After she'd gone, Babbitts and I drew up to the stove, cozy and cheerful, with our feet on the edge of it. We'd come to know each other so well now that we'd other topics beside "the case," but that night we worked around to it, me picking at the box of candy Babbitts had brought and rocking lazily as contented as a child.
Babbitts was still keen for that reward. He said to me:
"You had your fingers on it once, and it's my wish that you'll get your whole hand on it next time."
"What a noble character," said I, "calculating for little Molly to get it all! Where do you come in?"
"Oh, don't bother about me," says he. "You've a bad habit of thinking too much where other people come in. You got to quit it—it isn't good business. Now what I want to arrange is for you and me to make an excursion out to the Wayside Arbor some afternoon."
"The Wayside Arbor—what'll we do there?"
"Take a look over the ground. You see, with the process of elimination that's been going on things have narrowed down to the vicinity of the crime. It's my opinion that the murder was not only committed but was planned round there. The police are losing heart and not doing much. As far as I can find out Fowler's detectives—Mills and his crowd—are getting their pay envelopes regular but not getting anything else. Now—just for devilment—let us combine our two giant intellects and see what we can see."
"Haven't they gone over every inch of it?"
"They have—with a fine-tooth comb. But that doesn't prevent us going over it and taking our fine-tooth combs along."
"Isn't Hines under surveillance?"