They dropped their burden and rushed at Nick. As if by magic, two more men appeared, and they also rushed forward. They surrounded the detective—and he, taken entirely unawares, startled by the accusation that had been made, was seized by them before he realized what had happened. Then, as the five men lifted their voices in outcries of “Murder!” “Help!” “Police!” and kindred words, Nick Carter’s wit told him what must be the explanation of the scene. He realized that he would be a helpless member of the community indeed if he should be caught there in such a predicament with these five witnesses against him. Instantly he laid about him with his arms and fists. He called into play every ounce of strength that he possessed. He scattered those five men about him as if they were so many straws. He piled them into a heap beside the fallen Turnieff—and then he permitted discretion to control him, and, hearing answering shouts of men approaching, he tore himself loose finally and fled. Under the circumstances, as he now understood them, it was the only thing to do. CHAPTER XXIX. MURDER. All Washington was excited the following morning, anent the murder of Colonel Alexis Turnieff. There were extras of the morning papers on the streets, in which the full particulars were given, and summed up into one paragraph, an epitome of the accounts of the crime was about like this: Turnieff had been one of the guests at the reception given last night by Countess Narnine, at her home in K Street. There had been another guest there who had arrived and departed within less than an hour. That guest had been seen by many persons, but was not personally known to any of them save the countess herself. That he passed under the name of Carter, was admitted, but no first name was given, and the countess asserted that she did not remember it. It was said that the man called Carter had in some way given offense to the countess, although she utterly refused to discuss that point with any person. It was sufficient, however, that she had asked him to leave her house, and a servant had shown the man to the door. Colonel Alexis Turnieff, supposed to have been a witness to the affront offered the countess and avowedly in love with her, although hopelessly so, had followed the stranger from the house. The two had met in the street outside; there had been words and a hand-to-hand struggle. At the end of it, Turnieff had fallen to the pavement, stabbed to the heart, and he had never spoken again. Three men—their names were given—passing along the avenue at the opposite side had seen the beginning and the end of the struggle. At first they had not thought to interfere, but finally had rushed forward, just at the moment when Turnieff had fallen, stabbed to death by the man with whom he had been fighting.