There was more dash about women like Louisa M. or Emily L. The former drove up to Hunt and Roskell’s in her own carriage to look at some bracelets. They were for Lady Campbell, and she was Miss Constance Browne. Her bankers were Messrs. Cocks and Biddulph. Finally she selected bracelets and head ornaments to the value of £2,500, which were to be brought to her house that evening by two assistants from the shop, who accordingly called at the hour named. The door was opened by a page. “Pray walk upstairs.” Miss Browne walks in. “The bracelets? Ah, I will take them up to Lady Campbell, who is confined to her room.” The head assistant demurred a little, but Miss Browne said, “Surely you know my bankers? I mentioned them to-day. Messrs. Hunt and Roskell have surely satisfied themselves?” With that the jewels were taken upstairs. Half an hour passes. One assistant looks at the other. Another half hour. What does it mean? One rings the bell. No answer. The other tries the door. It is locked. Then, all at once discovering the trap, they both throw up the window and call in the police. They are released, but the house is empty. Pursuit, however, is set on foot, and Miss Constance Browne is captured the same night in a second class carriage upon the Great Western Railway, and when searched she was found to have on her a quantity of diamonds, a £100 note, rings and jewelry of all sorts, including the missing bracelets. She had laid her plans well. The house—which was Lady Campbell’s—she had hired furnished, that day, paying down the first instalment of rent. The page she had engaged and fitted with livery also that very day, and the moment he had shown up the jeweller’s men she had sent him to the Strand with a note. Here was cleverness superior to that of Alice Grey.