The receiver was lying on the top of the phone, and Nick took it down and held it to his ear. “Is this Carter?” called a voice. “Who is this?” queried Nick. “Call me the man from Montana. I’m the pal of poor old Ramsay whom you bagged the other day. I’m the only man left of the Western swindlers, and you want me badly. You’re Nick Carter?” “My name is Nicholas.” “By thunder, you can’t fool me, Mr. Sleuth!” “What do you want?” asked the detective. “Simply wanted to get you into the telephone box. Right here is where you connect with your finish, and----” The words were lost in a sharp report and a crashing of glass. Nick felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, and, as he reeled backward and dropped the receiver, he heard a mocking and triumphant laugh come over the wire. “Great heavens!” he cried; “I’m shot--killed!” The next instant he burst out of the telephone box and fell into the arms of the chief of police, the latter having arrived at the hotel but a moment before. CHAPTER XIX. WARM WORK. “Great guns!” exclaimed the chief. “What has happened, Mr.----” “Call me Nicholas,” hissed Nick, clinging to the chief and with lips close to his ear. “I’m shot!” he cried again. “Some one fired into the telephone box from the court. Help me to my room! Send for a doctor--quick!” There was a great commotion in the hotel office. The clerk, the porters and the bell boys came running to the scene, inquiring excitedly about the shooting. The chief turned Nick over to two of the porters, and he was carried upstairs to his room and laid on the bed. At every step of the upward journey the detective let out a groan of pain. One of the bell boys rushed away for the house physician. The porters lingered in Nick’s room, and so did the clerk, who had accompanied them. “Don’t stay in the room, so many of you,” moaned Nick; “my nerves are all on edge. Where’s the doctor? Isn’t he coming?” The clerk motioned to the porters, who at once withdrew. “The doctor will be here in a minute--ah, here he is now!” The doctor entered hurriedly, hatless and with his medicine case under his arm. “What in Sam Hill is the matter?” he cried. “Man shot, right in the hotel, in broad daylight? Outrageous! Unheard of!” “It’s a fact, nevertheless,” murmured Nick, “and I’ve got it good. Leave me alone with the doctor, please,” he added, turning to the clerk. The clerk went away, closing the door softly behind him. Then Nick sat upon the edge of the bed, a half smile on his face. “Why--why, what are you doing that for?” queried the astounded doctor. “Sh-h-h!” whispered Nick. “The wound is nothing--it simply grazed my shoulder. A piece of court-plaster is all it needs. If you have that with you, doc, you can fix me all right in a jiffy.” “You acted as though you were half killed,” grumbled the doctor.