1. A Cab Horse in a Barrister's Wig
It began, like most of Dr Fell's adventures, in a bar. It dealt with the reason why a man was found dead on the steps of Traitors' Gate, at the Tower of London, and with the odd headgear of this man in the golf suit. That was the worst part of it. The whole case threatened for a time to become a nightmare of hats.
Abstractly considered, there is nothing very terrifying about a hat. We may pass a shop-window full of them without the slightest qualm. We may even see a policeman's helmet decorating the top of a lamp-post, with no more than an impression that some practical joker is exercising a primitive sense of humour. Young Rampole, when he saw the newspaper, was inclined to grin at the matter as just that.
Chief Inspector Hadley was not so sure.
They were waiting for Dr Fell at Scott's, a tavern in the heart of Piccadilly Circus. Sitting in an alcove with a glass of beer, Rampole studied the chief inspector. He was wondering. He had only arrived from America that morning, and the press of events seemed rather sudden.
He said: `I've often wondered, sir, about Dr Fell. He seems to be all sorts of things.'
The other nodded, smiling faintly. You could not, Rampole felt, help liking the chief inspector of the C.I.D. He was the sort of man who might be described as compact; very neatly dressed, with a military moustache and smooth hair the colour of dull steel. If there was a quality about him you noticed at once, it was a quality of repose, of quiet watchfulness.
`Have you known him long?' Hadley asked.
`As a matter of fact, only since last July.' The American found himself rather startled to remember that. `Good Lord! It seems years! He… well, in a manner of speaking, he introduced me to my wife.'
Hadley nodded. `I know. That would be the Starberth case. He wired me from Lincolnshire, and I sent the men he wanted.'