CHAPTER II

PULLING A SLEUTH STUNT

Trust Piddie for workin' up wild suspicions. Say, he can't find a stray sheet of scribblin' paper on the floor without pouncin' sleuthy on it and tryin' to puzzle out the hidden meanin'.

So when I get the buzzer call to Old Hickory's private office and finds him and the main stem waitin' in solemn conclave there, I guesses right off that Piddie's dug up a new one that he hopes to nail me with. Just now he's holdin' a little bunch of wilted field flowers in one hand, and as I range up by the desk he shoots over the accusin' glance.

"Boy," says he, "do you know anything about these?"

"Why, sure," says I. "They're pickled pigs' feet, ain't they?"

"No impudence, now!" says he. "Where did they come from?"

"Off'm Grant's Tomb, if I must guess," says I. "Anyway, I wouldn't think they was picked in the Subway."

And at this Old Hickory sniffs impatient. "That is quite enough comic diversion, young man!" he puts in. "Do you or don't you know anything about how those things happened to get on my desk?"

"Me?" says I. "Why, I never saw 'em before! What's the dope?"

"Huh!" he grunts. "I didn't think this was any of your nonsense: too tame. And I suppose you might as well know what's afoot. Tell him, Mr. Piddie."

Did you ever see a pinhead but what just dotes on springin' a sensation? Piddie fairly gloats over unloadin' it. "This," says he, holdin' up the wilted bunch, "is the unaccountable. For the fourth time flowers of this description have been mysteriously left on Mr.

Ellins' desk. It is not done after hours, or during the night; but in broad day, sometimes when Mr. Ellins is sitting just where he is now, and by a hand unseen. Watch has been kept, yet no one has been detected; and, as you know, only a few persons have free access here.

Still the thing continues. At regular periods these absurd bouquets appear on this desk, seemingly from nowhere at all. Hence this inquiry."

I'd heard Piddie spout a good many times before, but never quite so eloquent, and I expect I was gawpin' at him some dazed and admirin'.

"Well," says Old Hickory, squintin' sharp at me from under his bushy eyebrows, "what have you to offer?"

"It's by me," says I, shruggin' my shoulders.

"Oh, come now!" he goes on. "With that high tension brain of yours, surely you can advance some idea."

"Why," says I, "offhand I should say that some of them mushy lady typists out there might be smugglin' in floral tributes to you, Sir."

Old Hickory grins sarcastic. "Without going into the question of motive," says he, "that suggestion may be worth considering. What say, Mr. Piddie?"

"It might be that Miss Smicks," says Piddie. "She's quite sentimental, Sir, and I've thought at times she----"

"Stop!" roars Old Hickory, almost workin' up a blush. "Mr. Piddie, I am a fat, cross-grained old man, about as attractive personally as a hippopotamus. Great stuttering tadpoles! Can't you think of anything but sappy romance? More likely someone wants a raise."

"Very true, Sir; I hadn't thought of that," chimes in Piddie. "Shall we call them all in, one at a time, Sir, and----"

"And what?" snaps Old Hickory. "Think I'm going to ask all those young women if they've been leaving flowers on my desk?"

"Couldn't you fake up some job for each one," says I, "and when they came in be wearin' the flowers conspicuous, and watch if they----"

"Bah!" breaks in Old Hickory. "What driveling tommyrot! Besides, I don't believe any of them had a hand in this. How could they? Why, I tell you, there wasn't a soul in this room between noon and twelve forty-five to-day; and yet, with me facing that door, these things appear right at my elbow. It--it's getting on my nerves, and, by the seven sizzling sisters, I want to know what it all means!"

"We could have in the detectives," suggests Piddie.

"If it was a bomb or an infernal machine, I might," says Mr. Ellins scornful; "but to trace a few dad-blistered flowers--no, thank you!

It's foolish enough as it stands."

"But there is something behind all this, I'm sure," insists Piddie, "and if you will allow me to do it, I shall send at once for Dr.

Rudolph Bingstetter."

"Who's he?" demands Old Hickory.

"A distinguished scientist who is a friend and neighbor of mine," says Piddie, swellin' up important. "He was formerly a dentist, I believe; but now he devotes himself to research and literature. He writes magazine articles on psychological phenomena, crime mysteries, and so on. Dr. Bingstetter has a wonderful mind, and is often called on to unravel baffling cases. It was only a few months ago that he successfully investigated a haunted house out our way and found----"

"But I'm not accusing ghosts of this," says Old Hickory.

"Of course not, Sir," says Piddie; "but I'm sure Dr. Bingstetter could find out just how those flowers come here. He's an extremely brilliant man, Sir, and I'm quite positive he could----"

"Well, well, send for him, then," says Old Hickory. "Only see that you keep still about it outside there, both of you. I don't care to have the whole office force chattering and snickering over this affair.

Understand?"

You bet we did; for when the boss gets real peevish about anything it's not safe to get your signals mixed! I stands guard on the 'phone booth while Piddie was sendin' the message, and for once we plots away together real chummy.

"He's coming right over this afternoon," whispers Piddie, as he slides out of the booth. "You're to take him directly into Mr. Ellins'

office,--a large, impressive looking man, you know, with a full round face and wearing eye-gla.s.ses."

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 bra.s.s 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 gla.s.ses, 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 n.o.ble 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.