“Yes, if you like. Then put it about a half-inch of molasses and asafoetida——”
A whoop from Fibsy startled the Professor. “What’s the matter?” he cried.
“Matter, Sir! Didn’t you read the accounts of the Trowbridge murder in the papers?”
“Not all of it. I get little time to read the papers,——”
“Well, then, this here bottle o’ stuff—does it smell bad?”
“Oh, the asafoetida is unpleasant, of course, but we get used to that. We next sink this bottle in the ground, up to its neck, and——”
“And you call it a trap!”
“Yes, a trap to catch unwary insects. Not very kind to them, but necessary for the advancement of science. You seem a bright lad, would you care to see some fine specimens of——”
“Oh, sir, not now, but some other day. Oh, thank you fer this spiel about the bugs! But who was the guy what did it? You didn’t telephone Mr. Trowbridge to go after Stephanotises, did you?’”
“Scaphinotus, the name is. No, I didn’t telephone him. I haven’t seen Mr. Trowbridge for years.”