Upon retiring to his room that night, Mr. Rosenbaum sat for some time in deep abstraction, and when he finally turned off the gas, he murmured,-

“He will produce the jewels all right, and may heaven preserve us both from the hoodoo!”

For the two days next ensuing, Mr. Rosenbaum watched closely the arrivals in the city, but, notwithstanding his vigilance, there slipped in unaware, on the evening of the second day, a quiet, unassuming man, who went to the Windsor Hotel, registering there as “A.  J. Johnson, Chicago.”  At a late hour, while Mr. Rosenbaum, in the solitude of his own room, was perfecting his plans for the following day, Mr. Johnson, who was making a tour of inspection among the leading hotels, sauntered carelessly into the office of the Clifton.  He seemed rather socially inclined, and soon was engaged in conversation with the proprietor and a dozen of the “boys,” all of whom were informed that he was travelling through the West on the lookout for “snaps” in the way of mining investments.  This announcement produced general good feeling, and there were not wanting plenty who offered to take Mr. Johnson around the city on the following day and introduce him to the leading mining men and promoters.

“Much obliged, boys,” said Mr. Johnson, “but there’s no rush.  I expect to meet some friends here in a few days, and till they come I shall simply look around on the q. t., you understand, and make some observations for myself.  And that reminds me, gentlemen,” he added, “do any of you happen to know a man by the name of Mannering, who is interested in mines out here?”

“Mannering?” answered one of the group; “there’s a man by that name has been around here off and on for the last two or three months; but I didn’t know he was interested in mines to any extent, though he seems to have plenty of money.”

“I think that is the man I have in mind; will you describe him?”

“Well, he’s tall, about middle age, rather gray, wears blue glasses, and never has anything to say to anybody; a queer sort of fellow.”

Mr. Johnson nodded, but before he could reply, another in the group remarked, “Oh, that’s the fellow you mean, is it?  I’ve seen him at the Royal Café for the last six weeks, and in all that time he’s never exchanged a dozen words with anybody, till here, the other night, that diamond Dutchman of yours,” addressing the proprietor of the Clifton, “came waltzing in there, and I’ll be hanged if the two didn’t get as confidential over their dinner as two old women over a cup of tea.”

Mr. Johnson turned towards the proprietor with a quiet smile.  “The ‘diamond Dutchman!’ Is he a guest of your house?”

“Mr. Rosenbaum?”

“Yes; do you know him?”

“Not by name, but I think I have seen the gentleman on my travels; engaged in the jewelry business, isn’t he, and carries his advertisements on his shirt-front and fingers?”