A SECRET MISSION.
It was not long after the detective’s return from abroad that Joseph,
his major domo, ushered a stranger into the library, bowed to him, and
said:
“Mr. Carter is engaged for the moment, sir, but he will be at liberty
presently. I will tell him that you have arrived.”
The stranger nodded his head and stood like a wooden image until Joseph
had left the room. Then his tall and soldierly figure relapsed upon
a chair, and he stared across the room at nothing during the entire
interval of waiting.
Above stairs in the study when Joseph presented himself there, with the
card of the stranger, Nick Carter received it, glanced at it, nodded to
Joseph, who passed from the room again, then turned to Chick, who was
near the window, and said:
“Go down to the library, Chick. Look the fellow over for me. Tell him
that I’ll be down presently. Then come back here and tell me what you
think of him.”
Chick left the study in obedience to this direction, and the moment he
was gone the detective picked up an opened letter that was on the desk
in front of him and read it once more, from beginning to end. It was
typewritten, on a letter head of the Russian embassy, in Washington,
and after the usual superscription, it said:
“I hope you will regard this letter in the light of a personal matter,
not intended to be at all official in its character. When it is
possible to enjoy a personal interview with you, I will explain fully
that point, and all the others that are connected with this affair. I
have not had the honor to make your acquaintance, but I need only say
to you that it is a mutual friend of ours who has induced me to make
a demand upon your services, and that I do so acting solely upon his
advice.
“And of your services in a matter of extreme delicacy, I stand greatly
in need, so I beg that you will come to Washington—since it is utterly
impossible as well as impolitic for me to go to you—as soon as you
can make it convenient to do so. The direct purpose of this letter
is to prepare you for the reception of a gentleman of my staff whom
I have sent to you with credentials, and who will explain, in part,
the dilemma in which I have unfortunately become involved. Please
understand that I make no charge against the gentleman mentioned, but
his position and his relations with me and with my household have been
such that I would be glad if you take this opportunity of studying him
somewhat.
“I have the honor to remain, my dear sir,
“Your most obedient and humble”—etc., etc., etc.
The letter was signed by the ambassador in person. It had arrived at
Nick Carter’s house during the afternoon of the preceding day. It was
now approaching eleven o’clock in the forenoon of the first day in June.
Nick Carter, during his varied career, had had more or less experience
with matters diplomatic, and was accustomed to the somewhat stilted
phrases and mannerisms which all ambassadors and ministers regard it as
necessary to employ; but it was unusual that an ambassador should so
far commit himself as to make a covert charge against one of his own
household.
For the detective could read the letter in no other way than that the
gentleman—he had been so described—now waiting in the library to see
him was under suspicion.
But suspicion of what?
Nick Carter had no idea as to that. Something had gone wrong with
the Russian ambassador, which required the services of an expert
investigator, and for some reason not given, it had not been deemed
advisable to call in the services of the regular Secret Service of the
United States Government.
Somebody as yet unknown to the detective, but doubtless a person
high in authority in Washington, had recommended Nick Carter to the
ambassador; hence the letter.
Chick returned while the detective was turning these things over in
his mind, and he raised his eyes expectantly when his first assistant
entered the room.
“There is nothing remarkable, or even interesting, about the chap that
I can discover,” said Chick, in reply to the interrogative glance. “He
is just a plain, common type of the Russian army officer who has been
appointed military attaché to this country through influence at court.
He is less than thirty years old and more than six feet tall. I should
say that he is not overburdened with brains.
“He belongs to the type that gets into no end of trouble through
ignorance, stupidity, pride, arrogance, and all that sort of thing, but
does not seem malicious at all. He is fair-headed, blue-eyed, rather
good-looking—some women would call him handsome—and all in all, is
rather a likable chap, I imagine. He ranks as colonel in the Russian
army, and the card he sent up to you is not his own, which fact he took
pains to explain the minute I entered the library where he is waiting.”
