"Very good, Downey," said Detective Mallory at last. "Now Cunningham?"
"Nothing," said Cunningham in shame and sorrow. "Nothing."
"Didn't you find anything at all about the premises?"
"Nothing," repeated Cunningham. "The Girl left no wrap at Seven Oaks. None of the servants remembers having seen her in the room where the wraps were checked. I searched all around the place and found a dent in the ground under the smoking-room window, where the gold plate had been thrown, and there were what seemed to be footprints in the grass, but it was all nothing."
"We can't arrest a dent and footprints," said the Supreme Intelligence cuttingly.
The satellites laughed sadly. It was part of the deference they owed to the Supreme Intelligence.
"And you, Blanton?" asked Mr. Mallory. "What did you do with the list of invited guests?"
"I haven't got a good start yet," responded Blanton hopelessly. "There are three hundred and sixty names on the list. I have been able to see possibly thirty. It's worse than making a city directory. I won't be through for a month. Randolph and his wife checked off a large number of these whom they knew were there. The others I am looking up as rapidly as I can."
The detectives sat moodily thoughtful for uncounted minutes. Finally Detective Mallory broke the silence.
