TARZAN AND THE LOST EMPIRE
“And why?” demanded Praeclarus.
“Think you that a poor soldier has the confidence of Caesar?” asked the jailer; “but I have heard the reason rumored. Sedition is in the air. Caesar fears you and all your friends because the people favor you and you favor Dion Splendidus.”
“I see,” said Praeclarus, “and so we are to remain here indefinitely.”
“I should scarcely say indefinitely,” grinned the jailer, as he closed the door and locked it, leaving them alone.
“I did not like the look in his eye nor the tone of his voice,” said Praeclarus, after the fellow was out of hearing. “The gods are unkind, but how can I expect else from them when even my best friend fails me?”
“You mean Appius Applosus?” asked Tarzan.
“None other,” replied Praeclarus. “If he had fetched the keys, we might yet escape.”
“Perhaps we shall in any event,” said Tarzan. “I should never give up hope until I were dead—and I have never been dead.”
“You do not know either the power or perfidy of Caesar,” replied the Roman.
“Nor does Caesar know Tarzan of the Apes.”
Darkness had but just enveloped the city, blotting out even the dim light of their dungeon cell, when the two men perceived wavering light beams lessening the darkness of the corridor without. The light increased and they knew that someone was approaching, lighting his way with a flaring torch.
Visitors to the dungeon beneath the Colosseum were few in the daytime. Guards and jailers passed occasionally and twice each day slaves came with food, but at night the silent approach of a single torch might more surely augur ill than well. Praeclarus and Tarzan dropped the desultory conversation with which they had been whiling away the time and waited in silence for whoever might be coming.
Perhaps the night-time visitor was not for them, but the egotism of misfortune naturally suggested that he was and that his intentions might be more sinister than friendly. But they had not long to wait and their suspicions precluded any
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