"I am Philadelphus Maccabaeus."
The servant bent and taking the hem of the woolen tunic pressed it to
his lips.
"Happy hour!" he exclaimed. "I pray you follow me."
The pretender breathed a relieved sigh and joined his protector.
They passed down into Akra and approached the straight column of
pungent smoke towering up from a charred heap that the Ephesian in
spite of his haste inspected curiously.
"What is that?" he asked of the Greek.
"That, master, is the city granaries."
"The granaries!" the Ephesian cried, aghast.
The Greek inclined his head.
"What--what--fired them?" the Ephesian asked.
"John and Simon differed on the point of its control and each fired it
to keep the other from possessing it!"
For a moment the Ephesian was thunderstruck. Then he quickened his
pace.
"By the horns of Capricornus!" he avowed. "The sooner one gets out of
this, the wiser he must be counted!"
The Greek looked at him with lifted brows and led on.
They crossed the Tyropean Valley and approached a small new house of
stone, abutting the vast retaining wall that was built against Moriah.
A line of soldiers was thrown out from the entrance to the house and
his conductor, after whispering a word to the captain, led the way up
to a double-barred door. A long time after he had rapped, there was
the sound of falling chains and the door swung open.
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