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. “Don’t be an ass, Turnieff!” he said. “I am in the humor just now to box somebody’s ears, and yours would serve as well as another’s. What is the matter with you, anyhow? Why did you attack me?” “Release me if you are not a coward!” stormed Turnieff. “I’m not a coward; neither will I release you. Big as you are, Turnieff, you are only a child in my grasp. You must realize that now. Why did you attack me?” “You insulted the countess, you——” “There, there, now! Colonel Turnieff, I have never insulted a woman in my life, much less one who was my hostess. Did she say that I insulted her? Did she tell you that?” “No; but her actions——” “Ah! Her actions. I see. You have no other reason for attacking me than what you saw in the conservatory?” “No; but that was sufficient, heaven knows.” “My dear fellow, you have been misled. The countess was offended, I’ll admit; but it was because I would not do things which no man of honor could do; not because I affronted her in any manner, for I did not. Do you believe me?” “No.” “Turnieff, if I did not feel a certain degree of pity for you, I would chuck you back on the grass and leave you. As it is, I am sorry for you. You have been endeavoring to hate this woman whom you believe killed your father, or caused his death, and instead you are in love with her. You have gone into her presence time after time, deceiving yourself into the idea that you were seeking vengeance, when in reality you were only a moth playing around a flame which, unless you break away, will consume you utterly. Believe me, it is true.” “Release me, I say! Let me go.” “What will you do if I let you go?” “I will strike you in the face to discover if there is any fight in you.”