“I was touched by the man’s appearance, and gave him some money.  He asked for my card, saying he would repay me some day.  I gave it to him, little thinking I would hear from the man again.  But I did.  He called at my apartments about a week later, saying he had secured work as an expert setter of diamonds, and wanted to repay me.  I did not want to take his money, but the fact that such a sorry looking specimen of manhood as he had been when I aided him, was an expert handler of gems interested me.  I talked with the man, and he made a curious statement.

“This man, who gave his name as Enos Folwell, said he knew a place where diamonds could be made, partly in a scientific manner, and partly by the forces of nature.  I laughed at him, but he told me so many details that I began to believe him.  He said he and some other friends of his, who were diamond cutters, had a plant in the midst of the Rocky Mountains, where they had succeeded in making several small, but very perfect diamonds.  They had come to the end of their rope, though, so to speak, because they could not afford to buy the materials needed.  Folwell said that he and his companions had temporarily separated, had left the mountain where they made diamonds, and agreed to meet there later when they had more money with which to purchase materials.  They had all agreed to go out into civilization, and work for enough funds to enable them to go on with their diamond making.

“I hardly knew whether to believe the man or not, but he offered proof.  He had several small, but very perfect diamonds with him, and he gave them to me, to have tested in any way I desired.

“I promised to look into the matter, and, as I was quite wealthy, as, in fact I am now, and if I found that the stones he gave me were real, I said I might invest some money in the plant.”

“Were the diamonds good?” asked Tom, who was beginning to be interested.

“They were—­stones of the first water, though small.  An expert gem merchant, to whom I took them, said he had never seen any diamonds like them, and he wanted to know where I got them.  Of course I did not tell him.

“To make a long story short, I saw Folwell again, told him to communicate with his companions, and to tell them that I would agree to supply the cash needed, if I could share in the diamond making.  To this they agreed, and, after some weeks spent in preparation, a party of us set out for Phantom Mountain.”

“Phantom Mountain?” interrupted Tom.  “Where is it?”

“I don’t know, exactly—­it’s somewhere in the Rockies, but the exact location is a mystery.  That is why I need your help.  You will soon understand the reason.  Well, as I said, myself, Folwell and the others, who were not exactly prepossessing sort of men, started west.  When we got to a small town, called Indian Ridge, near Leadville, Colorado, the men insisted that I must now proceed in secret, and consent to be blindfolded, as they were not yet ready to reveal the secret of the place where they made the diamonds.