Even as the detective called to his assistant, the loop of a rope was thrown over his head, and catching him around the waist, pinned his arms to his sides, and brought him back with a jerk, panting and furious.
Everybody in the party was a prisoner by this time, and Nick Carter’s busy brain was working to devise a way of escape.
That was his way always when in a tight fix. He never wasted time bewailing his fate, but used all his wits in seeking relief.
A chuckling laugh that he recognized as coming from Calaman made him turn his face in that direction.
“Calaman!” he called.
“I am here.”
“What does this mean?”
“Part of the ceremony, my dear white stranger,” replied the high priest’s voice. “That is all.”
There was another stifled chuckle, as if Calaman were enjoying the situation too much for mere words.
It had been a trap carefully prepared, and Nick Carter was obliged to admit that it had worked to perfection.