"I know I am, Bill. That kind of a shoe would make exactly that print. Not such a bad hunch to take a look out here, was it?"
"You're a swell sleuth, Dorothy. Let's see. Now we know there were three in the gang this evening. The chap who played chauffeur and wore sneakers, a woman, and a lame man--probably an Italian."
"Yes. But that doesn't solve the mystery, does it?"
"No, but it helps a lot. How about the tire tracks?"
"Not our car. Daddy uses Silvertowns and those were made by some other kind."
"Goodyears, I should say. How about going in now and telling your father what we've learned?"
"I'd rather not, if you don't mind?"
"Why!"
"Well, you see, Bill, Dad hasn't much confidence in girls' views on what he calls 'the practical side of life'--mine especially. There'll soon be a bunch of detectives on this case. If they find out for themselves, it's O.K. with me--but I shan't tell them."
"You want to work up the case yourself?"