“That rascally Pike does not mean to let us find my boy if it can be helped,” returned Jefferson, with a sad shake of the head. “I suppose he was afraid Leslie would keep after him to get back that hundred thousand dollars--or, failing in that, bring the scoundrel to justice. That is the secret of my son’s disappearance, I feel sure.” “Probably,” conceded Nick. “If it is, we may have strong hope of saving him. Jai Singh says the feasts of the Golden Scarab, when there are many living sacrifices of human beings, are few and far between. We shall get there before the next one, if we keep on steadily as we are doing now.” Jefferson Arnold leaned forward to look into the detective’s face. “Do you mean, Mr. Carter, that there is actual danger of my boy being killed in some fanatical ceremony among those people over there?” “I mean that we must go after him quickly, Mr. Arnold,” was all Nick Carter would say. “Let me take a look at those mountains through my glasses.” For perhaps two minutes the detective stared through his double field glasses at the mighty hills in the distance. When at last he took the glass from his eyes, there was a smile of satisfaction just visible at the corners of his mouth. “From what I can make out, there is some sort of pass on the right shoulder of the main peak,” was his decision. “The sahib has spoken truly,” agreed Jai Singh. “There is such a pass. So far as I know, it is the only one where a man may pass in safety.” “You have been through it?” queried Chick. “No.” “Gee! How do you know about it, then?” interjected Patsy Garvan. “Just a hunch?” “The wisdom of the hills where I live is not understood by white men,” returned Jai Singh gravely. “I know what I know.” “Well, you know a great deal more than I do about this forsaken country,” muttered Patsy. “I wouldn’t care if I didn’t find out any more about it, either. If we weren’t going after young Mr. Arnold, and that crook, William Pike, I’d be satisfied to quit right here. I’m not inquisitive--about some things.” “Yet, how do you know about the pass?” pressed Nick Carter. Jai Singh did not reply at once. He bent his head and seemed to be in a deep reverie for some moments--almost as if in a trance. Suddenly he straightened up, and speaking in a low, dreamy tone, answered: “How can I tell exactly how it is that I know? It may be that, long years ago, before I was born, my people forced their way through to battle with those who worship the Golden Scarab. Sometimes, in the night, I seem to see a picture of men of my race and caste going through a pass, with spears ready to strike.” “Punk!” muttered Patsy. Nick Carter gave his second assistant a sharp glance. Jai Singh did not hear the remark, apparently, for he continued, in the steady monotone he had been using: “One of our royal house may have been in the battle, and I, who am of his blood, keep it in my memory.”