On With Torchy | Page 8

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.
"Patience, my dear Sir, patience," says the Doc soothin'. "The
introdeductive method cannot be hurried. It is an exact process,
requiring utmost concentration, until in the fullness of the moment----
Ah, I have it!"
"Eh?" says Old Hickory.
"One moment," says the Doc. "A trifling detail is still missing,--the day
of the week. To-day is Wednesday, is it not? Now, on what day of last
week did you receive a--er--similar token?"
Old Hickory finally reckons up that it must have been last Wednesday.
"And the week before?" goes on the Doc. "The bunch of flowers
appeared then on Wednesday, did it not?"
Yes, he was pretty sure it did.
"Ah!" says Bingstetter, settlin' back in his chair like it was all over,
"then the cumulative character is established. And such exact
recurrence cannot be due to chance. No, it has all been nicely
calculated, carried out with relentless precision. Four Wednesdays, four
floral threats!"
"Threats?" says Mr. Ellins, sittin' up prompt.
"You failed to read them," says the Doc. "That is what comes of
neglecting minor details. But fortunately I came in time to decipher this
one. Observe the fateful number,--thirteen. Note the colors

here,--brown, golden, pink. The pink of the mallow means youth, the
goldenrod stands for hoarded wealth, the brown for age. And all are
bound together by wire grass, which is the tightening snare. A
menacing missive! There will come another on Wednesday next."
"Think so?" says Old Hickory.
"I am positive," says the Doc. "One more. We will allude to it for the
present, if you choose, as the fifth bouquet. And this fifth token will be
red, blood red! Mr. Ellins, you are a marked man!"
"The blazes you say!" snorts Old Hickory. "Well, it won't be the first
time. Who's after me now, though?"
"Five desperate men," says the Doc, countin' 'em off on his fingers.
"Four have given evidence of their subtle daring. The fifth is yet to
appear. He will come on Wednesday next, and then--he will find that
his coming has been anticipated. I shall be here in person. Now, let me
see--there is a room connecting with this? Ah, very well. Have three
policemen in readiness there. I think it can be arranged so that our man
will walk in among them of his own accord. That is all. Give yourself
no uneasiness, Mr. Ellins. For a week you will be undisturbed. Until
then, Sir, au revoir."
With that he bows dignified and motions Piddie to lead the way out. I
slides out too, leavin' Old Hickory sittin' there starin' sort of puzzled
and worried at the wall. And, honest, whether you took any stock in the
Doc's yellow forecast or not, it listens kind of creepy. Course, with him
usin' all that highbrow language, I couldn't exactly follow how he gets
to it; but there's no denyin' that it sounds mighty convincin'.
And yet--well, I can't say just what there was about Bingstetter that got
me leery; but somehow he reminds me of a street faker or a museum
lecturer. And it does seem sort of fishy that, just by gazin' at a bunch of
flowers, he could dope out all this wild tale about five desp'rate men.
Still, there was no gettin'