Nick Carter stepped in front of the East Indian and held up his hand for a chance to speak. “Ched Ramar,” he said in his usual cool tones, “the game is up. You have some papers in your pocket that you stole from Professor Matthew Bentham. You got them with the help of the man you call Swagara, who is already my prisoner.” “Prisoner?” broke from Ched Ramar’s lips before he knew that he was speaking. “Prisoner? Who are you?” “My name is Nicholas Carter,” answered Nick. “Nicholas Carter? Ah! Yes! I never saw you before. But your picture is in our archives. We all know what you look like. If it had been lighter here, I should have recognized you at once. Well, Mr. Nicholas Carter, all I have to say to you is--this!” The curved scimitar, with its richly jeweled hilt and its heavy, Damascus-steel blade, swept through the air like a great half moon of fire, as it caught and reflected the red glow of the lamp. The next moment, it circled Nick Carter’s neck, and seemed as if it must actually sever his head from his body. But the detective had been in critical situations of this kind before, and he knew how to meet even an attack by such an unusual weapon as this cruel, curved saber. He stooped just in time. He had very little to spare, for the keen blade caught the top of his soft hat and actually shaved away a thin sliver as clean as if done by a razor. In fact, the convex edge of the scimitar was ground almost to a razor edge. The force of the blow made Ched Ramar swing around, so that he could not recover himself immediately. Nick took advantage of this momentary confusion to close with the tall Indian and grasp the handle of the saber. There was a short and desperate struggle. The muscles of Ched Ramar were as tough and flexible as Nick Carter’s, and the detective knew he had a foe worthy of his best endeavors. Up and down in the narrow space behind the big idol they fought, each trying to gain possession of the scimitar. Nick did not want to make noise enough to attract outside attention. But he soon realized that this was something he could not prevent--the more so as Ched Ramar seemed desirous of causing as much disturbance as possible. A banging at the door explained why Ched Ramar had made as much noise as he could. “Now, Mr. Nicholas Carter,” hissed the tall Indian, “I think you will find you have stepped into a trap. I have two men outside that door who will do anything they are commanded, and never speak of it afterward. You have been in countries where men are slaves to other men, I know. You shall see what my men will do for me.” During this speech, which was delivered jerkily, as the two struggled for possession of the scimitar, the banging at the door increased in violence. Chick and Patsy were against it on the inside, trying to prevent its being battered down. “Chick!” called Nick. “Come here!” Chick looked over his shoulder.