His example was followed by all the others. When the party got on the move again, each member of it had the means of killing a dozen or so of the enemy right in his hands.
“How did these things get here?” asked Nick, when he saw that all his companions were properly equipped.
“I did it,” smiled Lord Slava. “Certain of my men had charge of them, so I had them conveyed to this place. Though, I will confess, they seem to me very dangerous to handle. When I had the death sticks where I could put my hands on them, I made my way to the cell where they had put you. I hoped to have your help in the enterprise I have in view.”
“I’m glad you thought of us,” interrupted Nick Carter earnestly.
“Yes. I came secretly, by this tunnel. It has not been used for very many years. You see, it leads directly from the temple to the great arena itself. It is in that arena that the killings will take place.”
“It is a wonder they didn’t have the tunnel locked up—if there is any way of doing it,” suggested Nick.
“There is, but I got the key of the outer door by drugging one of the priests with wine. After that, there was no difficulty save in finding out which one of the cells they had put you in.”
“I couldn’t believe we were to stay there without somebody coming to help us,” said the detective. “It would be too much bad luck in a small package.”
“See!” broke in Slava. “The people are gathering in the arena. The festival will soon begin.”
“Queer name to give a wholesale butchery,” remarked Chick. “A festival.”