WHAT NICK FOUND IN HIS SLEEVE.
“Do you realize that, if Solado and Miguel believe you to be Prince
Marcos, your own life may be in danger--even in this ballroom?” asked
the girl.
“I don’t think it will.”
“Why should you trouble yourself about something in which you have no
interest?” she persisted.
“Who says I have no interest in it?” was his rejoinder. “Since I find
myself in this affair, I should like to see it through. You do not know
me, but I assure you it will give me pleasure to help you, if I can.
There is one thing I can tell you, and that is that Prince Marcos is
probably in the uniform of a Spanish colonel. That was what I ordered,
and if I have his dress, most likely he has mine. Corliston’s have mixed
it up, that’s all.”
“It seems likely,” she murmured.
“More than likely. Will you come?”
“Yes. I must tell Marcos that Solado is here. But you must not go in
that costume.”
Nick Carter had already readjusted the black mask over his face, but the
girl could tell, from the set of the firm chin, that this man, a
stranger to her, was determined to have his way.
“I have never yet seen the man of whom I was afraid,” he returned.
“There will be no danger, I assure you.”
She could not resist his masterful manner. He held out his hand. She
took it, and he led her out of the box.
They walked along the corridor, the girl leaning on his arm, and so down
the staircase to the ballroom.
As they entered, a dance was just over, and the dancers, chatting and
laughing, were leaving the floor.
“All the better,” he whispered, behind his mask. “We shall have plenty
of room to walk, and a good opportunity to look at everybody as we go
along.”
Nick Carter, a gallant figure in his gay Mexican dress, and with the
sombrero pulled well down over his forehead, strode around the ballroom,
the “Queen of Night” by his side.
They had almost entirely encircled the great hall without seeing
anything of a Spanish officer, either on the floor, in the balcony, or
in any of the boxes.
“It seems as if he isn’t here,” remarked Nick to his companion.
She did not answer, but her fingers suddenly tightened on his arm.
“Don’t look into that alcove on the right,” she whispered. “Solado and
the other man I mentioned are in there, watching us.”
They walked on a few paces. Then Nick Carter, in a natural manner,
looked around him, as if taking a general view of the scene.
He saw two men, in the rich garb of Indian princes, with jewels blazing
all over them, moving away from the alcove in the direction of the wide
doorway at the other end of the ballroom.
It was the only way by which any one could enter or leave. There were
several emergency fire exits, but all were fastened shut. They would
open automatically in case of need, but were not used otherwise.
This was an invitation affair, and the famous society leader, Mr. van
Raikes, was the hostess.
“You see?” she murmured. “Do be careful, sir. They are desperate and
dangerous men.”
“Desperate and dangerous men are the kind one often has to meet in this
world,” he replied lightly. “What do you suppose they are going to do
now?”
“They will try to prevent your getting away,” was her response. “I feel
sure of that. They have seen me with you, and they will know I have told
you about them. Of course, they think you are Prince Marcos.”
“That means that you are in danger,” returned Nick, rather more
thoughtfully than he had spoken heretofore. “We shall have to----”
“It makes no difference about me,” she answered, drawing a quick breath.
“I beg your pardon. It matters a great deal. I don’t know what this is
all about, nor who Prince Marcos and these other men are. But it looks
as if there is something that puts you in an awkward situation.
Therefore, I must ask you to depend on me.”
“I do depend on you,” she declared gratefully. “But what are we to do?”
“I am going out of this room, and you are coming with me,” returned the
detective promptly.
They went out of the ballroom just as another dance began, passing
through several of the carpeted corridors, which were generally used by
ballroom guests for promenade.
Nothing was to be seen of the two Indian princes until they reached the
end of one corridor and turned a corner into a narrower one.
As they did this, the two men stepped out of a doorway directly in their
path.
With a half scream the girl stepped behind Nick Carter, still holding
his arm for protection.
“Pardon me!” said the shorter man of the pair, in a somewhat truculent
tone. “I should like to have a word with you.”
“With me? Why, my dear sir, I don’t believe I know you,” responded Nick
carelessly.
“We have no time for joking, your highness,” retorted the man, in a
thick, angry voice. “Prince Miguel and I have been trying to get to you
for several days. We found out, at a costumer’s, this afternoon, that
you would be at this ball to-night.”
“Once more, let me ask, who are you?” was Nick Carter’s rejoinder. “I
don’t know that you have any reason to be interested in my doings or
whereabouts.”
With a strange oath, the taller man interposed, jumping forward and
pushing his companion aside.
“What is the use of this pretense?” he growled. “I know you are my
cousin, and I want to know what you intend to do when you get back home
to Joyalita.”
Nick Carter permitted himself a laugh of intense amusement--a laugh that
evidently grated on the other person’s nerves, for he broke out with
another oath--in Spanish, or something like it.
“Either you have mistaken me for somebody else, or you are crazy,”
declared Nick. “This lady and I want to pass on.”
