CLAUDIA COMES FOR HELP.
It was with an amused smile that Nick Carter leaned back in his taxi
after leaving Mrs. van Raikes’ home in Millionaires’ Row, Fifth Avenue,
on his way down to his home in Madison Avenue.
He would restore the watch to its owner when he found out who was
supposed to have stolen it.
His busy brain had enabled him to see that there was an intrigue of some
kind in which the three men and this girl who had interested himself so
much were concerned, and he felt that the watch was perhaps the key to
it.
At all events, he would not give it up until he knew what the attack
upon the Mexican at the ball really meant.
When he stepped into his own house he was met in the hall by his
assistant, Chick.
“Say, chief, there’s a girl in the library.”
“A girl? What kind?”
“A peach,” replied Chick enthusiastically. “She wants to see you.”
“Did she give her name?”
“No. She said you would know her when you saw her. But she was
determined to wait till you got back.”
“Must be something important,” remarked Nick, as he went upstairs.
“Oh, Mr. Carter, I am so glad you have come! I want your advice about
something.”
This was the greeting of the girl who had been waiting as Nick opened
the door of his library.
It was the “Queen of Night,” whom he had met at the ball at the Hotel
Supremacy, and in whose company he had had so queer an adventure.
He bowed and pointed to the chair from which she had arisen.
“Sit down, and we’ll talk it over, whatever it is,” he answered, with a
smile. “I hope you are not in any trouble.”
“I am very much perplexed about something, and I feel that if something
is not done quickly, there may be a tragedy that I ought to prevent.”
This was all mysterious enough to make Nick Carter glance inquiringly at
his fair visitor.
She was dressed in the plain but expensive garments of a wealthy woman,
and everything about her appearance, as well as her speech, proclaimed
one who had always been used to the refinements of life.
There was a slight foreign tinge to her accent, but her English was
flawless in its choice of words, as well as in the pronunciation.
“You did not ask my name when you met me at the Hotel Supremacy on the
night of the ball, notwithstanding that you gave me protection when it
was much needed.”
“Unless you volunteered the information, I could hardly ask for it,”
smiled the detective.
“I am Claudia Solado, and----”
“Solado was the name of one of the Indian princes whom I found myself
treating rather roughly, I am afraid, and----”
“You did right,” she interrupted. “Don Solado is my--my uncle. I am
sorry to say that he is a scoundrel.”
She made this statement coolly, as if it were an incontrovertible fact,
although regrettable.
“If I had known he was a relative of yours, I might have been a little
more gentle, nevertheless,” declared Nick.
“I am glad you were not. He cares nothing for anybody else, and he would
sacrifice anybody or anything to further his own schemes. But I need not
trouble you about that. What is worrying me is that I am afraid the
enemies of Prince Marcos----”
“The person you think I resemble?” asked Nick, with a smile.
“The same,” she answered. “You are very much alike. You will see it
yourself if ever you meet Marcos. I know he was all right on the night
of the ball.”
“Afterward or before?” asked the detective.
“Afterward. I went to his home and saw him in the taxicab you were kind
enough to get for me.”
“Yes?”
“I did not give the cabman the address at the time, because I did not
know who might be standing around the hotel to overhear me. So I
directed the man to take me to Riverside Drive. Afterward I gave him the
prince’s New York address. It is a house called Crownledge. It looks
over the Hudson and faces the Palisades.”
“I know the place,” remarked Nick. “Stands in its own rather extensive
grounds, and runs right down to the river bank.”
“That describes it,” she smiled. “About Marcos, I was going to say that,
although he is strikingly like you in the face, he is not so strong, nor
so--so----”
“Impetuous?” laughed Nick Carter. “I’m afraid I did seem so that night.
But----”
“I was going to say brave,” interrupted Claudia Solado. “I live on the
other side of the river, a few miles above Crownledge. When I found
Marcos was safe, I had the taxi man take me to the ferry at One Hundred
and Twenty-ninth Street, and I went home.”
“There is something more, is there not?” asked Nick.
“Yes,” she confessed, after some hesitation. “I was satisfied when I
found Marcos had not been followed on the night of the ball, and I did
not go to see if he was at home until this morning.”
“Yes?”
“He and I have always been playfellows--like brother and sister, in
fact--and it was natural for me to go and see him. Besides, his mother
is living with him in New York, and I may say, without conceit, that I
am a favorite of hers.”
