Those satellites of the Supreme Police Intelligence of the MetropolitanDistrict who had been taking the Randolph mystery to pieces to see whatmade it tick, lined up in front of Detective Mallory, in his privateoffice, at police headquarters, early Saturday evening. They did notseem happy. The Supreme Intelligence placed his feet on the desk andglowered; that was a part of the job.
"Well, Downey?" he asked.
"I went out to Seven Oaks and got the automobile the Burglar left, asyou instructed," reported Downey. "Then I started out to find its owner,or someone who knew it. It didn't have a number on it, so the job wasn'teasy, but I found the owner all right, all right."
Detective Mallory permitted himself to look interested.
"He lives at Merton, four miles from Seven Oaks," Downey resumed. "Hisname is Blake--William Blake. His auto was in the shed a hundred feet orso from his house on Thursday evening at nine o'clock. It wasn't thereFriday morning."
"Umph!" remarked Detective Mallory.
"There is no question but what Blake told me the truth," Downey went on."To me it seems provable that the Burglar went out from the city toMerton by train, stole the auto and ran it on to Seven Oaks. That's allthere seems to be to it. Blake proved ownership of the machine and Ileft it with him."
The Supreme Intelligence chewed his cigar frantically.
"And the other machine?" he asked.
"I have here a blood-stained cushion, the back of a seat from the car inwhich the Burglar and the Girl escaped," continued Downey in awalk-right-up-ladies-and-gentlemen sort of voice. "I found the car latethis afternoon at a garage in Pleasantville. We knew, of course, that itbelonged to Nelson Sharp, a guest at the masked ball. According to themanager of the garage the car was standing in front of his place thismorning when he arrived to open up. The number had been removed."
Detective Mallory examined the cushion which Downey handed to him.Several dark brown stains told the story--one of the occupants of thecar had been wounded.
"Well, that's something," commented the Supreme Intelligence. "We knownow that when Cunningham fired at least one of the persons in the carwas hit, and we may make our search accordingly. The Burglar and theGirl probably left the car where it was found during the precedingnight."
"It seems so," said Downey. "I shouldn't think they would have dared tokeep it long. Autos of that size and power are too easily traced. Iasked Mr. Sharp to run down and identify the car and he did so. Thestains were new."
The Supreme Intelligence digested that in silence while his satellitesstudied his face, seeking some inkling of the convolutions of thatmarvellous mind.
"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 thewraps were checked. I searched all around the place and found a dent inthe ground under the smoking-room window, where the gold plate had beenthrown, and there were what seemed to be footprints in the grass, but itwas all nothing."
"We can't arrest a dent and footprints," said the Supreme Intelligencecuttingly.
The satellites laughed sadly. It was part of the deference they owed tothe Supreme Intelligence.
"And you, Blanton?" asked Mr. Mallory. "What did you do with the list ofinvited guests?"
"I haven't got a good start yet," responded Blanton hopelessly. "Thereare three hundred and sixty names on the list. I have been able to seepossibly thirty. It's worse than making a city directory. I won't bethrough for a month. Randolph and his wife checked off a large number ofthese whom they knew were there. The others I am looking up as rapidlyas I can."
The detectives sat moodily thoughtful for uncounted minutes. FinallyDetective Mallory broke the silence.
"'The stains were new'"]
"There seems to be no question but that any clew that might have comefrom either of the automobiles is disposed of unless it is the fact thatwe now know one of the thieves was wounded. I readily see how thetheft could have been committed by a man as bold as this fellow. Now wemust concentrate all our efforts to running down the invited guests andlearning just where they were that evening. All of you will have to geton this job and hustle it. We know that the Burglar _did_ present aninvitation-card with a name on it."
The detectives went their respective ways and then Detective Mallorydeigned to receive representatives of the press, among them HutchinsonHatch. Hatch was worried. He knew a whole lot of things, but they didn'tdo him any good. He felt that he could print nothing as it stood, yet hewould not tell the police, because that would give it to everyone else,and he had a picture of how the Supreme Intelligence would tangle it ifhe got hold of it.
"Well, boys," said Detective Mallory smilingly, when the press filed in,"there's nothing to say. Frankly, I will tell you that we have not beenable to learn anything--at least anything that can be given out. Youknow, of course, about the finding of the two automobiles that figuredin the case, and the blood-stained cushion?"
The press nodded collectively.
"Well, that's all there is yet. My men are still at work, but I'm alittle afraid the gold plate will never be found. It has probably beenmelted up. The cleverness of the thieves you can judge for yourself bythe manner in which they handled the automobiles."
And yet Hatch was not surprised when, late that night, PoliceHeadquarters made known the latest sensation. This was a bulletin, basedon a telephone message from Stuyvesant Randolph to the effect that thegold plate had been returned by express to Seven Oaks. This mystifiedthe police beyond description; but official mystification was as nothingto Hatch's state of mind. He knew of the scene in Dick Herbert's roomand remembered Mr. Randolph's threat.
"Then Dick _did_ have the plate," he told himself.