“You noticed nothing in any way suspicious about her manner or actions?”
“Nothing whatever.”
“You say the lodgment was subsequently withdrawn? You might tell me about that.”
“It was withdrawn in the sense that cheques were issued for almost the whole amount. The lady did not herself call again, nor was the account closed. There is still a small balance.”
French nodded.
“Yes, I understood you to say so. Could you let me see the ledger, and also the cheques that were issued?”
In a few seconds the clerk returned with a ponderous tome, which he opened at the name of Mrs. Helen Sadie Root. The account possessed but few items. On the debit side there was but the single entry of £1,500, but on the other side there were six entries, varying from £210 10s. to £295, and totalling £1,495 7s. 9d. Six cancelled cheques corresponded with the entries. As French examined these, he was interested to see that all were made out on fashionable London jewellers.
“Can you lend me these?” he asked, pointing to the cheques.
The clerk hesitated, but Mr. Scarlett intervened.
“Certainly,” he answered readily, “but you will have to give us a receipt for our auditors.”
This was soon arranged, and after French had asked a few more questions, he and Mr. Williams left the bank.
“Now,” he said briskly, before his companion could frame a remark, “I am going round to these six jewellers, but first I want some further information from you. Shall we go back to your office?”
Mr. Williams assented eagerly. He had lost his air of detached precision, and, like a somewhat spoiled child, plied the other with questions as to his probable chances of success. French answered in his usual cheery, optimistic way, and it was not until they were once more seated in Mr. Williams’s sanctum that he dropped his air of fatherly benevolence and became once more the shrewd and competent officer of Scotland Yard.
“In the first place,” he began, as he took out his notebook, “I want your description of the lady. I gather she was a good-looking woman, attractive both in appearance and manner. Did you find her so?”
Mr. Williams hesitated.
“Well, yes, I did,” he admitted, somewhat apologetically, as French thought. “She certainly had a way with her—something different from my usual clients. From her manner I never should have suspected she was other than all right.”
“Most women crooks are attractive looking,” French declared smoothly. “It’s part of their stock in trade. Just let me have as detailed a description of her as you can.”
It seemed she was of middle height, and dark, very dark as to hair and eyelashes, but less so as to eyes. They were rather a golden shade of brown. She had a somewhat retroussé nose, and a tiny mouth set in an oval face, with a complexion of extreme, but healthy, pallor. She wore her hair low over her ears, and her smile revealed an unexpected dimple. Mr. Williams had remarked these details so thoroughly that French smiled inwardly, as he solemnly noted them in his book. The moneylender had not particularly observed what she was wearing, but this did not matter as Mr. Scarlett had, and a detailed description of her dress was already entered up.
“Tell me next, please, Mr. Williams, what identification the lady gave of herself, and what inquiries you made to test her statement. She had lost her passport?”
“Yes, I told you how, or rather I told you what she said about it. She gave me her card, and showed me the envelopes of several letters addressed to her at Pittsburg. She also showed me some photographs of groups in which she appeared which had been taken on board the Olympic, as well as a dinner menu dated for the third day out. She explained that her return ticket had been stolen with the passport, so that she could not let me see it.”
“Not very conclusive, I’m afraid,” French commented. “All that evidence might have been faked.”
“I quite see that, and saw it at the time,” declared the moneylender. “But I did not rest there. I applied to Dashford’s, you know, the private inquiry people. I asked them to cable their agents in Pittsburg for a description of Mrs. Root, and to know if she had left for England on the Olympic. There is the reply.”
He took a paper from a file and handed it across. It was headed, “J. T. Dashford & Co., Private Inquiry Agents,” and read:
“Dear Sir,
“Mrs. Chauncey S. Root.
“In reply to your inquiry of yesterday, we beg to inform you that we have cabled our agents in Pittsburg on the matter in question, and have received the following reply:
“ ‘Chauncey S. Root, partner local steel firm, wealthy, wife handsome, height middle, hair dark, complexion pale, face oval, mouth small, manner bright and attractive. Left for Europe by Olympic. Family OK.’
“We trust this information will meet your requirements.
French whistled thoughtfully.
“That seems right enough,” he said slowly. “I know something about Dashford’s people, and they are reliable enough about a thing like this. It’s beginning to look like impersonation.”
“Ah,” Mr. Williams ejaculated. “Impersonation! I hadn’t thought of that.” He paused in his turn, then continued, “But yet I don’t see how it could be. I didn’t stop with an application to Dashford’s. I rang up the White Star offices, and they told me there that Mrs. Root had actually