“I can quite believe it.”
Nick had not meant to say this. But it slipped out as he looked at her
beautiful, animated face.
She only smiled in acknowledgment of the involuntary tribute, and went
on calmly:
“When I went to Crownledge this morning, I could not get in. I rang the
electric bell several times, and thumped on the door. There was no
response.”
“Where were the servants?”
“They were not in the house. Neither was the princess, Marcos’ mother. I
always call her Aunt Laura. But I remembered that she had talked of
going to Newport to visit some friends for a few days, so, when I came
to think, I was not surprised that she was absent. That did not explain
the absence of Marcos and the servants, however.”
“Hardly!” threw in Nick, as she paused.
“The house is not a large one, but there are two maid-servants there, as
a rule, besides Prince Marcos’ own man. The maids were brought by Aunt
Laura from Joyalita. She travels a great deal, and always likes to be as
comfortable as possible when away from home. She looks after Marcos,
too, when she is with him. Her own maid had gone with her to Newport.”
“Didn’t you find out anything that would explain the house being
untenanted?”
“I can only surmise. My uncle, Don Solado, and Prince Miguel, are in New
York for the sole purpose of keeping Marcos away from Joyalita for the
present.”
“Why?”
“It is one of those political arguments that come up in small countries
now and then--and perhaps in big ones, too,” she answered simply.
“Joyalita has always been an independent State, ruled by the same family
for generations.”
“I have heard that,” commented Nick. “It has seemed a peaceful and
prosperous community, too.”
“Yes. That is the reason Marcos is opposed to any change. In that he has
the backing of most of his advisers. But there is another party that is
not satisfied. It is made up of men who think they would get more for
themselves if there were a different form of government.”
“You find such men in every country,” observed the detective slowly.
“In a few words, here is the state of things,” continued Claudia:
“Joyalita has been asked to join an alliance with some of the smaller
States in South America--for mutual protection and advantage. That is
the way it is put by the agitators. Marcos is bitterly opposed to the
change, but unless he can get home before the eighteenth of this month,
there is every fear that it will go through.”
“And these two gentlemen who jumped on me at the ball are doing their
best to keep him here?” suggested Nick.
“That’s it exactly. A big vote will be taken at a council meeting in
Joyalita on the eighteenth, but if Prince Marcos is there, he will sign
a negative resolution, and the whole scheme will fall through. This is
the tenth, so there are eight days in which Marcos could get back home.
He could get there in very much less time than that, but he meant to go
at once, so that there should be no danger of his arriving too late.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Marcos has been taken away from Crownledge, I am convinced. He will be
held somewhere until too late to get to Joyalita by the eighteenth. If
you could suggest some way of finding out where Marcos is----”
“The enemy has taken away the servants, too,” mused Nick, half aloud.
“They did their work thoroughly, while they were about it.”
“That is what will make it so hard to trace Marcos,” she murmured,
shaking her head. “We can’t even get into the house.”
“But that is just what we will do,” corrected Nick. “And as for our
tracing Prince Marcos; well, I have an assistant who will be a great
help, unless I am much mistaken.”
He touched a bell, and Chick came in from the other room, glad of an
opportunity to gaze again upon the lovely Claudia Solado.
“Where’s Captain?” asked Nick.
“Downstairs,” was Chick’s answer, as his glance wandered to the fair
face of the visitor.
“All right! We’ll use him this afternoon,” announced the detective.
“May I go with you with this gentleman--Captain--Captain--what is his
name?” asked the girl. “Is he a soldier?”
Nick Carter and Chick both laughed. The former answered, with
considerable emphasis:
“Yes, Captain is very much of a soldier, in the sense that he is always
ready to fight--and to obey orders. He is our bloodhound, trained to
police work, and, we think, one of the finest dogs in the world.”
“Oh! I should like to see him. I may go, may I not?”
“If you will,” returned Nick. “You will be a great help, and we will try
to keep you from harm.”
“I’d like to see the man that will harm you when I’m around,” blurted
out Chick, clenching both fists.
“Chick!” warned Nick Carter. “That will do. Miss Solado has perfect
faith in you, I have no doubt. Meanwhile, do not frighten her by making
her think we shall meet people who will put your chivalry to the test.”
Claudia gave Chick a smile that quite counterbalanced his chief’s gentle
rebuke.