CHAPTER XXII.

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.”