The eyes of the frightened man bulged from their sockets. He tried to speak, to beg for mercy, but he could scarcely breathe. Howard held him down until he was all but unconscious, then took from him, first his keys, then his knife, and lastly all the golden pieces he had given to him. "Mercy!" gasped the jailer. "Do--not--kill--me!" "Silence!" whispered Howard. The jailer had a girdle of canvas around his waist. This the young war correspondent used to bind the man's hands and tie him fast to the bench, first, however, taking from him his coat. Then he gagged him by shoving a big piece of the black bread in his mouth and keeping it in place by tying his handkerchief over it and around the back of the head. "Now remain quiet. If you kick, or otherwise make a noise, I will come back and finish you. Do you understand?" Almost white with terror, the jailer nodded, shivering as Howard flourished the keen-edged knife before his face. Coward to the core, he was completely subdued. As quickly as possible Howard donned the jailer's coat, then he placed the fellow's hat on his head, drawing it well over his eyes. The floor of the cell was covered with dust, and this the young war correspondent did not hesitate to rub over his face and hands. He was essaying a desperate game, and he must avail himself of every possible chance to escape detection. Once outside of the cell, he locked the door. Then he peered up and down the corridor. Another jailer was coming along, several bowls of food in hand, and he turned and walked in the opposite direction. "Guito!" cried the approaching man, but Howard pretended not to hear, and turned an angle in the corridor to get out of sight. Soon he came to a door, and, opening it, passed out into the prison yard. It was paved with stone and surrounded by a wall fifteen feet high. To climb this was now the all-important question. Two prisoners were in the yard, sweeping up some refuse that had accumulated there. Each was chained to an iron ball which weighed at least fifty pounds. Both of their faces bore the hopeless look of those who have suffered confinement for years. Howard turned back into the prison, and began to search for a stairway leading to the second story. It was soon found, and he mounted silently, his ears strained to catch the first sound of an alarm. The upper floor of the prison gained, Howard began to make an examination of the windows. They were all either heavily barred, or too narrow to admit the passage of his body. Turning from them regretfully, yet full of hope still, he made his way to a set of rooms marked "Private Office." A door was ajar, and, peering in, he saw a luxuriously furnished apartment. To his great joy, he saw that it was empty. He slipped inside, and perceived that he had entered a room used by the keeper of the prison as an office. On the walls hung various weapons, and on a desk lay half a dozen large books of prison records.