CHAPTER I.

A MAN IN A MASK.

“You’ll pass for a Mexican in those togs, chief.”

“The ‘togs,’ as you call them, Chick, don’t necessarily make any character. But there is nothing about a Mexican to distinguish him from other men except his costume, so I dare say I shall be a good-enough Mexican for the purpose.”

Nick Carter, the famous detective, regarded his reflection in the mirror rather disgustedly, and his speech came in angry jerks, unlike his usual calm, even tones.

“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.”

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“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?”

“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.
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But he surmised, from the general appearance of the letter, as well as its wording, that it had been written by somebody who had been in the gang, and had left it with a feeling of being illtreated. So he felt that he could not afford to throw it aside without investigation.

When he reached the hotel, and, with his heavy, bullion-trimmed sombrero in his hand, went up in the elevator to the ballroom floor, he found that the gathering was likely to be a large and gay one.

One of the features of the main ballroom of the Hotel Supremacy is the ring of private boxes overlooking the large floor. The boxes are immediately below the open balcony, so that they are shadowed and give plenty of privacy to guests who may desire to see without being observed.

Nick was standing just inside the ballroom, looking over the floor through the eyeholes of his black mask, and trying to determine whether any of the disguised men promenading or dancing were likely to be his counterfeiters, when an attendant touched him on the elbow, and whispered:

“This way, sir!”

It was one of the rules of Nick Carter to follow any lead that might be thrown out to him, just to see where it would take him. Also, he never permitted himself to show surprise.

He turned to the uniformed attaché and calmly surveyed him, ere he answered quietly, and in a tone very much unlike that of his natural voice:

“All right! Go ahead!”

Without a word, the attendant preceded him to the wide, carpeted staircase leading to the corridor at the back of the private boxes. He stopped at number thirty-six, which was painted on the box door in gilt figures.

Nick Carter took his seat in the box, and leaning his strong chin on his hand, watched with interest the moving throng on the floor below.

“I don’t believe Martin or any of the gang are here,” muttered Nick, after half an hour’s steady contemplation of the promenaders and dancers. “He’s heard that I’ll be here, and he’s keeping dark still. Well, I’ll get him yet. I shall stay for a couple of hours, anyhow. He and Lawton, or some of the gang, may come later. They’re going to get rid of some of those hundreds to-night, unless that informant of mine is a liar or very badly mistaken.”

There was a little disappointment in Nick Carter’s bosom. This man, Shoreham Martin, was a man who had always covered his tracks successfully. At the same time, there was little doubt on the part of Nick Carter that he was the prime mover in one of the most audacious and successful counterfeiting organizations in America.

“If I don’t get Martin to-night, it will only be putting off the happy day,” continued Nick, to himself. “I have that comfort for my soul.”

A soft tap-tap at the door made him swing around and look into the gloom at the back of the box.

The tapping was repeated, and Nick got up and opened the door.

A slender girl, in the black-spangled robes of a “Queen of Night,” stepped inside and closed the door.

She was masked, but Nick could see a beautiful chin and white temples, which satisfied him the “Queen” was young. Probably, also, attractive of face.

“I beg pardon——” he began.
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“Hush!”

She held up a finger for silence and motioned toward the curtains at the front of the box.

“Draw them together, quick!” she whispered.

Nick Carter had not the slightest idea what this was all about. But the mystery of it appealed to his love of adventure, and he closed the curtains at once.

“Be careful, Marcos,” went on the girl, in a tense, hushed voice. “They know you are here.”

“The deuce they do!” thought the detective.

“I have had a warning,” she continued. “They are going to send you up something to drink. But you must not take any of it.”

Nick Carter stared down at the masked face, and noted the general poise of the slight figure with admiration. Mingled with it was perplexity.

“I am sure you are making a mistake,” he told her. “Who do you think I am?”

“Don’t be foolish!” she rejoined impatiently. “I tell you there is danger. I told you not to come here. But you insisted. Now see what has happened. Don Solado and Miguel have recognized you already.”

A loud knock came at the door. The girl leaped away, and her eyes shone through the slits in her mask like half-hidden incandescent lights.

“There! I told you!” she gasped. “Where can I hide?”

