"Ah, I thought so!" says the Doc, sort of suckin' in his breath
satisfied. "Now, just what flowers did the first one contain, I should
like to know."

"Why, hang it all, man, I can't remember!" says Old Hickory. "I threw
the things into the waste basket."

"Ah, that was careless, very careless," says the Doc. "It would have
helped. One ought to cultivate, Mr. Ellins, the habit of accurately
observing small details. However, we shall see what can be done with
this," and once more he puckers his lips, furrows up his noble brow,
and gazes steady at floral exhibit No. 4, turnin' it round slow between
his fat fingers and almost goin' into a trance over it.

"Hadn't you better take a look around the offices," suggests Old
Hickory, "examine the doors, and so on?"

"No, no!" says Bingstetter, wavin' away the interruption. "No bypaths.
The trained mind rejects everything contributory, subordinate. It
refuses to be led off into a maze of unsupported conjecture. It seeks
only the vital, primogenitive fact, the hidden truth at the heart of
things. And that is all here--here!"

Piddie leans forward for another look at the flowers, and wags his head
solemn, I edges around for a closer view myself, and Old Hickory stares
puzzled.

"You don't mean to say," says he, "that just by gazing at a few flowers
you can----"