“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.