“Well, of course, there’s but one thing to be done, now,” he said.  “We must get a warrant for this woman’s arrest at once.  We must also get a search warrant and examine her belongings at that private hotel you’ve told us of, Mr. Appleyard.  All that shall be done immediately.  But first I want you to tell me one or two things.  What are those two men you spoke of doing—­the Gaffneys?”

“One of them, the chauffeur, is hanging about the Pompadour,” replied Appleyard.  “The other—­Albert—­has gone down to Cannon Street to see if he can trace the driver of the taxi-cab in which Rayner and Miss Slade drove away from there last night.”

“He’ll do no harm in trying to find that out,” observed the chief.  “But I should like to see him—­I want to ask some questions about the man who joined those two after dinner at Cannon Street last night, and the other man whom he saw them take up near Liverpool Street Station.  Will he keep himself in touch with your warehouse in Gresham Street?”

“Sure to,” answered Appleyard.

“Then just telephone to your people there, and tell them to tell him, if he comes in asking for you, to come along and seek you here,” said the chief.  “I’m afraid I can’t spare either you or Mr. Allerdyke, for your joint information’ll be wanted presently for these warrants, and when we’ve got them I want you to go with me—­both of you—­to the Pompadour.”

“You’re going to search?” asked Allerdyke when Appleyard had gone to the telephone.  “You think you may find something—­there?”

“There’s enough evidence to justify a search,” answered the chief.  “Naturally we want to know all we can.  But I should say that if she’s mixed up with a gang, and if they’ve got those jewels through her—­as seems uncommonly likely—­she’ll have been ready for a start at any minute, and the probability is we’ll find nothing to help us.  The great thing, of course, will be to get hold of the woman herself.  It’s a most unfortunate thing that Albert Gaffney was stopped from following that cab, last night—­I’ve no opinion, Mr. Allerdyke, of your amateur detective as a rule, but from Mr. Appleyard’s account of him, this one seems to have done very well.  If we only knew where those two went—­”

Appleyard presently came back from the telephone with a face alive with fresh news.

“Albert Gaffney’s at the warehouse now,” he announced.  “I’ve just had a word with him.  He found the taxi-cab driver an hour ago, and he got the information he wanted.  And I’m afraid it’s—­nothing!”

“What is it, anyhow?” asked the chief, with a smile.  “Perhaps Albert Gaffney doesn’t know its value.”

“The man drove them, all four, to the corner of Whitechapel Church,” said Appleyard.  “There he set them down, and there he left them.  That’s all.”

“Well, that’s something, anyway,” remarked the chief.  “It carries the thing on another stage.  Now we’ll leave that and attend to our own business.”