“Where did it come from?”
“I don’t know. Nobody does—except Calaman and those who are very near to him. The creature is seen only once a year at the festival. Where it goes for the rest of the time I cannot tell you.”
“Queer!” mused Carter. “It doesn’t sound natural, somehow.”
“Perhaps it isn’t,” returned Lord Slava. “However, you will see it this afternoon, and judge for yourself.”
“Has anybody ever tried to kill it, or find out what it really is?” asked Nick.
“Often. But always without success. It is useless for us to talk about it. You will admit that when you see the thing,” added Lord Slava, shaking his head. “I can count on you and your friends, can I?”
“You most certainly can,” answered Nick Carter. “I shall be glad to see this Scarab. And I don’t think it is going to set us all at defiance successfully. I have a feeling that we shall get the better of it to-day.”
“Its bite is certain death,” Lord Slava warned him solemnly.
“So is the bite of my rifle,” returned Nick dryly. “If I can get hold of it before I meet this insect, I shall not be afraid of its biting me. If I don’t have the rifle, then I will try what can be done with an automatic revolver and a thirty-eight cartridge or two.”
“Or a club,” put in Chick.