CHAPTER XXVIII.

A FIGHT IN THE STREET.

Nick Carter stopped at the corner just below the house to consider what had happened.

Unceremoniously he had been ejected from the home of the countess. Undeniably she had defied him, and she had managed to do it in the presence of many others among her guests. There was no doubt whatever that the affair would be the talk of the town by another day, and it would be surprising indeed if the whole thing were not a column long, or more in the morning papers.

The detective had been placed in many trying positions during the course of his experience, but never had he met with one which had been quite so original as this one.

Why had she done it, he asked himself as he stood there in thought, at the corner.

Was it because when she found she could not make a puppet of him she had resorted to the other extremity?

Had she really intended to make a puppet of him, or had she been sincere during those moments in the conservatory?

Who could tell? She had appeared sincere enough; but who could tell?

What was the detective to do now? It was out of the question that he should return to her house in any guise whatever. Juno read a part of his character well, in realizing that, driven thus from her house, Nick Carter would not return to it under any circumstances—unless, indeed, it were to make an arrest.

But it went without saying that he could not go there again as a guest, even in disguise. A detective has to do many things which are not congenial, but he does not have to do ungentlemanly or dishonorable things. This woman had seemed to know that in forcing him out of her house in the manner she had done, she had rid herself of his presence there for good.

And to arrest her was out of the question.

That could not be done under any circumstances, even if he could provide himself with proof positive that she had gone in person to the house of the ambassador, had entered it with burglarious intent, and had stolen the tin cylinder with its contents.

That would constitute a theft, of course; and the breaking and entering would be burglary under the law; but to accuse her, arrest her, or attempt to prosecute her for it, would be to defeat the ends at which his effort was aimed.

It would be also to nullify and destroy every effect of the ambassador’s labors for ten years.

Another man in Nick Carter’s place in that conservatory might have permitted Juno to twine her arms around his neck, and might have seized her in his arms and embraced her—might have made the most of that opportunity which she offered, and have traded upon that chance to accomplish what he wished to do.

Not so Nick Carter.

Another man might have gone far in succumbing to her, and might well have considered the case upon which he was engaged well lost—and all the world of self-respect with it—to have won Juno’s love.

Not so Nick Carter.

Without egotism, he believed that she had been sincere to a certain extent in outlining her longing for content, and in her belief that with such a man as he she might find it; nor could he deny to himself that Juno possessed a powerful attraction for him.

But that terrible _if_.

If Juno had been different; if circumstances had not been just what they were; if the world had wagged differently.

“Bosh!” he ejaculated aloud, and started to move on. Instantly he was conscious that a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and he heard a voice exclaim:

“Wait a moment, sir!”

The detective turned about. Before him, tall and straight with his military manner, stood Alexis Turnieff.

“Ah, colonel——” he began; but the Russian stepped forward nearer to the detective.

He uttered an epithet. His arm swung outward and around, and if it had been permitted to continue upon its course, the open palm of Turnieff’s right hand must have been brought into sharp contact with Nick Carter’s cheek.

The detective saw the blow coming and met it halfway.

He caught the swinging wrist, twisted it, wheeled around and drew it down sharply across his shoulder, bent forward, exerted his strength, jerked—and sent Turnieff flying over his head and over the low iron fence near where they stood, so that the Russian landed on the soft green sod beyond it.

It was a jujutsu trick that the detective made use of, and although it badly jarred the recipient of it, the man was not injured.

Turnieff leaped to his feet again with a cry of rage, and with a curse on his lips rushed forward toward the fence which separated them.

But the fence stopped him, and so did Nick Carter, for he reached out one hand and seized the Russian by the collar and held him so, pulling him tightly up against the iron pickets in such a way that he could not escape.

And he held him there.

“Don’t be an ass, Turnieff!” he said. “I am in the humor just now to box somebody’s ears, and yours would serve as well as another’s. What is the matter with you, anyhow? Why did you attack me?”

“Release me if you are not a coward!” stormed Turnieff.

“I’m not a coward; neither will I release you. Big as you are, Turnieff, you are only a child in my grasp. You must realize that now. Why did you attack me?”

“You insulted the countess, you——”

“There, there, now! Colonel Turnieff, I have never insulted a woman in my life, much less one who was my hostess. Did she say that I insulted her? Did she tell you that?”

