Though French was delighted to have learned these facts, they were not in themselves all that he could have wished. The story of the husband in New York might be true, in which case a good deal of the theory he had been building up would fall to the ground. It would, however, be an easy matter to find out whether the lady really did sail on the date in question. He turned back to the servant. “I should like very much to find that friend of yours,” he said. “Could you give me her name and address?” Her name, it appeared, was Susan Scott, but her address was not known. For a moment French was at a loss, then by judicious questions he elicited the facts that Miss Scott spoke like a Londoner, and that she probably patronised one of the several registry offices to be found in the region surrounding the Edgware Road. “Now there is just one other thing,” he added. “Can you tell me the name of the landlord or agents of Crewe Lodge?” The girl was sorry she couldn’t. “Then of this house?” French persisted. “As they are close together, the two places may belong to the same man.” The girl did not know that either, but she said that her master would know, and that he had not yet gone out. French asked for an interview, and on stating his identity, received the information that the agents for both houses were Messrs. Findlater & Hynd, of Cupples Street, behind the Haymarket. Thinking he had got all the information he could, French paid over his five shillings to the maid and took his departure. The next item on his programme was a visit to Mr. Williams, and twenty minutes later he pushed open the door of the office in Cockspur Street. Mr. Williams greeted him with what with him took the place of enthusiasm. “Good-day, Inspector,” he exclaimed, “I’m glad to see you. You bring me some good news, I hope?” French sat down and drew from his pocket the cabinet photograph of Mrs. Vane which he had found in that lady’s sitting-room. “I don’t know, Mr. Williams,” he answered quietly, “whether that will be news to you or not.” Mr. Williams’s eyes flashed with excitement as he saw the portrait. “Bless my soul!” he cried. “Have you found her at last? Mrs. Root!” “That’s what I wanted to ask you. Are you sure it is Mrs. Root?” “Sure? Absolutely positive. At least, that’s the woman who got my three thousand pounds, whatever her name may be. Have you found her?” “Well no,” French admitted. “I’ve not found her yet. But I’m in hopes.” “Tell me about it.” “Unfortunately, there’s not much to tell. I’ve got information to the effect that this woman, the original of the photograph, left for New York last Friday. I don’t know if it’s true. If it is, the American police will get her on the ship.” Mr. Williams pressed for details, but French was reticent. However, before leaving he promised to let the other know the result of his further inquiries.