“Admirable. And the quotation is happy, for my fingers were idly wandering (to go on with the old song) over the ‘keys’!”

Mr. Mycroft cocked his old head at me and went on gaily, “And may I add that I am not less pleased that you thought the old man was so shaken that he really didn’t know what he was doing! For that is precisely the impression that I had to give to another pair of eyes watching us from nearby cover. Well, after that little rest and glance about at those sentimental birdy-homes, the breeding boxes, I told you we could go home. And now may I ask you three questions?” I drew myself up and tried to sharpen my wits. “First,” said my examiner, “did you observe anything about the garden generally?”

“Well,” I replied, “I remember you called my attention to the little Nereid who held a spear from which the jet of the small fountain sprang?”

“Yes, that’s true and indeed in every sense of the word, to the point. But did you notice something about—I will give you a clue—the flowers?”

“There were a lot of them!”

“Well, I won’t hold you to that longer. I couldn’t make out myself whether it had any significance. Then in the end I saw the light—yes, the light of the danger signal! Does that help you?”

“No,” I said, “I remain as blind as a bat to your clue.”

“Then, secondly, if the flowers failed to awake your curiosity, what about the birds?”

“Again, a lot of them and I did like that minah bird with its charmingly anaemic hostess voice.”

“No, that was off the trail. I’ll give you another clue—what about the breeding boxes?”

“Well, they’re common enough little things, aren’t they?”

“All right,” he replied with cheerful patience, “now for my last question. When we were coming back do you remember any special incident?”

Then I did perk up. “Yes, of course—the contrast stuck in my mind. After being bathed in all that beauty we passed a dump corner and you got out and hunted for curios in the garbage.”

“And brought back quite a trophy,” said the old hunter as he pulled something out of his pocket, remarking “Exhibit B.”

And then, do you know, my mind suddenly gave a dart—I do things like that every now and then. The thing he had pulled out and placed on the table was only a piece of cellophane or celluloid. It was also of a very crude and common red. It was the color that made my mind take its hop, a hop backwards. “I don’t know what that dirty piece of road-side flotsam means but I now recall something about the garden—there wasn’t a single red flower in it!”