Those magnificent seven Detectives in Togas are trying to forestall a kidnapping; but, by Jupiter and all the immortal gods, what they do best is validate the old adage -- boys will be boys . . . even in Rome, 773. ""'Just another example of the abysmal corruption of our youth today,"" shrieks one woman, on mistaking their efforts to rescue a very-important-slave from a one-eyed gladiator for an attack on an upstanding Citizen. Xanthos, their witheringly logical teacher, inveighs (alas, hopelessly) against such unbridled displays of impatience: ""Rome wasn't built in a day, either."" And so goes the humor, a brash concatenation of anachronisms alternately wry and ridiculous (""You stink!""), but always good-natured and definitely meant to be appreciated, thus predetermining the audience. Which -- by Castor and Pollux, by all the Furies, by Pluto and all the spirits of the underworld -- must have plenty of time to unravel the gnarled threads of plot and a certain taste for the uproarious (Rameses the lion is tame as a lamb. . . except when it comes to one-eyed gladiators). Less predictable than its predecessor but, by Romulus and Remus, equally rash and responsive to the vox populi.