Nick--for, of course, “Jones” was none other than the detective--gave his assistant two small pieces of Royal Ophir ore. Chick went away, and Nick returned to the workroom, drying his lips on a handkerchief. The ore was being put through a small crusher by the young man who wore the apron and was smoking the cigarette. Cupell watched every move of the young man with eagle-eyed vigilance. “That’s fine enough, Gillman,” said Cupell; “now use your muller.” The “muller” was a heavy, iron roller that worked on the slab. Gillman took the crushed ore, held it on the slab, and then went over it again and again with the roller. This part of the operation took some time, and Gillman smoked three cigarettes. Nick noticed that he never removed a cigarette from his mouth, after once lighting it, until it was smoked almost to the gold tip. When the ashes accumulated, he gave his head a shake and they fell into the ore he was crushing. “You’ll smoke yourself to death, Gillman,” said Cupell. “I expect so,” was the lugubrious answer. “I’ve formed the habit, though, and I can’t break myself.” “I haven’t any patience with a cigarette smoker,” said one of the Boston men, with a shudder. “Give me a cigar, every time,” said the other Boston man. “Oh, I don’t know,” said Nick; “I enjoy a cigarette now and then myself. If Gillman would oblige me with one, I believe I’d keep him company.” “Certainly,” answered Gillman, readily enough. Taking the cigarette box from his pocket, he handed it to Nick. Nick took one of the “paper pipes,” lighted it, and returned the box. A moment later the detective sat down, a little way from the group around the muller-board. When ready to knock the ashes from the cigarette, he brought out a silver match case, emptied it of matches, and carefully deposited the ashes inside. When he had finished the cigarette, Gillman was “quartering down” the sample. The powdered ore was then mixed with fluxes, put into little, earthenware dishes, and shoved into a furnace. When the dishes were drawn from the furnace, there was a drop of bullion in each one. This drop was put into a glass parting flask with nitric acid, the flask was heated, and the gold in the drop of bullion was separated from the other metals. All that then remained was to weigh it. This was done on a pair of scales so finely adjusted that they would weigh a pencil mark on a scrap of paper. In two hours’ time Cupell had signed the assay certificates, and Montgomery and the Boston men were wildly jubilant. The assay ran nine hundred and sixty dollars to the ton! CHAPTER VII. SHIFTING THE RESPONSIBILITY. “There’s a five-foot vein of that rock!” declared Bates, “and it’s a true fissure--which means that it will ‘go down’ and get better with every foot.” “I wonder if I could get a little of that good thing?” Nick inquired. “No, sir, never!” cried Montgomery. “We want it all for ourselves,” said one of the Boston men. “Sure thing,” averred the other.