Nick Carter pushed his way forward, regardless of the gesticulating
stranger.
Together, and with a lightninglike movement, the two men flung
themselves upon him.
Nick had anticipated something of the kind, however, and as the shorter
man came to the proper distance, the detective shot out his hard
American fist straight from the shoulder.
There was a loud splat, as the blow landed on the masked face, and down
went Don Solado--for it turned out to be he--flat on his back, evidently
knocked out.
“What?” bellowed the taller man, Prince Miguel. “Is that your game?
Well, we’ll see!”
He flung his arms around the detective, trying to force him backward.
It was a sharp tussle, but there were few men who could overcome Nick
Carter in a wrestling match, either impromptu or otherwise.
While the trembling girl watched the fierce, but almost silent, combat,
her escort gradually made his adversary give way. At last Nick got the
other man where he wanted him.
“Had enough?” asked the detective.
“No! Curse you! I’ll----”
The tall stranger never finished the sentence. With a sudden heave, Nick
Carter swung him clear off his feet and threw him high in the air,
helpless and kicking.
“Oh!” cried the girl, half in terror and half in admiration of the
strength and activity of her champion.
Nick Carter’s blood was up now, and he determined to finish the job in a
thorough manner.
Exerting all his strength, he flung Prince Miguel bodily to the floor.
The prince fell like a bag of sawdust, and with no more animation.
His head struck against the wall, and as he fell sprawling across the
body of the unconscious Don Solado, there were the two of them dead to
the world.
The girl covered her face with her hands. For a few moments she saw
nothing. When she looked up again, Nick Carter was calmly adjusting his
mask, which had slipped slightly to one side.
His eyes were on her, and he beckoned. When she went over to him, he
said, in a cool voice, without any symptom of disturbance:
“The corridor seems to be clear. We can do nothing more here. Let us
go.”
Drawing her hand through his arm with the courtly ease that came
naturally to him, the detective stalked down the side hallway in which
the encounter had taken place, until they were in the main corridor.
“I think I will go home now, if you will have somebody call a taxicab
for me,” she said. “I wish I could thank you, as I ought. But--but, you
see, I do not even know your name.”
“My name is Carter--Nicholas Carter.”
“Carter!” she repeated. “I shall not forget that name.”
He took a cardcase from his pocket and from it drew a card, on which was
his address, as well as his name.
It did not strike him as peculiar that she did not seem to have heard of
him--or, if she had, did not connect him with the detective of
international renown.
He knew that such a girl as this, who, presumably, lived a sheltered
life, in a home where police matters were very much detached from her
existence, was quite likely never to have heard of Nick Carter. It
pleased him just as well to think that she never had.
“My services are small enough,” he answered, with a smile. “Should you
desire them at any time, I shall always be pleased to aid you. I cannot
help thinking there may be a sequel to this adventure of to-night. If
there is, I should like to be in it.”
“You mean that?”
“I most certainly do.”
Nick Carter turned his head as he heard a scuffling and loud talking
behind him.
What he saw was the shorter and thicker of the two figures in the dress
of Indian princes at the other end of the corridor, supported by two of
the hallboys of the Supremacy. He seemed unable to walk.
The detective did not wait to see whether Don Solado would recognize him
or not.
As a taxicab drew up under the porte-cochère, in response to his call,
Nick handed his fair companion into the vehicle.
She told the chauffeur to go to Riverside Drive. Then, waving her hand
to Nick, as the taxi glided away, she sank back in the seat and seemed
to give herself up to her own thoughts.
Another taxi drove up for the detective, and he told the man to take him
to his home in Madison Avenue. On the way, he glanced at his bruised
knuckles and smiled calmly.
“Rather jarred my fist,” he muttered. “But I think I jarred that
fellow’s jawbone worse. I don’t know who Prince Marcos is. But I think
he was in luck when Corliston got our costumes mixed. Those two fellows
meant mischief to-night if they had caught the real Marcos.”
When he got home and was in his library, he threw off the Mexican
jacket, glad to get rid of it. Something glittering fell from one of the
sleeves and dropped upon the floor.
“Hello! What have I won?” he exclaimed, as he stooped to pick up the
object. “A jeweled watch! It must be worth three or four thousand
dollars, I should say. That certainly was a swell crowd at the Supremacy
to-night. These diamonds and rubies on the watch are magnificent, and
the watch alone is a fine one in itself.”
It was indeed a splendid thing. It was incrusted with diamonds and
rubies. All were large, and three of the diamonds were of exceptional
size. Attached to the watch was a fob of black ribbon, with a jeweled
cross attached.
Nick Carter remembered his scuffle with the taller man, and he had no
doubt that the watch had become entangled in his sleeve at that time.
“Well, when I see him again, I’ll give it back. But I am not inclined to
run after him.”
He dropped the watch and fob into the drawer of his big table and locked
the drawer. Then he went to bed.
Looking into Chick’s room on his way, he saw that his assistant was
snoring away, in utter unconsciousness that anybody had opened the door.