TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS
or The Secret of Phantom Mountain
By Victor Appleton
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I A SUSPICIOUS JEWELER
II A MIDNIGHT VISIT
III A STRANGE STORY
IV ANDY FOGER GETS A FRIGHT
V A MYSTERIOUS MAN
VI MR. DAMON IS ON HAND
VII MR. PARKER PREDICTS
VIII OFF FOR THE WEST
IX A WARNING BY WIRELESS
X DROPPING THE STOWAWAY
XI A WEARY SEARCH
XII THE GREAT STONE HEAD
XIII ON PHANTOM MOUNTAIN
XIV WARNED BACK
XV THE LANDSLIDE
XVI THE VAST CAVERN
XVII THE PHANTOM CAPTURED
XVIII BILL RENSHAW WILL HELP
XIX IN THE SECRET CAVE
XX MAKING THE DIAMONDS
XXI FLASHING GEMS
XXII PRISONERS
XXIII BROKEN BONDS
XXIV IN GREAT PERIL
XXV THE MOUNTAIN SHATTERED--CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I--A SUSPICIOUS JEWELER
“Well, Tom Swift, I don't believe you will make any mistake if you buy
that diamond,” said the jeweler to a young man who was inspecting a tray
of pins, set with the sparkling stones. “It is of the first water, and
without a flaw.”
“It certainly seems so, Mr. Track. I don't know much about diamonds, and
I'm depending on you. But this one looks to be all right.”
“Is it for yourself, Tom?”
“Er--no--that is, not exactly,” and Tom Swift, the young inventor of
airships and submarines, blushed slightly.
“Ah, I see. It's for your housekeeper, Mrs. Baggert. Well, I think she
would like a pin of this sort. True, it's rather expensive, but--”
“No, it isn't for Mrs. Baggert, Mr. Track,” and Tom seemed a bit
embarrassed.
“No? Well, then, Tom--of course it's none of my affair, except to
sell you a good stone, But if this brooch is for a young lady, I can't
recommend anything nicer. Do you think you will take this; or do you
prefer to look at some others?”
“Oh, I think this will do, Mr. Track. I guess I'll take--”
Tom's words were interrupted by a sudden action on the part of the
jeweler. Mr. Track ran from behind the showcase and hastened toward the
front door.
“Did you see him, Tom?” he cried. “I wonder which way he went?”
“Who?” asked the lad, following the shopkeeper.
“That man. He's been walking up and down in front of my place for the
last ten minutes--ever since you've been in here, in fact, and I don't
like his looks.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing much, except to stare in here as if he was sizing my place up.”
“Sizing it up?”
“Yes. Getting the lay of the land, so he or some confederate could
commit a robbery, maybe.”
“A robbery? Do you think that man was a thief?”
“I don't know that he was, Tom, and yet a jeweler has to be always
on the watch, and that isn't a joke, either, Tom Swift. Swindlers and
thieves are always on the alert for a chance to rob a jewelry store, and
they work many games.”
“I didn't notice any particular man looking in here,” said Tom, who
still held the diamond brooch in his hand.
“Well I did,” went on the jeweler. “I happened to glance out of the
window when you were looking at the pins, and I saw his eyes staring in
here in a suspicious manner. He may have a confederate with him, and,
when you're gone, one may come in, and pretend to want to look at some
diamonds. Then, when I'm showing him some, the other man will enter,
engage my attention, and the first man will slip out with a diamond ring
or pin. It's often done.”
“You seem to have it all worked out, Mr. Track,” observed the lad, with
a smile. “How do you know but what I'm in with a gang of thieves, and
that I'm only pretending to want to buy a diamond pin?”
“Oh, I guess I haven't known you, Tom Swift, ever since you were
big enough to toddle, not to be sure about what you're up to. But I
certainly didn't like the looks of that man. However, let's forget about
him. He seems to have gone down the street, and, after all, perhaps I
was mistaken. Just wait until I show you a few more styles before you
decide. The young lady may like one of these,” and the jeweler went to
another showcase and took out some more trays of brooches.
“What makes you think she's a young lady, Mr. Track?” asked the lad.
“Oh, it's easy guessing, Tom. We jewelers are good readers of character.