“No; but her actions——”

“Ah! Her actions. I see. You have no other reason for attacking me than what you saw in the conservatory?”

“No; but that was sufficient, heaven knows.”

“My dear fellow, you have been misled. The countess was offended, I’ll admit; but it was because I would not do things which no man of honor could do; not because I affronted her in any manner, for I did not. Do you believe me?”

“No.”

“Turnieff, if I did not feel a certain degree of pity for you, I would chuck you back on the grass and leave you. As it is, I am sorry for you. You have been endeavoring to hate this woman whom you believe killed your father, or caused his death, and instead you are in love with her. You have gone into her presence time after time, deceiving yourself into the idea that you were seeking vengeance, when in reality you were only a moth playing around a flame which, unless you break away, will consume you utterly. Believe me, it is true.”

“Release me, I say! Let me go.”

“What will you do if I let you go?”

“I will strike you in the face to discover if there is any fight in you.”

“Listen to me a moment, colonel, and then I will let you go. Do you realize that I am now in the service of your country, and am acting under the direct commands of your ambassador? Do you understand that you are jeopardizing your whole career at this moment? If I should report to the ambassador what you have done, you would be sent back to St. Petersburg at once. For what are you so conducting yourself?”

The man struggled fiercely, but Nick Carter held him; and the detective saw that he was coming to his senses, too.

“I shall release you now, Turnieff,” he said, and suited the action to the word. “There is a gate yonder; pass through it. We will walk down the avenue together while we talk. I only hope for your own sake that no person has seen this affair.”

But Turnieff did not reply. Neither did he follow the advice of the detective and go to the gate. He stood quite still, staring at Nick, evidently impressed by what had been said to him, but too stubborn to do as was suggested.

And Nick, half disgusted by all of the events of the night, turned away.

“I shall say nothing of this affair to the ambassador,” he said. “From me, he will be made no wiser concerning what has occurred between you and me to-night, and I advise you to be silent on the subject, also. In the morning when your temper has cooled, we will discuss it. Good night.”

He moved on down the thoroughfare, which happened to be Connecticut Avenue.

Turnieff stung to madness by the coolness, not unmixed with contempt of the detective, leaped the pickets of the iron fence and rushed after him.

“You will fight. I will make you fight,” he exclaimed. “If you won’t meet me as gentlemen should meet, then have it this way,” and he struck wildly at the detective again.

Nick turned in time to ward off the blow, but not soon enough to prevent the savage rush of the Russian having its effect.

For Turnieff was no weakling, although Nick Carter was greatly the stronger of the two. The Russian clinched, winding his long arms around the detective’s body with such tenacity that it was all that Nick could do to escape the consequences of it.

They struggled for a moment there in the middle of the sidewalk; but at the end of that moment Nick threw Turnieff away from him with such force that the man staggered backward, and finally fell to his knees on the cement flagging.

As he did so three men rushed forward out of the darkness, coming apparently from nowhere, for Nick had not suspected their nearness.

They reached the fallen man ere he could get upon his feet and they seized upon him, evidently to assist him—that was how Nick regarded their intentions.

As they grasped Turnieff, as if to assist him to his feet, the Russian uttered a sharp cry; he collapsed in their hands; something fell to the pavement with a clatter; and then one of the three men cried out in accents of horror:

“Good heaven, the fellow has stabbed him! The man has been stabbed!”

They dropped their burden and rushed at Nick. As if by magic, two more men appeared, and they also rushed forward. They surrounded the detective—and he, taken entirely unawares, startled by the accusation that had been made, was seized by them before he realized what had happened.

Then, as the five men lifted their voices in outcries of “Murder!” “Help!” “Police!” and kindred words, Nick Carter’s wit told him what must be the explanation of the scene. He realized that he would be a helpless member of the community indeed if he should be caught there in such a predicament with these five witnesses against him.

Instantly he laid about him with his arms and fists. He called into play every ounce of strength that he possessed. He scattered those five men about him as if they were so many straws. He piled them into a heap beside the fallen Turnieff—and then he permitted discretion to control him, and, hearing answering shouts of men approaching, he tore himself loose finally and fled.

Under the circumstances, as he now understood them, it was the only thing to do.