."

"Then you bought a diamond of the man who said his name was John David,
did you?"

"I bought two, sir," nodded Pylotte. "They appeared like natural and
very perfect stones when I first examined them, but after subjecting
them to more careful tests, I found them to be the most extraordinary
imitations I ever beheld."

"Artificial diamonds, were they?"

"Yes, artificial. But only the best of experts, and after the most rigid
tests, could discover the fraud. I never saw such imitations. The stones
are really almost as good as natural ones."

"Have you them with you?"

"Yes."

"You feel quite confident that they were manufactured, do you?"

"Oh, I am positive of it," cried Pylotte, with emphasis. "That is why I
was secretly following the swindler."

"You wanted to discover his house, and learn how he made such perfect
imitations, eh? Was that your motive, instead of having him arrested at
the theater?"

"Well, yes, it was," admitted Pylotte, with feigned reluctance.

"Do you know any process for manufacturing diamonds?" Nick next
demanded.

"I am pretty well informed on the subject."

"Quite an art, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"And one that could be made very profitable, perhaps?"

"I judge so."

"Put up your revolver," said Nick, abruptly. "What's that black object
you dropped just now?"

Pylotte glanced down at his feet, then laughed faintly.

"That's odd," said he. "It's a piece of coal. I must have seized it from
the road, thinking to defend myself with it."

"What is there odd in that?"

Pylotte laughed again.

"Diamonds may be made from coal," said he. "The fact that I should have
got hold of a piece in the road here, while tracking that diamond
swindler in search of his house, strikes me as being rather odd."

"So it was," said Nick, a bit dryly, thinking of Venner's house in the
near distance.

Then he added, decisively:

"Put up your gun, Mr. Pylotte. I want you to go with me. I think you are
the very man I want."

"Go with you!" exclaimed Pylotte, drawing back.

"If you please," said Nick, politely. "I want, at least, to hear more of
your story."

"But who are you, sir?"

"My name is Nick Carter."

"Not the celebrated detective?" cried Pylotte, with feigned amazement.

"Precisely."

"That's quite sufficient, Mr. Carter!" the Frenchman now cried, with
much bowing and scraping. "I'll go with you when and where you wish. If
any man can run down these swindling ruffians