“What’s Cartier’s?” Gibbs inquired.
“The biggest jewelry shop in Paris. Harlow’s our secret agent there. His cable said that an American named Steven Denby had bought a pearl necklace there for a million francs. That’s two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Gee!” Gibbs cried, duly impressed by such a sum, “But who’s Steven Denby? Some new millionaire? I never heard of him.”
“Neither did I,” Duncan told him; “and we can’t find out anything about him and that’s what makes us so suspicious. You ought to be able to get some dope on a man who can fling two hundred thousand dollars away on a string of pearls.”
Gibbs’ professional interest was aroused. “Did he slip it by the Customs, then?”
“He hasn’t landed yet,” Duncan answered. “He’s on the Mauretania.”
“Why, she’s about due,” Gibbs cried.
“I know,” Duncan retorted, “I’ve just had Ford on the ’phone about it. This fellow Denby is traveling with Montague Vaughan—son of the big banker—and Mrs. Michael Harrington.”
“You mean the Mrs. Michael Harrington?” Gibbs demanded eagerly.
“Sure,” Duncan exclaimed, “there’s only one.”