"Seen him before. He came around with some other fellow, wanting to invest in the bathhouse. They know there's going to be a fort, I daresay. I'll be flogging along at a fast pace then." This gang's tentacles were extending everywhere-and they were quick to find investment opportunities. Myron added, "They call themselves the Jupiter Company. Nice ring!

"Heavenly! Who was the other man?"

"Don't know. Perfectly decent stiff. He was actually polite to me."

"Don't be fooled, Myron. Either of them would slit your gullet."

"Ah yes," exclaimed Myron, who must be a bit of a character. "But the one who was not Florius would apologize nicely first!"

I returned to the baths and picked up my companions. There was no point depressing them by revealing that Florius had fooled me. I told them it was time to go. I was too upset myself to bathe.

We were all tired out, and on the way home human error brought us away from the direct route and to the area near the forum. Shivering now, we pressed on as the skies cleared more and the rain left only a faint haze.

No sun came out. Instead, a breeze blustered around us. The air, which should have cleared, was heavy with moisture, humidity clogging the atmosphere. It clogged the lungs too. We were all wheezing.

As our road climbed, we soon realized we were at the rear of the civic center.

"That's the lawyer's house," said Helena. I nodded. I could not care less. "You should tackle him," she instructed me. "What, now? What about?"

"His clients. Pyro and Splice. He may not know their fates-or if he does, you could ask him how he found out."

I was tired, cold, wet, and miserable. I would have liked to be the slapdash kind of informer who ignored loose ends. No chance. I had often told Helena that flair and intuition were all I needed, but she forced me to use dogged sleuthing. For her, being wet through and weary was no excuse. She dragged me into the Popillius house. We had to take Albia, and Petro came too out of curiosity.

Popillius looked pleased to have company. Well, lawyers are gregarious.

"I'm Falco, and you know Helena; we have Albia with us. Albia in fact is contemplating a claim for damages against your employers-" Popillius' sandy eyebrows shot up. I bet he was now wondering if Albia would hire him; he would not wonder for long, once he worked out that she had no money. "And this is Petronius Longus, a member of the Roman vigiles."

He had blinked slightly as I reeled off the introductions. Clearly remembering that Frontinus had revealed what Petro did, Popillius looked hard at him. Petro just glared back. The vigiles are used to being despised. They are rude, brutal, and proud of it. "May I offer refreshments?"

"No, don't put yourself out."

"The young girl seems troubled…"

But Helena drew Albia aside and sat with her. Petronius looked On caustically, while I braced up to Popillius.

"Popillius, a question: have you managed to see your two clients yet?"

"I have not. In fact, I may have to get angry with the governor, if this delay continues-"

Petronius barked with laughter. "I wouldn't try it!"

I kinked up an eyebrow at Popillius. "No one has told you?"

The lawyer was on the alert now. He gave me an inquiring look, not speaking.

"Pyro is dead," I told him bluntly. "He collapsed last night. Apparently poison."

He considered this very briefly. "I am shocked."

"If you're going to suggest that the governor arranged the death," I added, "don't even think of it."

Popillius' gaze was shadowed with caution. "Why should I suspect the governor? Why ever would Frontinus-" He was a persistent cross-examiner.

"For an easy life. Remove an awkward criminal without the need for evidence, or the risk of trying him."

Popillius seemed to be genuinely baffled. "I find that out of character. And what risk of trial?" he demanded.

"The risk that the criminal might get off."

He laughed. "Is that a compliment to my speechmaking? So-" Popillius abandoned that line. "The man you know as 'Splice'-what has happened to him? I must see him."

"You'll have to find him first," scoffed Petro.

"What has happened?"

"He escaped from custody," I acknowledged somberly.

"Pyro was probably wiped out by the gang," Petro added, being professional. "To stop him talking. Splice may have reckoned he had lost his value for them too, so once on the loose he turned on them."

"Wait, wait-" Popillius broke in. "Go back a stage. You are telling me my client escaped?"

"Fixed up by you, Popillius?" I inquired satirically.

Popillius retaliated, "Just be professional and tell me what is going on."

We sat either side of him and talked to him like schoolteachers. "One of your imprisoned clients has been relieved of his life while in custody-"

"Splice saved his skin by not eating the tainted trayful-"

"Then while he was being removed to a safer place, somehow the troops managed to 'lose' him."

"Bribes were used," decided Petro flatly.

"And who is the prime suspect for paying them?" I asked him. "Falco, I'd say, look for a crooked lawyer."

"Face it," I advised Popillius. "If you work for gangsters you are assumed to be their fixer."

Popillius growled. "I merely accepted clients, in a case where legal intervention was justified."

"Well, you've lost them both now." I was grim. "Pyro was poisoned- and Splice has been killed in a fight."

"Are you sure, or is this hearsay?"

"I saw it. How exactly were you first approached to take them on?" Popillius replied openly: "Somebody's slave brought me a letter. It outlined their position as prisoners and asked what my fee would be."

"Who sighed the letter?" Petronius demanded.

"Anonymous. The proverbial 'Friends of the Accused.' It happens. Usually the reason is, they don't want the man in question to feel obligated and embarrassed afterwards."

"So how did you answer?" Petro snapped back. "Was that by letter too?"

Popillius nodded. Cynically, I then asked, "How could you be certain that you would be paid?"

He smiled slightly. "My terms were payment in advance."

"Oh, smart! The upfront cash arrived, I take it?" Again he nodded. "So," I summed up, "you never had any direct dealings, and you still don't know who your principals are?"

Popillius gazed at me. That was when he chose to surprise us. He leaned back, with his hands linked on his belt. "Not quite," he retorted. "I do know who commissioned me. And more important to you, perhaps-he does not know yet that I traced him."

Petronius and I looked at each other. Even before Popillius continued, we understood what he was going to do. It appalled us that he was about to undermine our prejudice-but his last speech warned us: he would tell us the name.

We were lads of tradition; we were shocked. But it was true: we were staring at an honest lawyer.