The doctor, his hands resting upon his knees, was rapidly drumming with his fingers.
"And—did he cultivate them?"
"Two only proved successful. One is on the point of blooming—if it is not blooming already. He calls it the 'Mystery.'"
At that, the doctor's excitement overcame him. Suddenly leaning out of the window, he shouted to the chauffeur:
"Quicker! Quicker! Never mind risks. Keep on top speed!"
"What is it, sir?" cried his son. "Heavens! what is it?"
"Did you say that it might have bloomed, Rob?"
"Myra"—Robert Cairn swallowed noisily—"told me three days ago that it was expected to bloom before the end of the week."
"What is it like?"
"A thing four feet high, with huge egg-shaped buds."