Whiteside stared, then laughed.
"That curious," he said. "We seem to see nothing but daffodils in this murder!"
The big bed to which Tarling walked was smothered with great feathery bells that danced and swayed in the light spring breezes.
"Humph!" said Tarling. "Do you know anything about daffodils, Whiteside?"
Whiteside shook his head with a laugh.
"All daffodils are daffodils to me. Is there any difference in them? I suppose there must be."
Tarling nodded.
"These are known as Golden Spurs," he said, "a kind which is very common in England. The daffodils in Miss Rider's flat are the variety known as the Emperor."
"Well?" said Whiteside.
"Well," said the other slowly, "the daffodils I saw this morning which were found on Lyne's chest were Golden Spurs."