"A man who takes hold of a mangy dog in order to punish him, only dirties
his hand. The woman who betrayed me for your sake, and you--you dirty
beggar--are worthy of each other. I could crush you like a fly that can
be destroyed by a blow of my hand if I chose, but my sword is Caesar's,
and shall never be soiled by such foul blood as yours; however, the beast
shall not have cast off his skin for nothing, it is thick, and so you
have only spared me the trouble of tearing it off you before giving you
your due. You shall find no lack of blows. Confess where your
sweetheart has fled to and they shall be few, but if you are slow to
answer they will be many. Lend me that thing there, fellow!"

With these words he took a whip of hippopotamus hide out of a camel-
driver's band, went close up to the Alexandrian, and asked: "Where is
Sirona?"

"Nay, you may beat me," said Paulus. "However hard your whip may fall on
me, it cannot be heavy enough for my sins; but as to where your wife is
hiding, that I really cannot tell you--not even if you were to tear my
limbs with pincers instead of stroking me with that wretched thing."

There was something so genuinely honest in Paulus' voice and tone, that
the centurion was inclined to believe him; but it was not his way to let
a threatened punishment fail of execution, and this strange beggar should
learn by experience that when his hand intended to hit hard, it was far
from "stroking." And Paulus did experience it, without uttering a cry,
and without stirring from the spot where he stood.

When at last Phoebicius dropped his weary arm and breathlessly repeated
his question, the ill-used man replied, "I told you before I do not know,
and therefore I cannot reveal it."