Michael was taking his leave when he suddenly asked:
“I wonder if it would give you too much trouble, Mr. Longvale, to get me a glass of water? My throat is parched.”
With an exclamation of apology, the old man hurried away, leaving Michael in the hall.
Hanging on pegs was the long overcoat of the master of Dower House, and beside it the curly-rimmed beaver and a very prosaic derby hat, which Michael took down the moment the old man’s back was turned. It had been no ruse of his, this demand for a drink, for he was parched. Only Michael had the inquisitiveness of his profession.
The old gentleman returned quickly to find Michael examining the hat.
“Where did this come from?” asked the detective.
“That was the hat the native was wearing when he arrived,” said Mr. Longvale.
“I will take it with me, if you don’t mind,” said Michael after a long silence.
“With all the pleasure in life. Our friend upstairs will not need a hat for a very long time,” he said, with a whimsical little smile.
Michael went back to his car, put the hat carefully beside him, and drove into Chichester; and all the way he was in a state of wonder. For inside the hat were the initials “L. F.” How came the hat of Lawley Foss on the head of the brown man from Borneo?