Once in his own room, Nick Carter lighted one of his favorite perfectos, of which he had brought a box with him, and settled down to think over the mystery that had so unexpectedly faced him in a place where he might have supposed he could rest and enjoy a vacation in peace. He smoked in silence for an hour, with the key of Mrs. van Dietrich’s bedroom and the half-burned wax match in his fingers. He examined them alternately through the magnifying glass and tried to build a hypothesis on either one or the other, or both. Suddenly there was a sharp rap at his door. As he opened it, James Mallory stepped inside and stared at him with blinking eyes, while his heavy cheeks, usually beet red, were a yellowish white. “What’s the matter?” demanded Nick Carter sharply. “More trouble!” blurted out Mallory. “It seems as if the foul fiend himself is taking a hand in running this hotel.” “Never mind about that!” interrupted the detective impatiently. “What is the specific trouble now?” “Another of our guests has mysteriously disappeared,” wailed Mallory. “Mr. Harvey L. Drago, the big Wall Street banker.” “Disappeared?” cried Nick Carter. “How? From his bedroom?” “No. From the golf links!” “That so? This is getting interesting,” observed Nick. “Sit down and tell me all about it, Mr. Mallory.” CHAPTER III. LONG-DISTANCE OBSERVATIONS. Accepting the cigar that Nick Carter offered by pushing the box toward him on the table, James Mallory bit off the end in a distracted way, but did not light it. Instead, he used the unlighted cigar to emphasize the points of his narration by waving it about as he talked. “Mr. Drago is one of the most influential men we have,” he began. “He is very wealthy, and he is a free spender. Then he is not old, and he is the sort of man who starts things in a social way and keeps them going afterward. You know how I mean, Mr. Carter?” “Yes. Go on.” “He went out to the golf links early this morning, saying he would be back for luncheon about twelve. He did not come, and we sent a boy over to the links to see why. The caddie says Mr. Drago left the links about eleven. He was going to walk back to the hotel by way of the beach. That is two hours ago. We can’t find the slightest trace of him.” “Strange!” murmured Nick. “It will be ruin for us, Mr. Carter,” declared Mallory. “Can’t you do something?” “You have told me all you know? Isn’t there anything else you’ve discovered which might serve as a clew?” “Not a thing. Mr. Drago walked through the lobby this morning, pleasant, as usual. He spoke to two or three people as he went along. I was one of them, as a matter of fact. He seemed to be in good spirits, and he said he intended to play the whole eighteen holes.” “And that’s the last you saw of him? Was any one else playing this morning?”