Why had she done it, he asked himself as he stood there in thought, at the corner. Was it because when she found she could not make a puppet of him she had resorted to the other extremity? Had she really intended to make a puppet of him, or had she been sincere during those moments in the conservatory? Who could tell? She had appeared sincere enough; but who could tell? What was the detective to do now? It was out of the question that he should return to her house in any guise whatever. Juno read a part of his character well, in realizing that, driven thus from her house, Nick Carter would not return to it under any circumstances—unless, indeed, it were to make an arrest. But it went without saying that he could not go there again as a guest, even in disguise. A detective has to do many things which are not congenial, but he does not have to do ungentlemanly or dishonorable things. This woman had seemed to know that in forcing him out of her house in the manner she had done, she had rid herself of his presence there for good. And to arrest her was out of the question. That could not be done under any circumstances, even if he could provide himself with proof positive that she had gone in person to the house of the ambassador, had entered it with burglarious intent, and had stolen the tin cylinder with its contents. That would constitute a theft, of course; and the breaking and entering would be burglary under the law; but to accuse her, arrest her, or attempt to prosecute her for it, would be to defeat the ends at which his effort was aimed. It would be also to nullify and destroy every effect of the ambassador’s labors for ten years. Another man in Nick Carter’s place in that conservatory might have permitted Juno to twine her arms around his neck, and might have seized her in his arms and embraced her—might have made the most of that opportunity which she offered, and have traded upon that chance to accomplish what he wished to do. Not so Nick Carter. Another man might have gone far in succumbing to her, and might well have considered the case upon which he was engaged well lost—and all the world of self-respect with it—to have won Juno’s love. Not so Nick Carter. Without egotism, he believed that she had been sincere to a certain extent in outlining her longing for content, and in her belief that with such a man as he she might find it; nor could he deny to himself that Juno possessed a powerful attraction for him. But that terrible _if_. If Juno had been different; if circumstances had not been just what they were; if the world had wagged differently. “Bosh!” he ejaculated aloud, and started to move on. Instantly he was conscious that a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and he heard a voice exclaim: “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.