On With Torchy | Page 7

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-glasses."
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