“Well, it can,” interposed Chick, who had been listening indignantly to Lord Slava’s narration.
“I have gathered together certain of my followers,” explained Slava, “and we are sworn to rescue our friends or die.”
“Of course!” snorted Patsy Garvan. “What else? That’s the only sporting thing to do.”
“We are some three hundred, all told,” went on Slava. “The priests outnumber us six to one. But the people, I believe, are on our side, if we can stop the first rush.”
“We shall have to stop it,” was Nick Carter’s remark.
“I believe we can, with your help, stranger. With your strange weapons—your death sticks—we might turn the tide in our favor. We might even slay the Golden Scarab itself. In that case, the whole nation would thank you.”
“This Golden Scarab is alive, then?”
“Yes.”
“Big?”
“Very.”