It was a remarkable feature of this business that, notwithstanding all search and investigation in every quarter where there seemed to be any chance of dealing in jewels going on, not a trace of even the smallest of the plundered precious stones ever came to light. Desgrais foamed in fury that even his acumen and skill were powerless to prevent the escape of those scoundrels. Whatever part of the town he happened to be in for the time was let alone, whilst in some other quarter, robbery and murder were lying in wait for their rich prey. Desgrais hit upon the clever idea of setting several facsimiles of himself on foot--various Desgrais, exactly alike in gait, speech, figure, face, &c.; so that his own men could not tell the one of them from the other, or say which was the real Desgrais. Meanwhile he, at the risk of his life, watched alone in the most secret hiding-places, and followed, at a distance, this or the other person who seemed, by the looks of him, to be likely to have jewels about him. But those whom he was watching were unharmed, so that this artifice of his was as well known, to the culprits as everything else seemed to be. Desgrais was in utter despair. One morning he came to President La Regnie, pale, distorted, almost out of his mind. "What is it--what news? Have you come upon the clue?" the President cried to him as he came in. "Ah, Monsieur!" cried Desgrais, stammering in fury, "last night, near the Louvre, the Marquis de la Fare was set upon under my very nose!" "Heaven and earth!" cried La Regnie, overjoyed, "we have got them!"