For the detective had been provided with a means of entering that house at any hour of the day or night without calling upon the servants to admit him. When he entered it that night, he took himself straight to the room where the big teester bed was located, and where the ambassador slept.
Nobody saw the detective enter the house; nobody but the ambassador was aware of his presence there; and Nick’s first words to the Russian were a shock to him. He said:
“Turnieff has been sacrificed, prince. I do not know that he is dead, but I fear that he is.”
“My God!” cried the ambassador.
And then with deliberation Nick recounted all that occurred at the house of the countess, the quarrel in the street that followed it—and the crime.
“You had the forethought to escape,” said the ambassador, when he was able to speak after he had heard the story. “Heavens, Mr. Carter, think of the fix you would be in if you had been captured.”
The detective smiled, though sadly.
“I have thought of it,” he said. “I thought of it then, and I had to think very quickly, too. On the whole, I believe that those men were not sorry to have me get away from them, since it saved them the necessity of swearing away the life of an innocent man; although I have very little idea that they would have hesitated at that.”
“Hesitated? Not at all. Poor Turnieff! First the father; now the son. It is awful! But, Mr. Carter, I see men fall about me all the time. The life of a man is not considered where the schemes of a government are at stake. What a terrible woman!”
“Eh? Why do you say that, prince?”