"Give me your keys," he said quietly. "You know the penalty for disobeying an order."
The jailer stepped to the door of the cell and stood defiantly, with his back against the bars.
"I will not give them!" he said.
From within the cell the man's figure was outlined against the light of the lamp. Chares moved forward in the darkness behind him with noiseless tread, and his fingers closed suddenly around the jailer's throat. The wretch gasped once and threw up his chin, struggling convulsively to free himself from the iron clutch that encircled his neck. His struggles were in vain. The Theban drew him silently back against the bars. His feet scuffled on the stone floor, and his short spear clattered from his hand.
"Take the keys," Clearchus whispered.
Nathan quickly detached the keys from the jailer's belt and unlocked the door of the cell. Clearchus slipped through the open door, picking up the jailer's spear as he went. Chares relaxed his hold, and the man's body slipped in a huddled heap to the floor.
"Come," said the Israelite. "We have no time to lose."
What he said was true. From the direction of the entrance came the sound of voices and the flickering of a torch danced upon the walls.
"Neshak! Ho, Neshak, where are you?" called a voice.
"They are seeking the jailer," Nathan whispered. "Come!"