“This is not all,” Nick added. “Take it from me, Chick, we shall find another scrap of veil before going vary far. Since she was thoughtful enough to drop one scrap, and able to accomplish it without being detected, she would not stop with that. We shall, unless I am much mistaken, find others along the road.” “The trail of the blue veil,” cried Chick. “That would show us the way. Let’s hurry on.” Nick Carter needed no urging, and his prediction soon was verified. They had walked only a hundred yards, when they discovered a second piece torn from the veil. An eighth of a mile brought another; and, after the same distance, a fourth. “She was in a motor car,” Nick then said decidedly. “Why do you think so?” “Because of the distance between these bits of evidence. If in a slow-moving vehicle, a hack, or carriage, she could have torn off a fragment more frequently, and stealthily dropped it.” “You are right again,” Chick nodded. “She certainly would have done so, moreover.” “We’ll follow as far as the trail leads, Chick, at all events.” “I’m with you.” “It’s not worth while to turn back for our machine,” Nick added. “We can phone for it from some point, if we find it necessary.” “Sure.” “I still believe, however, that Margate is located within ten or a dozen miles, possibly half that distance. Time is too valuable for us to turn back.” “I agree with you.” “We already have covered more than a mile.” Walking on more rapidly, continuing to find at intervals a scrap torn from the veil, the two detectives had covered nearly four miles at six o’clock, and then they came to a point where the road forked in two directions. “By Jove, here’s a problem,” said Chick, pausing. “Which fork shall we take? Neither road shows which our quarry took.” “I’ll take one, you the other,” said Nick, after a moment. “We’ll follow them until one of us finds another scrap of the veil. That will guide us. Signal me with your revolver when you find a clew. I’ll do the same.” “But suppose I find no more?” questioned Chick. “We’ll continue the pursuit separately,” Nick replied. “We shall know that one of us is on the right road. Follow where it leads, then, and be governed by circumstances.” “Enough said,” Chick readily assented. “That’s the best course, I guess.” “Got any choice?” “Of roads?” “Yes.” “Not a bit, Nick. You say.” “Take the right, then. I’ll follow the left.” “Shake. So long, Nick.” “Good luck, Chick.” They shook hands heartily and separated, striding rapidly away over each of the woodland roads, neither so much as dreaming how soon fate would again bring them together. CHAPTER V. THE NAME ON A SIGN. It was not in the least degree by chance, but by a very remarkably clever bit of detective work, that Nick Carter had succeeded so quickly in picking up the trail of the miscreants by whom Clara Clayton had been abducted.