"
"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.
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