“I am friendly,” came the response. “If you will come with me, you may yet escape the sacrifice. The feast does not begin for an hour.”
“Gee! I’d like to keep out of it,” observed Patsy.
If Chick’s hands had been free, he certainly would have given Patsy a nudge that would have taken the breath out of him.
“You are tied, are you not?” asked Slava.
“You bet!” replied Patsy.
The visitor seemed not to understand this American idiom, and Nick Carter followed it with plainer language.
“Our hands are tied behind our backs.”
“I thought so.”
Lord Slava blew on the little torch he carried, and which made the red spot of fire. It lightened up under his breath, until there was enough illumination for him to see where the prisoners were.
“We’ll soon have these off,” he remarked.