“Jones is not my real name, Miss Lansing,” said Nick. He had been studying the girl and felt he could trust her. “No?” she asked. “I am Nicholas Carter.” “You don’t tell me! John said he was going to secure your services to look into this mine matter.” “That is what he did, and that is why I am here now. It is also the reason why I ask you to keep from your uncle the knowledge that your brother is alive and well.” “Of course, Mr. Carter, if you desire it, I will say nothing.” “I do desire it. Call me Jones, Miss Lansing, just as though you did not know my real name. If you could continue to act as though depressed and anxious about your brother, whenever you meet your uncle, it would be well.” Her eyes opened very wide, but she did not ask Nick why he desired all this. It was evident that she thought it was all in the line of his duty and that questioning would be out of place. “I will do as you say, Mr. Car--Mr. Jones.” CHAPTER XI. THE CIGARETTE MACHINE. Nick was about to speak on, but his eye caught a flash of something among the papers on the desk. He picked up the object and found that it was a small, nickel-plated instrument used in manufacturing cigarettes. “To whom does this belong?” he inquired. “To uncle Horace. Do you know what it is, Mr. Jones?” Nick ignored the question. “How long has your uncle had it?” “I do not know. I only remember seeing it here during the last two or three days.” “You would have seen it if it had been here before?” “I think so.” “Does your uncle smoke cigarettes?” “What a curious question, Mr. Jones,” smiled the girl. “No, he does not.” “Does your brother John?” “No.” Nick laid the nickel-plated instrument back on the desk. “Was your uncle home last night, Miss Lansing?” “Yes.” “All night?” “He was at his club until midnight.” “Ah! And at what time did he leave this morning?” “About eight o’clock.” Nick looked at his watch. It was five minutes of ten. “Did he say when he would return?” “He said he would not return until late this afternoon. Two gentlemen were to call here this morning, he said, and I was to give them this letter.” She picked up a sealed and addressed envelope that lay on a book on the library table. Nick apparently gave little attention to the letter. “Has your uncle a profession?” he asked, casually, settling back in the comfortable chair. “Not now,” she answered. “What did he do formerly?” “He speculated.” “On the stock market?” “Yes, sir.” “How long since he quit speculating?” “Are you asking me all these questions because----” “Just because I am curious,” Nick smiled. “Detectives are always curious, you know.” “But has this anything to do with the Royal Ophir mine?” “Indirectly.” “Well, it was only a month ago that uncle stopped operating on the stock market.” “Was he generally successful?” “I do not know, Mr. Jones. I think he was.” “Your uncle is wealthy?” “I do not think he is so very wealthy.”