Piddie forgets to mention the shiny frock coat and the forty-four-inch waist line; but for all that I spots him the minute he hits the brass gate, which he does about ten minutes before closin' time. "Dr. Bingstetter?" says I cautious. "I am he," is the answer. "S-s-s-s-sh!" says I, puttin' a forefinger to my lips warnin'. "S-s-s-s-sh!" echoes the Doc, tiptoein' through the gate. Then up comes Piddie, walkin' on his toes too, and the three of us does a footpad sneak into Old Hickory's office. There wa'n't any wild call for me to stay as I knows of; but as long as no one threw me out I thought I'd stick around. I must say too the Doc looked and acted the part. First off he sits there blinkin' wise behind his glasses, and not a sign on his big, heavy face as he listens to all Piddie and Mr. Ellins can tell him about the case. Also when he starts askin' questions on his own hook he makes a noise like a mighty intellect changin' gears. "M-m-m-m!" says he, pursin' up his lips and studyin' the bouquet thoughtful. "Six ox-eyed daisies, four sprays of goldenrod, and three marshmallow blooms,--thirteen in all. And this is the fourth bunch. Now, the others, Mr. Ellins, they were not precisely like this one, were they?" "Blessed if I know!" says Old Hickory. "No, come to think of it, they were all different." "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----" "S-s-s-sh!" breaks in the Doc, holdin' up a warnin' hand. "It is coming. I am working outward from the primal fact toward the objective. It is evolving, taking on definite proportions, assuming shape." "Well, what's the result?" demands the boss, hitchin' restless in his chair.