In a corner of the dark box Nick Carter’s voluminous light overcoat hung on a peg. The girl slipped behind the coat and was completely hidden. Unless some one should come and make a thorough search, there was no fear of her being discovered.

“I don’t know who Marcos is,” thought Nick. “But it seems as if I am to assume his name for the present. So here goes. I need a little excitement, to make up for my disappointment over Martin.”

When he swung open the door, all he saw was a liveried attendant, with a silver salver. On it was a small coffeepot, with sugar, cream, and a cup and saucer.

“Who ordered that?” demanded Nick.

“I have been sent to ask if you would like a cup of coffee, your highness,” said the man imperturbably.

The attachés of the Hotel Supremacy are used to meeting highnesses, kings, lords, tycoons, viceroys, effendis, and so forth. There is nothing in the way of a title that can disturb them. If the Ahkoond of Swat came along, they might wonder to find that historical personage still alive, but they would announce him as coolly as they would “Mr. Jones, of Penn Yan.”

“I’m a ‘highness,’ am I?” thought Nick. “Marcos must be somebody worth representing, anyhow.”

He made a sign for the man to put the tray on the small table that was part of the furniture of the box.

When he had gone out and the door had closed, the girl came out from behind the overcoat, and put her hand on Nick’s arm just as he was reaching for the coffeepot.

“You don’t believe me?” she protested, with a catch in her voice that showed she was hurt. “I tell you I saw Solado whispering to that man who brought in the coffee, and Solado gave him a yellowback bill. That coffee is drugged. They are going to prevent your getting out of New York somehow.”

“Even if they have to dope me?” smiled Nick Carter. “Well, I assure you I had no intention of drinking that
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coffee. It is not my habit to eat or drink anything that comes to me with so much mystery.”

“There is no mystery in it to me,” she rejoined. “I know those men, and so ought you, Marcos—I mean, your highness.”

Nick Carter laughed softly, as he put his hand to his mask.

“You will insist that I am somebody else,” he said. “The best thing I can do is to let you see my face.”

The black satin mask was off with one twitch, and the girl gazed at him steadily for several moments. It seemed as if she could hardly believe the evidence of her own vision.

“Well?” queried Nick.

“You are not Prince Marcos. But you are wonderfully like him. You might be twin brothers, except that your eyes are a little darker than his, and your mouth is firmer. But the shape of your face, your expression, and even your voice are almost identical. It’s marvelous!”

She said this in a low voice, as she inspected Nick Carter’s countenance in a way that might have been embarrassing to a less self-possessed person. To him it was only amusing.

“What I can’t understand,” she continued, “is how you come to be in this box, number thirty-six, and why you are in the costume that the other gentleman ordered this afternoon. I know he asked for a Mexican dress, and that the clerk showed him this one—or one like it, for I was with him at the store.”

“I believe I can explain part of the mystery,” returned Nick. “As a matter of fact, this is not my costume. I ordered an entirely different one from Corliston’s——”

“Corliston!” repeated the girl. “Yes, that was the firm we went to.”

“The usher who put me into this box judged me by my dress, I suppose,” smiled Nick. “He had been told to put a Mexican into thirty-six, and he did as he had been instructed. So we can’t blame the man.”

Nick Carter could see that the cheeks of the girl were gradually losing their pallor, as if she had been relieved of some great anxiety.

“Are you sure this coffee is drugged?” he asked.

“There is no doubt about that,” she answered quickly. “There are two men below who have mistaken you for the—for the other gentleman, and they are going to do him injury if they can.”

“Why?”

“That I can’t tell you. But the men are very dangerous. Moreover, if they find out that I have come here to warn you, they will kill me.”

“I hardly think that,” answered Nick Carter. “This is New York. It is not safe to kill people here. Still, some men will take chances. Especially foreigners, and the names you have mentioned have that sort of sound. Did you say Solado and Miguel were watching this box?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. If you will permit me to walk with you, we’ll make a tour of the ballroom and see what we can find out. I give you my word they shan’t kill you while I am with you,” he added, with one of those confident smiles which had given courage to so many persons with whom he had had dealings in the past.

She hesitated, but the detective knew she would do as he had suggested.
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