“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 made the journey. I also rang up the Savoy, and they told me there that she had arrived at the hour she had told me, with trunks bearing Olympic labels. Finally, to make the matter, as I thought, sure, I ’phoned the Southampton police and found out from them that the story of the stolen despatch case was true. It had happened just as Mrs. Root described. When I got all this information I felt absolutely satisfied.”
“I’m not surprised at that, sir,” French admitted. “It would have satisfied most people. You see, it’s quite different with us now, because our suspicions have been aroused. There was nothing in the circumstances of this lady’s call to make you doubt her story. I quite sympathise with you, though I’m afraid that doesn’t help the situation much. . . . But you see now, of course, that none of the information you collected is really conclusive. I have no doubt that there is a Mrs. Chauncey S. Root of Pittsburg who travelled to Europe in the Olympic, and that, generally speaking, she resembles your friend, but I very gravely doubt that she was the lady who negotiated the loan. You see, the real identifications, the passport, the return ticket, on which her name would be inscribed, were missing. Moreover, she refused to allow Mr. Root to be consulted. No, I think we may take it that the woman who came here was not Mrs. Root. But, on the other hand, she must either have been acquainted with Mrs. Root personally or have known a thundering lot about her. How does that strike you, sir?”
“It sounds right, it certainly sounds right, Inspector. I fear it must be as you say. But if so, what chance is there of getting back my money?”
French shook his head.
“I’m afraid the prospects are not very rosy,” he admitted. “But you never know. We’ll try to get our hands on the woman, of course, and we may find she has not spent the money. Now, sir, if there is nothing more than you can tell me, I think I shall get along to the Savoy and to those shops where she paid the cheques.”
Inspector French walked slowly down Cockspur Street, his brain bemused by this unexpected development. The impersonation of Mrs. Root was easy—or, at least, comparatively easy—to understand. He could see that it would present no serious difficulties to a resourceful woman, though the application to the Southampton police was certainly staggering. But what he could not form the slightest idea of was how this woman could possibly have got hold of Mr. Duke’s diamonds. The impersonation must have actually been arranged before the robbery took place, and if this were so, it pointed to a much more far-reaching crime than he had had any conception of. And there must have been more than one in it, too—unless this mysterious woman had actually committed the murder, which he found hard to believe. He smiled with satisfaction as he thought of the vistas of possible information which were opening out before him, and by which he might hope to retrieve the loss of prestige which he had suffered.
Suddenly he thought of Miss Duke. Was there a connection between her and this mysterious woman? Was Mrs. Root the woman in the waterproof? Was she Miss Duke herself? Here were far-reaching questions. As he considered them, he saw that his work for the next few days was cut out for him.
CHAPTER X
SOME PAIRS OF BLANKETS
During Inspector French’s brief lunch hour he continued turning over in his mind the immediate problem which Mr. Williams’s story had raised for him, namely, at what point he had best attack his new inquiry.