“Fit that blunted arrow that’s lost just such a bit? I’ll bet you fifty dollars it will!”
“Not the arrow,” said Bernard, “the case!”
“Of course! Why not?”
“Then I don’t agree!” Bernard chuckled. “If that bit of feather fits the arrow it’s—interesting. In neither event does it prove anything!”
Landis looked a bit nettled.
“Would you mind telling me why not, sir?”
“Not at all!” Bernard was inwardly delighted at getting a rise out of his smooth young confrere. “Either Stimson killed Harrison or he did not kill Harrison! If he did not kill Harrison the bit of feather proves nothing. If he did kill Harrison and left that bit of feather in his pocket then he’s a fool. Now, whatever else he is, Stimson is no fool. Therefore, the bit of feather, while interesting in other ways, proves nothing at all. Get the idea?”
Recognizing suddenly that he was being snubbed for asking Bernard a similar question some moments before, Landis nodded reluctantly and then burst out laughing.
“You’re wiping the floor with everybody tonight, including me,” he chuckled. “But I don’t care—if you solve the case, sir!”