jerkily attempting to persuade the viewer that a hundred million years can bewished away with latex and mechanical bones, perhaps one in a dozen of thevisitors might notice a door in the wall behind the monsters. A well-polishedmahogany entrance, it can only be opened with a special key. Once in a while, acurator will emerge from the door and pause for a second, as if slightlyoverwhelmed by the sight of the throng. This is the door which leads away fromthe show of exhibition and into another world: the reality of collections of bonesand shells."In this world, a handful of highly specialized PhDs go about their work, carefullyand without fanfare. It is their life work to study -- and sometimes to add to -- thecollections at the museum, but, even in the face of such diligence, the vast majorityof physical objects lie undisturbed, awaiting a new angle of investigation. That iswhy everything is kept: the pickled fish and the stuffed lizards, hunting trophiesfrom the 19th century, dinosaur bones rapped in yellowed newspapers that give theprice of butter. All is kept -- and so keeps accumulating."I knew that natural history museums kept fossils and other objects in storage,"explains science writer Zimmer, "but I assumed that most of their material was ondisplay, back in the other world. As we walked down long hallways, with drawerafter drawer pressing in on either side, I realized how wrong I was. We could look into rooms as we passed, most of them with cabinets and drawers of their own.Kellner reached out to a hallway drawer and opened it. A hip bone from a dinosaursat inside, knobbed and flared like a Calder sculpture.""Scientists love to show off their collections by pulling drawers open at random,the way Kellner did -- exposing me to an army of flies from Peru neatly pinned toslips of paper, or a flock of lyrebirds lying on their backs as if dozing in a