“This card is not his own?” said Nick, picking it up and glancing at it
again. He had barely noticed it when Joseph gave it to him.
“No. His name is——”
“Why did he send me a card not his own?”
“He said it was done by mistake, and that he did not discover it until
Joseph had left the room to take it to you. I think he told the truth
about that. He spoke as if it were the truth.”
“Very likely. The name on this card means nothing at all to me—or to
him probably. No name was mentioned in the letter from the ambassador.
What is his name?”
“He is Colonel Alexis Turnieff.”
“Turnieff? Turnieff? Now, where have I——Oh! I know. I say, Chick, that
is rather an odd circumstance. Turnieff, eh? And Alexis Turnieff, at
that. You say he is not more than thirty years old?”
“Rather less than that, I should say.”
“Humph! Oh, well, I don’t suppose the name has any significance in this
matter, but it is rather a strange coincidence, just the same, that it
should recur just at this time.”
“Then the name does mean something to you?” asked Chick.
“No; not really. It recalled my last trip to the other side, that
is all. It is the name of one of the supposed victims—the first one
that was known about, if I remember correctly—of Juno, otherwise ‘The
Leopard’.”
“It isn’t likely that Juno has anything to do with this matter, is it?”
Chick asked.
“No. It isn’t likely, I suppose. But the affair is Russian. Anyway, I
haven’t the least notion what it is all about. The name struck me, that
is all. Well, I will go down and see Colonel Turnieff. Wait here till I
return.”
The detective left the room and presently entered the library, where
the Russian official rose from the chair to greet him.
“Prince Alexis Turnieff, I believe?” said the detective, as he advanced
toward his caller. He made the remark quite naturally, putting it in
the form of a question. He spoke as if he had always known the man, and
had always been fully aware that he was a Russian prince.
“Yes. I am Prince Alexis Turnieff; but I was not aware that I mentioned
my title to the person who was just here with me, sir.”
“The person to whom you refer, prince, was Mr. Chickering Carter, my
first and chief assistant. He is not a servant, as your words might
imply was your belief.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Carter. I had no intention to give offense.”
“None is taken, prince. None at all.”
“Would you do me the favor, Mr. Carter, to call me colonel instead of
prince?” the Russian asked, while another flush rose to his cheeks and
forehead.
“Certainly, sir; the more readily, because in this country there are no
hereditary titles.”
“Will you tell me, please, how you knew me to be Prince Alexis
Turnieff?”
“Certainly.” This was precisely the point at which the detective had
wished to arrive. “My assistant informed me that you sent up the wrong
card by mistake. Also that your name is Alexis Turnieff, and that you
are a colonel in the Russian army. Just now, I assume you to be in the
diplomatic service attached to the Russian embassy. That is correct, is
it not?”
“Quite so.”
“Very well; I am more or less familiar with many Russian names and
titles. Not so very long ago I knew of a gentleman by your name, who
was also a prince. He would be old enough to be your father, if he were
living. I assumed that he was your father, and being aware that he is
dead, I also assumed that you had succeeded to his title. So”—with a
smile—“you will observe that it was not strange that I should make use
of the title in addressing you.”
“I quite understand. Thank you.”
“And now, colonel, if you are ready we will come to the business of
your call upon me,” said the detective.
“At once. Yes, sir. You have doubtless been informed that I am here
at the request of the ambassador for the czar, but that my errand is
unofficial, and——”
“Pardon me, colonel; my information is solely to the effect that a
gentleman from the Russian embassy would call upon me,” said Nick.
Colonel Turnieff fidgeted for a moment in his chair. Then with some
abruptness he said:
“Will you pardon me, Mr. Carter, if I mention another subject first?
I wish to do so because our conversation, since you entered the room,
has suggested that what I wish now to speak about may have some bearing
upon my errand here to-day.”
