With an exclamation, Mr. Track gave a hasty glance toward his
big show window. Tom looked up, and saw a man's face peering in.
At the sight of it, he, too, uttered a cry of surprise.

The next instant the man outside knocked on the glass,
apparently with a piece of metal, making a sharp sound. As soon
as he heard it, the jeweler once more sprang from behind the
showcase, and leaped for the door crying:

"There's the thief! He's trying to cut a hole through my show
window and reach in and get something! It's an old trick. I'll
get the police! Tom, you stay here on guard!" and before the lad
could utter a protest, the jeweler had opened the door, and was
speeding down the street in the gathering darkness.

Tom stared about him in some bewilderment. He was left alone in
charge of a very valuable stock of jewelry, the owner of which
was racing after a supposed thief, crying:

"Police! Help! Thieves! Stop him, somebody!"

"This is a queer go," mused Tom. "I wonder who that man was? He
looked like somebody I know, and yet I can't seem to place his
face. I wonder if he was trying to rob the placer Maybe there's
another one--a confederate--around here."

This thought rather alarmed Tom, so he went to the door, and
looked up and down the street. He could see no suspicious
characters, but in the direction in which the jeweler was running