“And I’ve sent a warning to all jewelers, pawnbrokers and dealers in gems, not to handle La Croix’s gems under penalty of the law.  I’ve offered them a reward for the smuggler’s arrest.  The villain is bound to keep shady now.  He must know the danger he is in.  He’s a very foxy Frenchman,” said Harry.

“I wish I could find out where the woman lives.”

“Nothing easier,” said Harry.

“Don’t you fool yourself.  She won’t confess.”

“I don’t expect she will.”

“Then how am I to find out?”

“You said she was shopping in Twenty-third street?”

“I caught her coming out of Sterns’ store.”

“What’s more likely than that she made some purchases and ordered the things sent home?”

Old King Brady’s face brightened.

He had not thought of her leaving her address.

“Your idea is all right!” he exclaimed.

“Of course it is.  It only has one drawback.”

“And what’s that?”

“She may have given a fictitious name.”

“True.  But she favors the name of Marie Savoy.”

“It wouldn’t do any harm to try asking for it.”

“Come with me and see what we can do.”

They left headquarters and hastened to the big dry goods store.

Going to the delivery department they asked the head clerk if he had anything on his books to be delivered to either Mrs. La Croix or Savoy.

A short search of the record elicited this response: 

“I’ve got twenty yards of dress goods to be delivered to Mrs. M.P.  Savoy.”

“Bought a couple of hours ago?” asked Old King Brady.

“About that.”

“Where are you going to deliver it?”

“At No. 160 Bleecker street.”

“That’s all.”

“Anything wrong about it?”

“No.  It’s paid for, ain’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What time are you going to deliver the parcel?”

“Our wagon ought to reach there about five o’clock.”

Old King Brady thanked him and they departed, leaving the clerk looking very much mystified over their peculiar actions.

The Bradys went to the Bleecker street address and saw that it was one of a row of old-fashioned brick houses with green blinds.

There was an ornamental iron stoop in front, and a furnished room sign hanging in one of the windows.

“Shall we go in?” asked Harry, hesitatingly.

“No.  Wait for the wagon.  We can then see who comes to the door.  I presume they only have furnished rooms here.”

“It’s a poor neighborhood.”

“So much the better for their purpose, perhaps.”

They entered a saloon on the corner and took up a position where they could watch the house over the window screen.

They had not been there long before Harry caught view of two familiar figures coming down the street and called his partner’s attention to them.