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 caught you!" cried the diamond
merchant, shaking the small chap, while Tom looked on, more mystified
than ever.

CHAPTER II--A MIDNIGHT VISIT

While Mr. Track, the jeweler, and several citizens, attracted by the
chase after the supposed thief, are crowded into the store, anxious to
hear explanations of the strange affair, I will take the opportunity to
tell you something of Tom Swift, the lad who is to figure in this story.

Many of you have already made his acquaintance, when he has been
speeding about in his airship or fast electric runabout, and to others
we will state that our hero first made his bow to the public in the
book called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle," the initial volume of this
series.

In that story there was related how Tom made the acquaintance of an
odd individual, named Mr. Wakefield Damon, who was continually blessing
himself, some part of his anatomy, or his possessions. Mr. Damon was
riding a motor-cycle, and it started to climb a tree, to his pain and
fright. Afterward Tom purchased the machine, and had many adventures
on it, including a chase after a gang of men who had stolen a valuable
patent model belonging to Mr. Swift.

Mr. Swift, and his son were both inventors. They lived together in a
fine house in the suburbs of Shopton, New York, and with them dwelt Mrs.
Baggert, the housekeeper (for Tom's mother was dead