He peered about on the soiled floor, kicked about among the rubbish, fumbled amongst the ashes of the fireplace. Finally he brushed his hands. ‘They didn’t leave much,’ he said admiringly. ‘Plenty of ink on the floor over there, and a strong smell of it still, but that’s about all. Here’s where the press stood, Sheriff.’ He pointed with a broad-toed shoe at four spots on the worn floor. ‘Those are acid stains yonder, by that window. They moved out last night, I guess. You can see one or two places where the press scraped between here and the door. Must have had plenty of time, or thought they had, for they cleaned up pretty thoroughly. Took even the lamps, didn’t they? Must have had a boat-load! Wonder where they got that boat?’ He looked speculatively at the sheriff. ‘That’s so,’ said the latter. ‘You didn’t see any boat besides your own here last night, did you?’ he asked of Pud. ‘No, sir, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any.’ ‘Humph! Well, this Lank fellow probably fetched himself back in one from the Hole. Don’t seem like they could have got far, rowing, does it?’ ‘Oh, I don’t believe they rowed,’ said the Secret Service man. ‘There are motor-boats about here, aren’t they?’ ‘Yes, but they aren’t much. Still, they might have hired one――or stolen it, for that matter――at the Hole. We might find out if a boat’s missing. They wouldn’t tell us, though, like as not. They’re pretty close-mouthed in there.’ ‘No harm asking, I guess.’ Mr. Kinsey gave a last look about and moved toward the door that gave from the kitchen to the back of the cabin. It was closed, but unlocked, and they all followed him out. There wasn’t much there; a few yellowed bits of paper that told nothing, a scanty woodpile, some old tin cans, a broken-handled shovel, the battered remains of a straw hat. Mr. Kinsey made the circuit of the cabin, passed through it again and went down the short path to the creek. There were plenty of footprints, but he did not, as Pud thought he should have, produce a magnifying-glass and tape-measure and study them in the manner of the detectives of whom Pud had read. Instead he gave them brief and unimpressed attention and went on to the bank where the _Kismet_ had been tied up the night before. Here there were signs of recent activity. The bank was torn and trodden by many steps, and a gash in the edge showed where something heavy had been dragged across. The Secret Service man peered long into the water, shading his eyes, stepping this way and that. ‘Thought I saw something down there,’ he said at last carelessly, ‘but it’s only a snag. Well, that’s all we can do here, Sheriff. We’ve got to get our news somewhere else.’ ‘Didn’t learn a thing, eh?’ asked Sheriff Bowker as they turned back toward the launch.