"Next time why don't you just pay a clinic patient to leave behind a suspicious-looking package," Foreman muttered. He didn't think House would actually go that far--probably because he'd rather not shell out any money in his attempts to rile Cuddy--and if he made the suggestion, then probably House would think it was below his dignity to actually follow through.

He held back his sigh when House downed a pill. It was no surprise that House wasn't about to share information. Foreman could shadow the fellows and ask them what tests they were running, but he'd only be wasting his authority and look incompetent in front of them. He wasn't going to go running to Cuddy, either. Normally--before--he might have asked Wilson to intervene, but that was just another cop out. House needed to know that Foreman wasn't going to take his bullshit.

He shoved back from the table, leaving his coffee, and headed for House's office. None of the files on his desk were recent, and Foreman knew better than to actually check the filing drawer in the credenza. The shelf below the television was empty. He opened the desk drawer and found a chart underneath a mortar and pestle and a half-solved puzzle made out of linked metal rings. Chart in hand, he stepped back into the conference room.

"Not too subtle, House," he said, waving the folder. "You're going to have to find a better hiding place. I already know all the old ones."

Taking his seat again, he opened the folder and started to read.