`I had three appointments this afternoon before I came here; two of 'em in the City. Even going to make monthly calls. Call on Lord Tarlotts. Call on my nephew. Call — Never mind. But I couldn't and wouldn't go anywhere, because I hadn't got one. And I was damned if I'd pay three guineas for a third one that swine might… What's he done?' bellowed Sir William, breaking off again. `He's stolen my hat, that's what he's done! And it's the second hat he's stolen from me in three days!'
2. Manuscripts and Murder
Hadley rapped on the table. `A double whisky here,' he said to the waiter. `Now sit down and calm yourself. People think this is a madhouse already… And let me introduce you to some friends of mine.'
`D'ye do?' said the other, grudgingly, and bobbed his head at the introductions. He resumed in his high, argumentative voice as he sat down. `The only reason I came here was because I'd got to see you if I’d had to come without my boots. Ha. No other hat in the house. Just bought two new hats last week — top-hat and Homburg. And Saturday night this maniac pinched the top-hat, and this afternoon he got the Homburg. By God! I won't have it! I tell you — He glared round as the waiter appeared. 'Eli? — Oh, Whisky.' Just a splash.'
Spluttering, he sat back to take a drink, and Rampole studied him. Everybody knew, by hearsay of this man's fiery humours. Jingo newspapers frequently dwelt on his career: how he had begun in a draper's shop at the age of eighteen, become a whip in Parliament at forty-two, managed the armament policy of one Government, and had gone down still battling for a bigger navy in the peace reaction after the war. He had been the prince of jingoes; his speeches were full of reference to Drake, the long-bow, and hurrah for old England; and he still wrote letters vilifying the present Prime Minister. Now Rampole saw a man hardly past his prime at seventy: wiry, vigorous, with a long neck thrust out of his wing collar, and uncannily shrewd blue eyes.
Suddenly Sir William put down his glass and stared at Dr Fell with narrowed eyes. `Excuse me, he said, in his jerky but wonderfully clear fashion, `I didn't catch your name at first. Dr Gideon Fell? — Ah, I thought so. I have been wanting to meet you, I have your work on the history of the supernatural in English fiction. But this damned business about hats…'
Hadley said, brusquely `I think we've heard quite enough about hats, for the, moment. You understand that according to the story you told me we can't take official cognizance of it at the Yard. That's why I've summoned Dr Fell. There's no time to go into it now, but he has helped us before. I am not one of those fools who distrust amateurs. And it is particularly in his line. All the same… '
The chief inspector was troubled. Suddenly he drew a long breath. Evenly he continued:
`Gentlemen, neither am I one of those fools who call themselves thoroughly practical men. A moment ago I said we had heard quite enough about hats; and before I saw Sir William I thought so. But this second theft of his hat has it occurred to you that in some fashion (I do not pretend to understand it) this may relate to the theft of the manuscript?'
`It had occurred to me, of course,' Dr Fell rumbled, beckoning the waiter and pointing to his empty glass, `that the theft of the hats was more than an undergraduate prank. It's quite possible that some scatter-brained chap might want to collect stolen hats a policeman's helmet, a barristers wig, any sort of picturesque headgear he could proudly display to his friends. I noticed the same habit when I was teaching in America, among the students. There it ran to signs and signboards of all kinds to decorate the walls of their rooms.