CHAPTER XVII. NICK CARTER MISCALCULATES. At seven o’clock on the evening of the twenty-fourth the dining room of the Hotel Windermere presented a scene of animation. The big hotel was fairly well filled, and most of its guests, as well as many outsiders, seemed to be on hand. At a table in one of the little alcoves sat a quietly dressed gentleman in evening clothes. A close-clipped, iron-gray mustache adorned his lips, and the hair on his temples was tinged with gray, which contrasted with the deep tan of his hands and neck. He was known in the hotel as Thomas Mortimer, a wealthy traveler and sportsman. From where he sat, Nick—as we may as well call him—could see the table at which Crawford and Stone usually seated themselves. He had been in the hotel constantly, and had kept a sharp watch on Stone’s movements, but the miner’s actions had puzzled him not a little. Several times he had met Stone stalking along the corridor or in the lobby, his brows knitted, and his lips moving as if he were talking to himself. Nick had been too clever to thrust his companionship on the man, and Stone did not even know that “Mortimer” had a room so near to his own. It was not part of the detective’s policy to allow Stone, or the more subtle-minded Follansbee, to have a chance to penetrate his disguise. So far, however, he had not been able to find out anything that was likely to help him in his self-imposed task of guarding the life of Winthrop Crawford. Follansbee had not reappeared at the Windermere, and although there was every possibility that Stone had been holding some sort of communication with the scoundrelly physician, the detective had not been able to discover the means by which he did so. Crawford, on his part, had been busy. Several men had called on him at the hotel, evidently to urge the advantage of certain investments, and one or two had been closeted with the miner for several hours. It was obvious that he was trying to find a safe channel for some of his money, and probably at the same time seek an outlet for his own energies. He was not a man who would be likely to settle down and be content to do nothing. James Stone, however, seemed to be of a different type, or else his insane suspicions of his former partner kept him in a state of mind which prevented him from seeking new business responsibilities. Nick noted that Stone was the first to take his seat at the table. Crawford did not put in an appearance until a few minutes later, and by that time his partner had already finished the first course. The two men exchanged a few monosyllables as the meal went on, and as soon as he had finished, Stone rose with only the curtest of nods to his partner.