Suppose someone had come to Sherlock Holmes
and said, 'Mr. Holmes, here's a case for you. When is my wife's
birthday?' Wouldn't that have given Sherlock a jolt? However, I know
enough about the game to understand that a fellow can't shoot off his
deductive theories unless you start him with a clue, so rouse yourself
out of that pop-eyed trance and come across with two or three. For
instance, can't you remember the last time she had a birthday? What
sort of weather was it? That might fix the month."
Bobbie shook his head.
"It was just ordinary weather, as near as I can recollect."
"Warm?"
"Warmish."
"Or cold?"
"Well, fairly cold, perhaps. I can't remember."
I ordered two more of the same. They seemed indicated in the Young
Detective's Manual. "You're a great help, Bobbie," I said. "An
invaluable assistant. One of those indispensable adjuncts without
which no home is complete."
Bobbie seemed to be thinking.
"I've got it," he said suddenly. "Look here. I gave her a present on
her last birthday. All we have to do is to go to the shop, hunt up the
date when it was bought, and the thing's done."
"Absolutely. What did you give her?"
He sagged.
"I can't remember," he said.
Getting ideas is like golf. Some days you're right off, others it's
as easy as falling off a log. I don't suppose dear old Bobbie had ever
had two ideas in the same morning before in his life; but now he did
it without an effort.
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