The First R. Austin Freeman MEGAPACK ®. R. Austin Freeman
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caretaker—is a powerful man, and a good boxer and wrestler. The same thing happened to the wife, who had come down to look for her husband. She walked into the same trap, and was gagged, pinioned, and blindfolded without ever having seen the robber. So the only description that we have of this villain is that furnished by the constable.”
“And the caretaker had no chance of using his truncheon?” said Thorndyke.
“Well, he got in one backhanded blow over his right shoulder, which he thinks caught the burglar in the face; but the fellow caught him by the elbow, and gave his arm such a twist that he dropped the truncheon on the floor.”
“Is the robbery a very extensive one?”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Löwe, “that is just what we cannot say. But I fear it is. It seems that my brother had quite recently drawn out of his bank four thousand pounds in notes and gold. These little transactions are often carried out in cash rather than by cheque”—here I caught a twinkle in Thorndyke’s eye—“and the caretaker says that a few days ago Isaac brought home several parcels, which were put away temporarily in a strong cupboard. He seemed to be very pleased with his new acquisitions, and gave the caretaker to understand that they were of extraordinary rarity and value.
“Now, this cupboard has been cleared out. Not a vestige is left in it but the wrappings of the parcels, so, although nothing else has been touched, it is pretty clear that goods to the value of four thousand pounds have been taken; but when we consider what an excellent buyer my brother is, it becomes highly probable that the actual value of those things is two or three times that amount, or even more. It is a dreadful, dreadful business, and Isaac will hold me responsible for it all.”
“Is there no further clue?” asked Thorndyke. “What about the cab, for instance?”
“Oh, the cab,” groaned Löwe—“that clue failed. The police must have mistaken the number. They telephoned immediately to all the police stations, and a watch was set, with the result that number 72,863 was stopped as it was going home for the night. But it then turned out that the cab had not been off the rank since eleven o’clock, and the driver had been in the shelter all the time with several other men. But there is a clue; I have it here.”
Mr. Löwe’s face brightened for once as he reached out for the bandbox.
“The houses in Howard Street,” he explained, as he untied the fastening, “have small balconies to the first-floor windows at the back. Now, the thief entered by one of these windows, having climbed up a rain-water pipe to the balcony. It was a gusty night, as you will remember, and this morning, as I was leaving the house, the butler next door called to me and gave me this; he had found it lying in the balcony of his house.”
He opened the bandbox with a flourish, and brought forth a rather shabby billycock hat.
“I understand,” said he, “that by examining a hat it is possible to deduce from it, not only the bodily characteristics of the wearer, but also his mental and moral qualities, his state of health, his pecuniary position, his past history, and even his domestic relations and the peculiarities of his place of abode. Am I right in this supposition?”
The ghost of a smile flitted across Thorndyke’s face as he laid the hat upon the remains of the newspaper. “We must not expect too much,” he observed. “Hats, as you know, have a way of changing owners. Your own hat, for instance” (a very spruce, hard felt), “is a new one, I think.”
“Got it last week,” said Mr. Löwe.
“Exactly. It is an expensive hat, by Lincoln and Bennett, and I see you have judiciously written your name in indelible marking-ink on the lining. Now, a new hat suggests a discarded predecessor. What do you do with your old hats?”
“My man has them, but they don’t fit him. I suppose he sells them or gives them away.”
“Very well. Now, a good hat like yours has a long life, and remains serviceable long after it has become shabby; and the probability is that many of your hats pass from owner to owner; from you to the shabby-genteel, and from them to the shabby ungenteel. And it is a fair assumption that there are, at this moment, an appreciable number of tramps and casuals wearing hats by Lincoln and Bennett, marked in indelible ink with the name S. Löwe; and anyone who should examine those hats, as you suggest, might draw some very misleading deductions as to the personal habits of S. Löwe.”
Mr. Marchmont chuckled audibly, and then, remembering the gravity of the occasion, suddenly became portentously solemn.
“So you think that the hat is of no use, after all?” said Mr. Löwe, in a tone of deep disappointment.
“I won’t say that,” replied Thorndyke. “We may learn something from it. Leave it with me, at any rate; but you must let the police know that I have it. They will want to see it, of course.”
“And you will try to get those things, won’t you?” pleaded Löwe.
“I will think over the case. But you understand, or Mr. Marchmont does, that this is hardly in my province. I am a medical jurist, and this is not a medico-legal case.”
“Just what I told him,” said Marchmont. “But you will do me a great kindness if you will look into the matter. Make it a medico-legal case,” he added persuasively.
Thorndyke repeated his promise, and the two men took their departure.
For some time after they had left, my colleague remained silent, regarding the hat with a quizzical smile. “It is like a game of forfeits,” he remarked at length, “and we have to find the owner of ‘this very pretty thing.’” He lifted it with a pair of forceps into a better light, and began to look at it more closely.
“Perhaps,” said he, “we have done Mr. Löwe an injustice, after all. This is certainly a very remarkable hat.”
“It is as round as a basin,” I exclaimed. “Why, the fellow’s head must have been turned in a lathe!”
Thorndyke laughed. “The point,” said he, “is this. This is a hard hat, and so must have fitted fairly, or it could not have been worn; and it was a cheap hat, and so was not made to measure. But a man with a head that shape has got to come to a clear understanding with his hat. No ordinary hat would go on at all.
“Now, you see what he has done—no doubt on the advice of some friendly hatter. He has bought a hat of a suitable size, and he has made it hot—probably steamed it. Then he has jammed it, while still hot and soft, on to his head, and allowed it to cool and set before removing it. That is evident from the distortion of the brim. The important corollary is, that this hat fits his head exactly—is, in fact, a perfect mould of it; and this fact, together with the cheap quality of the hat, furnishes the further corollary that it has probably only had a single owner.
“And now let us turn it over and look at the outside. You notice at once the absence of old dust. Allowing for the circumstance that it had been out all night, it is decidedly clean. Its owner has been in the habit of brushing it, and is therefore presumably a decent, orderly man. But if you look at it in a good light, you see a kind of bloom on the felt, and through this lens you can make out particles of a fine white powder which has worked into the surface.”
He handed me his lens, through which I could distinctly see the particles to which he referred.
“Then,” he continued, “under the curl of the brim and in the folds of the hatband, where the brush has not been able to reach it, the powder has collected quite thickly, and we can see that it is a very fine powder, and very white, like flour. What do you make of that?”
“I should say that it is connected with some industry. He may be engaged in some factory or works, or, at any rate, may live near a factory, and have to pass it frequently.”
“Yes; and I think we can distinguish between the two possibilities. For, if he only passes the factory, the dust will be on the outside of the hat only; the inside will be protected by his head. But if he is engaged in the works, the dust will be inside, too, as the hat will hang on