“Are you going to tell Crawford that you’re coming to the hotel to live?”
Nick shook his head decidedly.
“By no means,” he returned. “Crawford is much too simple-minded a man for that, and is more than likely to give me away. I shall disguise myself to-night before I go there, and you’ll have to hold the fort here while I’m away. Of course, you can communicate with me whenever you have to.”
Chick’s face changed its expression.
“But you’ll give me a chance to take a hand in this affair as soon as the time is ripe, won’t you, chief?” he pleaded. “I didn’t come out with flying colors from our previous bout with Follansbee, and I’d like to get another crack at him.”
The chief was at the door of the study now, and he turned and nodded to his assistant, a slight smile playing about his lips.
“All right!” he answered. “You’ll have a chance, I promise you, if the case shapes up as I anticipate.”
CHAPTER XVII.
NICK CARTER MISCALCULATES.
At seven o’clock on the evening of the twenty-fourth the dining room of the Hotel Windermere presented a scene of animation. The big hotel was fairly well filled, and most of its guests, as well as many outsiders, seemed to be on hand.