French, his usual cheery confidence sadly deflated, hesitatingly admitted that at the moment he was not doing very much, embellishing this in the course of a somewhat painful conversation with the further information that he was doing nothing whatever, and that he was severally up against it and down and out. “I thought so,” the chief declared. “In that case you’ll have time to go and see Williams & Davies, of Cockspur Street, the money-lenders. I have just had a ’phone from them, and they say that some diamonds recently came into their possession which they are told resemble those stolen from Duke & Peabody. You might look into the matter.” It was a rejuvenated French that fifteen minutes later ascended the stairs of Straker House, Cockspur Street, to the office of Messrs. Williams & Davies. Gone was the lassitude and the dejection and the weary brooding look, and instead there was once again the old cheery optimism, the smiling self-confidence, the springy step. He pushed open a swing door, and with an air of fatherly benevolence demanded of a diminutive office boy if Mr. Williams was in. The senior partner was disengaged, and two minutes later French was ushered into a small, rather dark office, in which sat a tall, well-groomed man with graying hair, and a precise, somewhat pedantic manner. “They ’phoned me from the Yard that you were coming across, Inspector,” he announced, when French had introduced himself. “I can only say I hope I have not brought you on a wild goose chase. But the affair should certainly be looked into.” “I have not heard the circumstances yet, sir,” French reminded him. “I shall naturally be glad if you can give me some helpful information.”