"It does not look hopeful," the Theban replied, "but let us see."
He made a careful examination of the walls, finding everywhere the solid stone unbroken. The only openings in the cell were the tiny window and the door. The window was out of reach and so narrow that not even a cat could have squeezed through. Chares halted at the door and examined the bars. They were of hammered iron, as thick as the shaft of a lance, and rendered stronger by two cross-bars, welded from side to side. The Theban tested them gently with his hands and shook his head.
"The blacksmith who forged them was a good workman," he said.
At that moment they heard the step of the sentry outside in the passageway. The man carried at his girdle a bunch of great keys that rattled as he walked. He was armed with a short spear with a long, keen blade. He halted at the door of the cell.
"What are you doing there?" he said gruffly to Chares. "Get back!"
"No need to be angry, my friend," Chares returned good-naturedly, falling back from the door. "What are you going to do to us?"
The jailer's brutish face assumed an expression of pleasure that was evidently unfeigned.
"You know you are to be tortured to-morrow," he said, "and we do those things thoroughly here. I shall help. They could not get along without me."
"I suppose you are used to it," Chares ventured.
"My father taught me," the man replied proudly. "There is none in the empire better with the rack than I. And he showed me how to draw the band about a man's forehead until his eyes stick out of his head and his skull cracks like an egg, and all without killing him. Very few know the secret."