after midnight.'
'What time was this?'
'Shortly after dusk. The streets were almost deserted.'
'What