“You’ll be masked, of course?” observed his assistant, Chickering.
“Certainly. It is a masked ball. If it were not, I should have very little chance of catching my men. They would know me at once.”
“I hope they will be there.”
“They will, in all probability—unless they suspect that I may be on the lookout for them. But I wish the costumer hadn’t made this mistake about my dress. I told him distinctly I wanted the uniform of a Spanish officer—a colonel, if he had it. Evidently he considered this rig—with the trousers split at the bottoms, and this big sombrero—was near enough, when he found he had not just what I ordered.”
“Pity we hadn’t got the costumes in our own wardrobe.”
“Yes. We have all kinds of disguises,” returned Nick. “But we seem to have overlooked both a Spanish officer and a Mexican of this particular type. I could have gone as a vaquero without bothering anybody outside. But I have been seen in that dress, and this gang of counterfeiters we are after are as cunning as any set of men I have ever met. They’d smell me out, as a vaquero, as soon as I went into the ballroom.”
“I’d like to be going with you,” said Chick, with a shade of envy in his voice. “Those big balls at the Hotel Supremacy are always worth seeing. I dare say I could have got an invitation.”
“I am going on business, Chick,” returned his chief coldly.
“I know that. Still, some business is pleasanter than others,” persisted Chick. “You are going to do the tango, I suppose?”