“Yes, Tom I caught him,” the jeweler went on.  “I chased after him, and nabbed him.  It was hard work, too, for I’m not a good runner.  Now, you little rascal, tell me why you tried to rob my store?” and the diamond merchant shook the lad roughly.

“I—­I didn’t try to rob your store,” was the timid answer.

“Well, perhaps you didn’t, exactly, but your confederates did.  Why did you rap on the glass, and why were you staring in so intently?”

“I wasn’t lookin’ in.”

“Well, if it wasn’t you, it was some one just like you.  But why did you run when I raced down the street?”

“I—­I don’t know,” and the lad began to snivel.  “I—­I jest ran—­that’s all—­’cause I see everybody else runnin’, an’ I thought there was a fire.”

“Ha!  That’s a likely story!  You ran because you are guilty!  I’m going to hand you over to the police.”

“Did he get anything, Mr. Track?” asked one of the men who had joined the jeweler in the chase.

“No, I can’t say that he did.  He didn’t get a chance.  Tom Swift was in here at the time.  But this fellow was only waiting for a chance to steal, or else to aid his confederates.”

“But, if he didn’t take anything, I don’t see how you can have him arrested,” went on the man.

“On suspicion; that’s how!” asserted Mr. Track.  “Will some one get me a constable?”

“I wouldn’t call a constable,” said Tom, quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because that isn’t the person who looked in your window.”

“How do you know, Tom?”

“Because that person came back while you were out.  I saw him.”

“You saw him?  Did he try to steal any of my diamonds, Tom?”

“No, I guess he doesn’t need any.”

“Why not?” There was wonder in the jeweler’s tone.

“Why, he claims he can make all he wants.”

“Make diamonds?”

“So he says.”

“Why, he must be crazy!” and Mr. Track laughed.

“Perhaps he is,” admitted Tom, “I’m only telling you what he says.  He’s the person who acted so suspiciously.  He came back here, I’m telling you, while you were running down the street, and spoke to me.”

“Oh, then you know him?” The jeweler’s voice was suspicious.

“I didn’t at first,” admitted Tom.  “But when he said he was Mr. Barcoe Jenks, I remembered that I had met him when I was cast away on Earthquake Island.”

“And he says he can make diamonds?” asked Mr. Track.

“What did he want of you?” and the jeweler looked at Tom, quizzically.

“He wanted to have a talk with me,” replied the lad, “and when he saw me in your store, he tried to attract my attention by knocking on the glass.”

“That’s a queer way to do,” declared Mr. Track.  “What did he want?”

“I don’t know exactly,” answered Tom, not caring to go into details just then.  “But I’m sure, Mr. Track, that you’ve got the wrong person there.  That lad never looked in the window, nor knocked on the glass.”