TARZAN AND THE LOST EMPIRE
Praeclarus brightened instantly. “I had not thought of that,” he cried, “but no, his life would be in jeopardy.”
“It already is,” said Applosus. “Fastus will never forget or forgive what I said tonight. You, Praeclarus, know that I am already doomed. What keys do you want? Where are they? I will fetch them.”
“Perhaps not when you know what they are,” said Praeclarus.
“I can guess,” replied Appius Applosus.”
“You have been in my apartments often, Applosus?”
The other nodded affirmatively.
“You recall the shelves near the window where my books lie?”
“Yes.”
“The back of the third shelf slides to one side and behind it, in the wall, you will find the keys.”
“Good, Praeclarus. You shall have them,” said the officer.
The others watched the diminishing light as Appius Applosus departed along the corridor beneath the Colosseum.
The last day of the games had come. The bloodthirsty populace had gathered once more as eager and enthusiastic as though they were about to experience a new and unfamiliar thrill, their appetites swept as clean of the memories of the past week as were the fresh sands of the arena of the brown stains of yesterday.
For the last time the inmates of the cell were taken to enclosures nearer to the entrance to the arena. They had fared better, perhaps, than others, for of the twelve rings only four were empty.
Maximus Praeclarus alone was left behind. “Good-by,” he said. “Those of you who survive the day shall be free. We shall not see one another again. Good luck to you and may the gods give strength and skill to your arms—that is all that I can ask of them, for not even the gods could give you more courage than you already possess.”
“Applosus has failed us,” said Hasta.
Tarzan looked troubled. “If only you were coming out with us, Praeclarus, we should not then need the keys.”
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