“H’m, is that so?” thought Nick. “I was right, then, in thinking that he deduced something from this woman’s impulsive words and her sudden collapse. He suspected that I did, also, and he evidently fears that I may learn something from her. Where there is cause for fear, there are grounds for suspicion. He may be the very man, the very hotel guest whom I----” Nick ended his shrewd deductions by glancing quickly around the room. He discovered what he wanted--a telephone on a stand in one corner. “Before I go, Mrs. Clayton, may I trouble you for a glass of water,” he requested carelessly. “Why, yes, certainly,” she replied, rising. “I will get it for you.” “Thank you.” Nick watched her sweep gracefully from the room. Then, quickly stepping to the telephone, he hooded the mouth with his hand and called up his library. Within half a minute he had Chick on the wire, but he spoke only these words: “No time for particulars. Go to the Westgate. Watch Doctor Guelpa.” The answer came instantly: “I’ve got you.” Nick resumed his seat just as Mrs. Clayton was returning through the hall. “It will be better, much better, if she never knows,” he said to himself. CHAPTER VIII. NICK WALKS INTO A NET. It was half past eight that evening when Nick Carter, returning from his interview with Mrs. Clayton, arrived at his Madison Avenue residence. A taxicab was waiting at the curbing in front of the house, and Nick was momentarily surprised when he entered his library. Its only occupant was the visitor who had come in the taxi. “Why, good evening, Clayton,” he said genially. “I was not expecting a call from you so quickly. I am pleased to see you, all the same.” One thought that had instantly arisen in Nick’s mind, however, in view of his talk with Mrs. Clayton, was not reflected in his face. The thought was: “Which one is this? Chester Clayton--or his crook double?” Clayton, as he certainly appeared to be, replied without hesitation, without any observably intent scrutiny of the detective’s face. “I have a reason for calling, Nick,” said he. “Your butler told me that you would probably return during the evening, so I requested the privilege of waiting here.” “Quite right, Clayton, I’m sure.” “He could not tell me, however, where you had gone,” Clayton added, in a way covertly inviting the detective to do so. Nick did not do so, however, but he was quick to observe the insinuating remark and draw a natural conclusion, one that he made doubly sure did not appear in his face. “Well, that’s not strange, Clayton,” he replied, laughing. “I had no definite destination when I went out. Besides, I seldom tell my butler where I am going, unless my mission relates to a case in which my assistants are employed. Then I usually leave word for them, as I would have done this evening, had that been the case.” A momentary gleam, the sinister light of secret relief and satisfaction, showed like a fleeting flash in the depths of his visitor’s eyes.