OR, “SALTED” FOR A MILLION BY NICHOLAS CARTER AUTHOR OF “In the Gloom of Night,” “The Ruby Pin,” “A Scientific Forger,” “Trapped in His Own Net,” “A Mysterious Graft,” etc. [Illustration: S AND S NOVELS] NEW YORK STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS 238 WILLIAM STREET Copyright, 1905 By STREET & SMITH A Cigarette Clew A CIGARETTE CLEW. CHAPTER I. WANTED: TWO MEN. “Well, Chick, it’s good to strike little old New York again.” Nick Carter jumped down from the railroad car and shook himself like a huge dog as his feet touched the stone flagging of the Grand Central Station. “You’re not more glad to see New York than New York is to see you,” piped a shrill voice, and Patsy, Nick’s younger assistant, darted forward to greet his chief and Chick, who were elbowing their way through the crowd on the arrival platform. The great detective had been out West on a puzzling case in which he had to run to earth a combination of Montana swindlers. Nick and his chief assistant had done splendid work, but there were still two members of the swindling gang to be accounted for. Patsy’s first question as they jumped into a cab was: “What’s the latest from Montana?” “We landed all of the crooks but two,” said Nick. “They took fright a month ago when they heard we were to take the case and it has been reported that they have come East. In that case, Patsy, you may have a chance to bag the men who slipped through my hands.” “Nothing would please me better,” was Patsy’s retort, and Nick laughed at the boy’s eagerness. “I bet Patsy will strike the fellows before you can say Jack Robinson,” put in Chick, with a grin. “You win your bet,” said Patsy, coolly. “I think I can put you on the trail of at least one of the men you want. The other fellow will have to stand till I look around a little.” “What!” “What!” The word leaped from the lips of both Nick and Chick. It was Patsy’s turn to grin now. “When you boys stop jollying,” he said, “we will get down to business.” “See here, Patsy, you’ve got news,” cried Nick. “Out with it.” “Well, the truth is I have just come from an interview with a man who is trying to get back his senses after a cold plunge in the Sound. The cold plunge was not of his own choosing. He was thrown in at midnight, and the man who flung him in was a Westerner. Now are you interested?” “But there are more Westerners than one in the world,” objected Nick. “Yes, but this one was called Yasmar.” “Singular name for a Westerner; but that don’t help us any. The man we want is a fellow called Ramsay.”