“No clues,” came the answer. “You see, granting some one of the servants had the ingenuity, the imagination, to cook up this way of doing the killing, he would have taken a hammer and nail from the house stores.” “Didn’t he?” “He did not. I’ve combed over the whole kitchen outfit, pantries, offices, storerooms, cellars, garage and every such place, and I know every nail and hammer in the whole place. And there’s no such nail as that one used to end Sampson Tracy’s life in the whole layout.” “And the hammer?” Moore looked quizzical. “I grant the hammer is less easily identifiable. But I’ve hunted for fingerprints on the hammers and mallets around the premises, and there are no prints on them except the ones legitimately there. This isn’t proof positive, but it’s fairly so, when you take it in connection with the absence of any such nails as we’re searching for, and the unlikelihood of any of the under servants being able to get access to Mr. Tracy’s apartments. Except for Griscom, none of them is allowed in the living rooms at night, and I don’t suspect Griscom—yet.” “Now Ames and the two secretaries were inside the house, but Mrs. Dallas was not,” Moore prompted further disclosures. “Well, like Miss Remsen, Mrs. Dallas’s having a latchkey puts her on an even footing with the people in the house. And I can tell you, anybody with a latchkey could get into that house unheard. I’ve tried it, and the door latch and lock are so slick and so well oiled that they move with absolute silence. Then the thick, soft rugs in the hall and on the stairs are soundproof, and there’s no creaking step anywhere. Of course, all the appointments of that house are perfect, but it’s especially true of the precautions taken to eliminate noise.” “Purposely so?” “I daresay. It may be old Tracy had a special objection to noise and so guarded against it. But that doesn’t matter; the fact remains, anybody could go all over that house without making a sound, if careful enough.” “Then, whether the murderer was a member of the household, or a silent intruder from outside, how did he get away from Mr. Tracy’s suite of rooms, leaving the outer door of the suite locked behind him?” March looked Keeley Moore squarely in the face. “Have you no idea?” he said. “Have you?” countered Moore. “Oh, yes, I have. He went out the window.” “Into the lake?” “Into the lake.” CHAPTER XI EVIDENCE The two women, who were eagerly listening, were, of course, more surprised than were Keeley and I, but they were no more chagrined. I could see Kee’s look of blank astonishment, as he heard March’s assertion and saw the look of conviction on the detective’s face. “Then,” Keeley recovered himself enough to speak coolly, “then, we must look for a master diver, after all.”