“I shall not dance,” was the answer. “I intend to go up in the balcony to look on. I’ll get into a private box if I can.”
The telephone bell rang, and Chick answered. Then he turned to Nick.
“It’s Corliston, the costumer.”
“Find out what he’s after. I suppose he wants to apologize for sending me the wrong costume.”
That was exactly what Corliston did want. There had been a Spanish officer and a Mexican both ordered, and through an error on the part of some of his men, the Spanish officer had gone to somebody else. He hoped Mr. Carter would not be much inconvenienced. If there was anything he could do, et cetera, et cetera.
“Tell him it is all right,” directed Nick shortly.
He put a light overcoat over his Mexican rig, and went down to the taxi waiting for him at the front door.
There had been some counterfeits of big bills worrying the treasury department of late, and Nick Carter had been asked to help in gathering in the persons who were making and “shoving” the bad bills.
Information had reached Nick that some of the guests at the mask ball at the big hotel might be the men he was after.
The hint had come to him anonymously, and he did not like it. Ordinarily he would have hesitated about giving such a message serious attention. He had the contempt of all decent people for unsigned communications of this kind.