friends had been marooned recently--walked about with a pocketful
of what he said were diamonds. Now Barcoe Jenks was here.

"I must see you privately, Tom Swift," went on Mr. Jenks, as he
once more tapped on the glass. "Don't waste money buying
diamonds, when you and I can make better ones. Where can I have a
talk with you? I--" Mr. Jenks suddenly looked down the dimly-lighted
street. "They're coming back!" he cried. "I don't want to
be seen. I'll call at your house later to-night--be on the watch
for me--until then--good-by!"

He waved his hand, and was gone in an instant. Tom stood
staring at the glass door. He hardly knew whether to believe it
or not--perhaps it was all a dream.

He pinched himself to make sure that he was awake. Very
substantial flesh met his thumb and finger, and he felt the pain.

"I'm awake all right," he murmured. "But Barcoe Jenks here--and
still talking that nonsense about his manufactured diamonds. I
think he must be crazy. I wonder--"

Once more the lad's musing was interrupted. He heard a murmur
of excited voices outside the store, on the street. Then the door
of the jewelry shop was tried. Mr. Track's face was pressed
against the glass.

"Open the door! Let me in, Tom!" he called. "I've caught the
thief," and as the lad unlocked the portal he saw that the
jeweler held by the arm a ragged lad. "Ah; you scoundrel! I've