"I dunno. I didn't look. I couldn't help but see it when I came out, so I took it."
Then the investigators sought out "the boss."
"Did the person who 'phoned give you a name?" inquired Detective Mallory.
"No, I didn't ask for one."
"Was it a man or a woman talking?"
"A man," was the unhesitating reply. "He had a deep, heavy voice."
The investigators trailed away, dismally despondent, toward No. 410 State Street. It was unoccupied; inquiry showed that it had been unoccupied for months. The Supreme Intelligence picked the lock and the investigators walked in, craning their necks. They expected, at the least, to find a thieves' rendezvous. There was nothing but dirt, and dust, and grime. Then the investigators returned to the city. They had found only that the gold plate had been returned, and they knew that when they started.
Hatch went home and sat down with his head in his hands to add up all he didn't know about the affair. It was surprising how much there was of it.
"Dick Herbert either did or didn't go to the ball," he soliloquised. "Something happened to him that evening. He either did or didn't steal the gold plate, and every circumstance indicates that he did—which, of course, he didn't. Dorothy Meredith either was or was not at the ball. The maid's statement shows that she was, yet no one there recognised her—which indicates that she wasn't. She either did or didn't run away with somebody in an automobile. Anyhow, something happened to her, because she's missing. The gold plate is stolen, and the gold plate is back. I know that, thank Heaven! And now, knowing more about this affair than any other single individual, I don't know anything."