As Gertstein pointed out with some bitterness, the marauders had selected their spoil with the most consummate judgment. It was obvious that the raid had been carried through to clean-cut specifications. There were many dainty bits of artistry left, but they were such things as enamels, ivory carvings and the like, which had value only for their craftsmanship, and would be difficult to dispose of intact.

Nor was there evident any indication of the manner in which entry to the house had been gained, or the method by which the thieves had left. The windows and doors were unmarked. Not a bolt or lock had been forced. Throughout the night no suspicious noises had been heard, and it was only when in the course of ordinary routine that a maid had entered one of the exhibition rooms, at eleven o’clock in the morning, that the robbery had been discovered.

“Not so much as a blighting fingerprint,” Bill Malone observed, and at the finish of a meticulous examination of the windows, added that it was the smoothest bust that he had ever run across in the course of his carmined career.