“Speak as you please, Colonel Turnieff,” replied Nick. “I will tell
you that I don’t know a thing about your errand here. I have been
instructed that a gentleman would call upon me, sent here by the
Russian ambassador; farther than that my information does not extend.
If you were to talk about the North Pole, or the South Pole, it would
be all the same to me—save only that I would like to get at the real
purpose of your visit as soon as possible.”
“Certainly. I was about to refer again to my father.”
“Yes? Well?”
“Did you, perhaps, know him personally?”
“No. I never met him or saw him. All that I know about him refers to
his unfortunate death, in Paris, some time ago.”
“Do you know any of the particulars in relation to his—death?”
“Only such as were related to me by the chief of the secret police of
Paris, when I was in that city on quite another matter. The subject of
your father came up between us, and it was mentioned; that is all.”
“You were told that he—that he killed himself?”
“If it is a painful subject to you, colonel, why continue it? Yes, I
was so informed.”
“Were you also informed of the circumstances associated with his
death?” the Russian persisted.
“Yes. Of some of them, at least. I did not go into the subject
definitely. It was not of especial interest to me at the time.”
“Will you tell me what was told to you?”
“Really, colonel——”
“Pardon me, sir, I know that this seems entirely beside the subject of
my call here, but possibly it may not appear so later on. If you will
be patient with me, I will be your debtor.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Will you tell me what was told to you in regard to the death of my
father?”
The detective hesitated. What had been told to him was, in a way, a
privileged communication imparted in confidence. Presently he replied:
“I will tell you as much about it as I think I may with discretion. The
main points of my information are these: Your father, Prince Turnieff,
was sent to Paris on a secret mission of some sort for his government.
He took there with him a very large sum of money presumably his own.
Also while there he made a great display of valuable jewels, though why
he did so does not appear.”
“Your information is entirely correct so far, Mr. Carter. I will add to
it in that particular. He had with him the equivalent of two hundred
thousand dollars in cash in your money. He also had in his possession
at that time certain jewels which were the property—or had been—of a
family that had suffered exile. Those jewels had been forfeited to the
crown together with other possessions, and——”
“My dear sir, what has all this to do with our matters?”
“Bear with me a moment, please.”
“Go on, then.”
“The jewels which my father displayed with seeming recklessness were of
very great value—they were worth another sum equal to the amount he had
with him in cash. My father was not a person given to needless display,
and so you may assume that there was a definite purpose in his conduct
in making a display of them, and in his reckless expenditure of money
also. All that formed a part of his mission there.”
“I understand you. Well?”
“Now, will you tell me what more you heard about his death?”
“No. I will not say any more on the subject now.”
“Then I will tell you—for I perceive that you hesitate only to spare my
feelings, and I honor you for it. While in Paris, he was very much in
the company of a woman who had at that time, and has since had, many
names. To the police she was known as ‘The Leopard.’ Am I correct?”
“Quite so.”
“My father made his home in a palace which he had taken, furnished,
in the Faubourg St. Germain. He was found dead in the library of that
palace one afternoon, with a bullet hole in his brain. There was a
pistol beside him, and a partly written note on the table near him,
telling that he had decided to kill himself. The last person who was in
his company before that happened was ‘The Leopard,’ the beautiful young
woman in whose company he had been seen so often.
“But she had been gone from the house a long time before the shooting
was supposed to have taken place, and although she was taken to the
prefecture of police and closely questioned, not a thing could be
determined against her. Is that substantially what was told to you by
the chief, Mr. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“Did he inform you also that not one centime of the money, and not one
trace of the jewels, could be found after the death of my father?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. That is all I care to ask you about the circumstance at the
present moment; but I wish to add to it one statement of my own.”
“Well?”
“My father went to Paris on a secret mission in which there was almost
no hope of success; a secret mission in which his life was at stake
from the moment he departed from St. Petersburg. The display of the
jewels was a necessary part of his enterprise. The possession of a
great sum of money, and the lavish expenditure of that money, was
another necessary part of it. The woman known as ‘The Leopard,’ was
supposed at that time to be also in the service of Russia, but it has
been thought—not determined, mind you, but only suspected—since then,
that she was all the while in the actual service of another government.
