“You will pay for this, Calaman,” he said sternly.
“I am willing to pay for anything I want,” was the calm reply.
“You promised to show us the city,” continued Nick. “And to release the white man you have as prisoner. That was to be the payment for our showing you how the death sticks work.”
The high priest did not try to repress a sneering laugh as he stepped in front of Nick Carter.
“I have not said yet that I will not let the white man go,” Calaman reminded the detective.
“Why have you worked this outrage on us?” demanded Nick Carter. “Less than half an hour ago I held your life in my hands, as you know. Yet I did you no harm with my death stick.”
“I wish you or Chick had put half a dozen bullets into the old rip,” observed Jefferson Arnold.
Calaman glanced at the millionaire with a scowl that promised no good to that impetuous gentleman. Then he turned again to Nick Carter, with a cunning smile, as he fingered his long gray beard.
“I know I made some such promise,” he purred, smiling. “And, behold, I am keeping my word to the letter. I promised you free entrance to the city—and you are here. I promised to entertain you as my guests, and I sent you food and wine and the choicest tobacco to smoke.”
“That’s true enough,” muttered Jefferson. “He’s as cunning as a rat. Oh, wait till I get out of these ropes! If I don’t choke him till his eyes pop out——”