I can size up a young fellow coming in here to buy an engagement or a
wedding ring, as soon as he enters the door. I suppose you'll soon be
in the market for one of those, Tom, if all the reports I hear about you
are true--you and a certain Mary Nestor.”
“I--er--I think I don't care for any of these pins,” spoke Tom, quickly,
with a blush. “I like the first lot best. I think I'll take the one I
had in my hand when that man alarmed you. Ha! That's odd! What did I do
with it?”
Tom looked about on the showcase, and glanced down on the floor. He had
mislaid the brooch, but the jeweler, with a laugh, lifted it out of a
tray a moment later.
“I saw you lay it down,” he said. “We jewelers have to be on the watch.
Here it is. I'll just put it in a box, and--”
With an exclamation, Mr. Track gave a hasty glance toward his big show
window. Tom looked up, and saw a man's face peering in. At the sight of
it, he, too, uttered a cry of surprise.
The next instant the man outside knocked on the glass, apparently with
a piece of metal, making a sharp sound. As soon as he heard it, the
jeweler once more sprang from behind the showcase, and leaped for the
door crying:
“There's the thief! He's trying to cut a hole through my show window and
reach in and get something! It's an old trick. I'll get the police! Tom,
you stay here on guard!” and before the lad could utter a protest, the
jeweler had opened the door, and was speeding down the street in the
gathering darkness.
Tom stared about him in some bewilderment. He was left alone in charge
of a very valuable stock of jewelry, the owner of which was racing after
a supposed thief, crying:
“Police! Help! Thieves! Stop him, somebody!”
“This is a queer go,” mused Tom. “I wonder who that man was? He looked
like somebody I know, and yet I can't seem to place his face. I
wonder if he was trying to rob the place? Maybe there's another one--a
confederate--around here.”
This thought rather alarmed Tom, so he went to the door, and looked up
and down the street. He could see no suspicious characters, but in the
direction in which the jeweler was running there was a little throng of
people, following Mr. Track after the man who had knocked on the window.
“I wish I was there, instead of here,” mused the lad. “Still I can't
leave, or a thief might come in. Perhaps that was the game, and one of
the gang is hanging around, hoping the store will be deserted, so he can
enter and take what he likes.”
Tom had read of such cases, and he at once resolved that he would not
only remain in the jewelry shop, but that he would lock the door, which
he at once proceeded to do. Then he breathed easier.
The town of Shopton, in the outskirts of which Tom lived with his
father, and where the scene above narrated took place, was none too well
lighted at night, and the lad had his doubts about the jeweler catching
the oddly-acting man, especially as the latter had a good start.
“But some one may head him off,” reasoned Tom. “Though if they do catch
him, I don't see what they can prove against him. Hello, here I am
carrying this diamond pin around. I might lose it. Guess I'll put it
back on the tray.”
He replaced in the proper receptacle one of the pins he had been
examining when the excitement occurred.
“I wonder if Mary will like that?” he said, softly. “I hope she does.
Perhaps it would be better if she could come here herself and pick out
one--”
Tom's musing was suddenly interrupted by a sharp tattoo on the glass
door of the jewelry shop. With a start, he looked up, to see staring in
on him the face of the man who had been there before--the man of whom
the jeweler was even then in chase.
“Why--why----” stammered Tom.
The man knocked again.
“Tom--Tom Swift!” he called. “Don't you know me?”
“Know you--you?” repeated the lad.
“Yes--don't you remember Earthquake Island--how we were nearly killed
there--don't you remember Mr. Jenks?”
“Mr. Jenks?”
Tom was so startled that he could only repeat words after the strange
man, who was talking to him from outside the glass door.
“Yes, Mr. Jenks,” was the reply. “Mr. Barcoe Jenks, who makes diamonds.
I saw you in the store about to buy a diamond--I wanted to tell you not
to--I'll give you a better diamond than you can buy--I just arrived in
this place--I must have a private talk with you--Come out--I'll share a
wonderful secret with you.”
A flood of memory came to Tom. He did recall the very strange man who
walked around Earthquake Island--where Tom and some friends had been
marooned recently--walked about with a pocketful of what he said were
diamonds. Now Barcoe Jenks was here.
“I must see you privately, Tom Swift,” went on Mr. Jenks, as he once
more tapped on the glass. “Don't waste money buying diamonds, when you
and I can make better ones. 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.