It was because she was ostensibly in the service of Russia, that she
was seen so much with my father. That was another definite part of the
enterprise.”
“I understand.”
“My own opinion—and it is only an opinion, not knowledge—is that
she was all the time working against my father in Paris. If she
did not actually murder him, she was nevertheless the direct cause
of his death. Well, sir, now I come to the point toward which this
conversation has tended.”
“Yes?”
“That woman—‘The Leopard’—is now in the city of Washington. She lives
there openly, supposedly the possessor of a large fortune. She occupies
a large house in one of the fashionable streets of the capital where
she entertains lavishly. She is a woman of most remarkable beauty and
attractiveness. She is a creature of many fascinations. All who go near
her fall under the spell she casts about her.”
“You surprise me, colonel,” said the detective. And indeed it was so.
Nick Carter was surprised that Juno had ventured to return to the
United States so soon. “But assuredly she does not call herself ‘The
Leopard,’ in Washington society, does she?”
“No, indeed. She is now the Countess Juno Narnine—Countess Narnine—and
Narnine happens to be the name of one of the branches of my own family.
I can positively assure you that she is in no manner related to them,
notwithstanding the fact that this woman has succeeded in establishing
herself beyond question; and supplied credentials which cannot be
denied. Now, sir, I will get down to the purpose of my visit here.”
“Wait a moment. Why have you chosen to tell me about this countess? We
will call her so, since she has succeeded in establishing her right to
use the name.”
“Because she has something to do with the purpose of my call upon you—I
think.”
“Oh. You think so. You are not sure of it, then?”
“Nobody has ever been sure of anything connected with that woman, sir.”
“I see. You regard her much as the chief over in Paris did.”
“I am not informed concerning his regard for her, nor as to what his
estimate of her character may have been; but speaking for myself, I
can say that she is at once the most compelling creature, the most
attractive woman, the most fascinating personality, and the most
beautiful human creation that God ever put into the world. At the same
time she is the most dangerous. All the objections to her are summed up
in that one word dangerous, Mr. Carter.”
“One more question, colonel.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I had not addressed you as prince, and hence, had not called up the
unpleasant recollections of your father, would you have mentioned this
woman in connection with the matter that sent you to me?”
“I should have mentioned her, but not in the manner I have now chosen.
Her name would have been mentioned, but not in just the way I have done
it.”
“Would you have told me this story about your father, and his relations
with her, if the subject had not been brought about in the manner it
was?”
“No. I should not have done that—now.”
“But later you might have done so?”
“Yes. Later I am certain that I would have done so.”
“Why? I would like to know that before we proceed. You see you are
somewhat ambiguous, Colonel Turnieff.”
“I don’t know that I can explain why, unless it arises from the natural
inclination to clear up the mystery of my father’s death. That is
human—and filial—isn’t it?”
“Decidedly.”
“Now, shall we get at the object of my mission here to you?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask you, first, if you are at all familiar with the methods
employed in diplomatic affairs, where the thing to be done is a
secret one and bears no direct relations to the official duties of an
ambassador?”
“Your question is somewhat involved. I will reply to it generally. Yes;
I know that a representative of royalty, no matter where stationed,
is supposed to take his orders without question, and to execute them
literally, no matter what the consequences, or what means it may be
necessary to employ.”
“Very well, sir. My chief, whom I now represent unofficially, has
been engaged upon an affair of great delicacy for his royal master.
Concerned in that affair are papers of the vastest importance
imaginable—of such supreme value that their loss cannot be estimated
in words or in figures. Mr. Carter, one-half of those papers have
disappeared absolutely. They must be recovered at any cost. In the
meantime the remaining half of them must be safeguarded so thoroughly
that there can be no chance that they will follow after the others.”