came rushing with their weapons,
snatched at random, and with torches in their hands.

It was but too true! the laborious artizan was dead; murdered, that
instant, at his own counter, at his very work. He had not moved or risen
from his seat, but had fallen forward with his head upon the board; and
from beneath the head was oozing in a continuous stream the dark red
blood, which had overflowed the counter, and trickled down, and made the
paved floor one great pool!

"Ye Gods! what blood! what blood!" exclaimed the first who came in.

"Poor Volero! alas!" cried Furbo, "it is not an hour since he supped on a
pound of sausages at my table, and now, all is over!"

They raised his head. His eyes were wide open; and the whole face bore an
expression neither of agony or terror, so much as of wild surprise.

The throat was cut from ear to ear, dividing the windpipe, the carotid
arteries and jugular veins on both sides; and so strong had been the hand
of the assassin, and so keen the weapon, that the neck was severed quite
to the back bone.

Among the spectators was a gladiator; he whose especial task it was to cut
the throats of the conquered victims on the arena; he looked eagerly and
curiously at the wound for a moment, and then said--

"A back stroke from behind--a strong hand, and a broadbacked knife--the man
has been slain by a gladiator, or one who knows the gladiator's trick!"

"The man," said the Consul calmly, "has been killed by an acquaintance, a
friend, or a familiar customer; he had not even risen from his seat to
speak with him; and see, the burnisher is yet grasped in his hand, with
which he was at work. Ha!" he exclaimed, as his lictors entered, panting
and tired by their fruitless chase, "could you not overtake him?"

"We never saw him any more, my consul," replied both men in one breath.

"Let his head down, my friend," said Cicero, turning, much disappointed as
it seemed, to Furbo, "let it lie, as it was when we found it; clear the
shop, lictors; take the names of the witnesses; one of you keep watch at
the door, until you are relieved; lock it and give the key to the praetor,
when he shall arrive; the other, go straightway, and summon Cornelius
Lentulus; he is the praetor for this ward. Go to your homes, my friends,
and make no tumult in the streets, I pray you. This shall be looked to and
avenged; your Consul watches over you!"

"Live! live the Consul! the good Consul, the man of the people!" sho