They were assisted to this conclusion by the spectacle of the dead Calaman, who was being carried away by two men with no more respect than had been shown to the remains of the men killed by the Golden Scarab half an hour before.
“We were guards of the high priest Calaman,” was the reply of one of the men, with a decided emphasis on the word “were.” “We are now whatever my lord desires.”
Lord Slava grinned at Nick Carter.
“What do you think of these men?” he asked, in a low tone. “They were seemingly loyal to Calaman. But they are mine now—until somebody takes my power from me. Well, one must use what material comes to his hand. These men are no worse than most others in Shangore. They have been so oppressed for years that one cannot wonder they are truckling and time-serving.”
“What were they doing with my friend Leslie Arnold?” asked Nick.
“We had been told by Calaman to take care of him if he escaped the Golden Scarab,” said one of the two men. “We did not know that Calaman was dead, and we were obeying orders.”
“That’s just like Calaman,” remarked Lord Slava. “If, by any chance, this young white man, Leslie, had beaten the Golden Scarab, then he was to be put to death in some other way. I’m glad Calaman is dead.”
“So am I,” roared Jefferson Arnold. “Because it saves me the trouble of killing him. I would have done it right now, if somebody else hadn’t done it first.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said Lord Slava, “I think everything is safe now. By the way, there are four servants of yours, who carried your baggage, waiting in the palace. I had them there, feeling sure that we should be victorious in what we have just now attempted, and I knew you would want your men. I have been appointed provisional governor of Shangore. You will dine with me to-night at the palace, will you not?”
Nick Carter willingly accepted the invitation on behalf of his companions, as well as himself, and then started out for a stroll about Shangore, with only Chick, Patsy, and Captain for company.