Of course there would be a loss at every step of the operation. There was first of all a loss in disposing of the jewels. Mr. Stronge had valued them at £3300, and she had received only £3000 from Mr. Williams. She would lose even more heavily if she really had sold the jewellery she bought in Piccadilly and Regent Street, and she had lost a small deposit which she had left in her bank. But in spite of this, her scheme was well worth while. By it she would obtain perhaps seventy to eighty per cent. of the value of the stones, whereas, if she had dealt with one of the recognised fences she would not have received more than from fifteen to twenty per cent. Moreover, her plan was safe. Up to the present she had succeeded in concealing her identity, but application to a fence would have left her either in his power to blackmail, or in that of the intermediary she employed to reach him. No, the plan was clear enough and good enough, too, and in spite of all French’s optimism there remained at the back of his mind the sinking fear that she might yet pull it off. But if this theory were true, it followed that if he could trace these sales he would be furnished with another jumping-off place or places from which to resume his quest of the elusive Mrs. X. His next problem therefore became, had Mrs. X sold the trinkets, and if so, could he trace the sales? He went back to the six jewellers, and obtained a detailed description of the articles bought. Then he returned to the Yard, and with the help of a directory and his knowledge of the City, drew up a list of dealers who might be expected to handle such business. Half a dozen plain-clothes men were then impressed into the service, with orders to call on these persons and find out if any of the articles in question had fallen into their hands. Inspector French had just completed these arrangements when a cable was handed to him. It was in reply to his of the previous night, and read: “Mrs. Chauncey S. Root, Hotel Bellegarde, Mürren, till end of month.” Mürren? That was in Switzerland, wasn’t it? He sent for an atlas and a Continental Bradshaw, and looked it up. Yes, it was in Switzerland; moreover, it was close to where he had already been, past that lake with the marvellous colouring—the Lake of Thun, and so to Interlaken and the far-famed Bernese Oberland, places which he had long desired to visit. It was with more than a little eagerness that he once more ran over his reasons for wanting to see Mrs. Root, and then, satisfied, went to his chief’s room. The great man listened and was convinced, and French, jubilant, went to prepare for his departure on the following evening. On his way to the Yard next morning, he called at the White Star offices and got a copy of the _Olympic’s_ passenger list of the trip in question. The ship, they told him, was in New York, but would be sailing in another three days. She would therefore be due in Southampton on the following Wednesday week.