“Say, now, what started you on to that yarn? I crossed by the _Olympic_, but there was no one else of that name aboard.” “Nevertheless a Mrs. Chauncey S. Root, who had just crossed by the _Olympic_, turned up at the Savoy Hotel on the day the ship reached Liverpool, and put through a fraud on a man in London to the tune of £3000. I know, madam, it was not you, but I have to get some proof of it that will convince my superiors.” With little ejaculations of interest and astonishment the lady arose, and unlocking a despatch case, took from it a book. “You can have that passport right now,” she declared. “You have interested me quite a lot. Start right in and tell me the story.” French examined the document, and as he did so his last doubt vanished. The lady before him was Mrs. Root. Mrs. X remained—Mrs. X. Asking her to keep the story to herself, he told her in considerable detail all that he knew of Mr. Williams’s mysterious visitor, continuing: “Now, Mrs. Root, you will see where I want your help. Some one has impersonated you, some one who more than probably crossed with you from New York. I want you to think whom it might have been. Here’s a copy of the passenger list. Please take your time, and go over the people you met on the trip. Eliminate those you are sure of, and put a mark opposite the others. You follow what I mean?” “I follow you all right, but it isn’t as easy as you seem to think. I couldn’t remember all the people I came across between New York and London.” “I suppose not. But, after all, the thing isn’t so big as that. Only a very few of the women would fill the bill. First, she must be roughly of your height and your figure—not very like, of course, but approximately. You need not mind her colouring, for she could make that up—except her eyes; her eyes are a light golden brown. Can you remember any one with eyes like that?” The lady shook her head, and French went on: “Then she must be a clever woman; clever and courageous and determined, and something of an actress also. She must be all those things to have carried such a deal off successfully.” French paused to allow his words to sink in, then continued once more: “And she knows quite a lot about you. Not only has she observed your appearance, but she would obviously try to find out all she could about you, so that she might answer questions she might be asked. Do none of these points bring any one to your mind? Please, Mrs. Root, try to help me. If you cannot give me some ideas I may as well confess I don’t know where to turn next.” “Well, I’ll do what I can, but I don’t see any light so far.” She crossed the room and once more hunted through the despatch case. “Here are some pictures I took with my kodak. Maybe they’ll suggest some one.”