“We will go,” he told the man. “Lead on!”
When they reached the great courtyard of the palace, they found Calaman waiting for them, with a guard of honor consisting of twenty of his finest warriors, each armed with a spear and sword.
The priest glanced at Captain, who followed close at the heels of Chick, and seemed about to object to the presence of the bloodhound. But he changed his mind and said nothing about it.
He was shrewd enough to know that it would be unwise to quarrel with these white people until he had learned a little more about the death sticks, and he was sure that they would try to insist on a dog going with them.
So Calaman led them through the main streets of the city in silence, while Nick Carter and the others took careful note of everything they saw.
Suddenly Chick caught Nick Carter by the arm, and whispered, in agitated tones:
“Look! That window on the right! Do you see that face? It is a white man. Now he has moved away. But he was there.”
“I saw him,” answered Nick quietly. “Where is Mr. Arnold—Jefferson?”
The guards were all on the left side of the party, having moved to avoid a party of soldiers who were marching toward them on the right. There had been a momentary confusion, and in the midst of it Jefferson Arnold and his son Leslie had darted across the street toward the house at whose window Chick and Nick Carter both had seen the face of the white man.