We hurried to catch a cab so that we could get to the FBI Lab before Stephen's friend had to leave for the evening.  Taxis were somewhat scarce in Washington on this particular night, but eventually we were able to hail one.  As we rode to the Lab, Stephen seemed to be more full of himself than usual.  He was chatting on and on about a wide variety of subjects and he didn't hesitate to enter into a somewhat comical conversation with the cabby.  I say somewhat comical, because the cabby was obviously from the Deep South.  He had such a drawl that it was extremely difficult to understand a word he said.  Too, Stephen so rarely engages in idle chatter that it just seemed uncharacteristic to hear him bantering about, of all things, sports.  If there's anything I know about Stephen, it's that he wouldn't care about a sporting event even if those involved were playing for the possession of the state of Ohio.  It's just not his style.  Stephen Powers is more the symphony and broadway theater type.  He enjoys concerts in the park and soothing violin concertos.  Sports?  Something was wrong but I couldn't put my finger on it.

    Finally, after continued mindless conversation, which I refuse to even attempt to recall, we arrived at the FBI Lab.

    "Thank you so much for the ride," Stephen said to the cabby as he paid the bill.  "It certainly was fun chatting with you.  Have a good evening!"

    "Thanks," the cabby replied as Stephen waived at him to keep the change.  "Good luck with the FBI."

    "Nice chap," Stephen uttered as we entered the building.  "You didn't seem very interested in conversing with him, did you?"

    "Oh, just my mood, I guess.  Don't pay any mind."  I replied.

    "We stopped at the Security Desk.  There, of course, we had to identify ourselves, have our belongings searched, walk through a metal detector, put on those stupid tags that scream out to everyone "VISITOR".  Then we waited for Stephen's friend, Bob, to come get us.

    "Stephen, you old goat you.  How the heck are you?"

    "Actually, very well Bob.  This is my good friend and colleague, Jimmy."

    "Hiya, Jim, pleasure to meet you," Bob stated.  Turning away from us he continued, "Okay, guys, follow me.  We'll go down to the lab.  What is it you want me to check out for you, Stephen?"

    "This quill," he replied as he pulled the quill from his inside coat pocket.

    "Gee, must be a pretty important quill for you to have it in an air-lock bag."

    "Well, it might be.  But, Bob, you must promise me you'll keep this under your hat.  If this is the quill I think it is, I don't want anyone finding out - not yet."

    Bob took the quill and placed it under something that looked like an electronic microscope only much, much more complicated.  He centered the quill on the platform, punched a few buttons, then stood away from the machine.  There were a few whirling sounds, like the sound of a computer's hard drive when it operates.  Then after just a few minutes, the sound stopped.

    Bob looked somewhat puzzled at the machine's readout.  "Where did you get this quill, Stephen?"

    "Why do you ask?"

    "Because according to the data, this little item is almost two hundred and fifty years old."

    There was a gleam across Stephen's face.  "Yes!  That's what I thought you would tell me."

    "But," Bob continued, "it has traces of plaster that is probably one hundred years old or so.  Additionally, it has some plaster of paris traces that are only a few months old at best."

    "Sounds like we have the quill we thought we did," I chimed in.

    "Yes, Jimmy, it certainly does.  Guess it's time to pay another visit to our friend at the National Park Service."

    "Anything else I can do for you boys?" questioned Bob.

    "Just accept our thanks and lead us to the door.  You've helped us like you'll never know."

    So Bob guided us back to the entrance and we returned our "Visitor" passes.  As we left the building, I thought for a moment that Stephen was actually skipping down the stairs.  This seemed to be the first glimmer I had seen from him since we began this case.  Perhaps he finally had an idea as to what happened back there in Columbus.

    "How about it, Stephen?"

    "In time, my friend, in time!"

    One of these days, I'm going to tell Stephen how much that phrase gets under my skin.  But, not today.  He was in too good of a mood.