"Now, Mr. Randolph, how many invitations were issued for the ball?"
"Three or four hundred. It's a big house," Mr. Randolph apologised, "and we tried to do the thing properly."
"How many persons do you suppose actually attended the ball?"
"Oh, I don't know. Three hundred, perhaps."
Detective Mallory thought again.
"It's unquestionably the work of two bold and clever professional crooks," he said at last judicially, and his satellites hung on his words eagerly. "It has every ear-mark of it. They perhaps planned the thing weeks before, and forged invitation-cards, or perhaps stole them—perhaps stole them."
He turned suddenly and pointed an accusing finger at the servant, Curtis.
"Did you notice the handwriting on the card the Burglar gave you?" he demanded.
"No, sir. Not particularly."
"I mean, do you recall if it was different in any way from the handwriting on the other cards?" insisted the Supreme Intelligence.