Sir William's hooded eyelids drooped. `I see. Philip was turning in regular, copy to his newspaper. One of his articles appeared to-day, in the morning edition. That means he turned it in last night. And if he went to the office, he may have told his editor something…?'
`Precisely. That's our first line of inquiry. If by any wild chance his agitation to-day was caused by some sort of threat, it would probably have been sent to the office; or at least he might have mentioned it there. It's worth trying.!
'Rubbish,' said Dr Fell. I
`Indeed?' said the chief inspector, with heavy politeness. `Would you mind telling us why?'
The doctor made a capacious gesture. `Hadley, you know your own game, Heaven knows. But you don't know the newspaper business. I, for my sins, do. Did you ever hear the story of the cub reporter whose first assignment was to cover a big Pacifist meeting in the West End? Well, he came back with a doleful face. "Where's your story?" says thee news editor. "I couldn't get one," says the cub; "there wasn't any meeting." "No meeting?" says the news editor. "Why not?" "Well," says' the cub, "the first speaker had no sooner got started than somebody threw a brick at him. And then Lord Dinwiddie fell through the bass drum, and a fight started all around the platform, and they began hitting each other over the head with the chairs, and when I saw the Black Maria at the door I knew there wouldn't be any more meeting, so I left."'
Dr Fell shook his head sadly. `That's the sort of picture you're drawing, Hadley. Man, don't you see that if Driscoll had found out anything, or particularly been threatened, it would have been NEWS? News in capitals, "HAT FIEND THREATENS DAILY SOMETHING' MAN." Certainly he'd have mentioned it at the office. Rest assured you'd have seen it to-day on the first page.'
`He mightn't,' Hadley said, irritably, `if he had been as nervous as he seems to have been.'
`Wait a bit. You're wrong there,' put in Sir William. `Give the boy his due. Whatever he was, he wasn't a coward. His upsets never came because he feared any sort of violence.!
'But he said…'
`That isn't the point, you see,' Dr Fell said, patiently. `To publish anything of the sort couldn't have done any harm. They might say they'd found a vital clue, or that there had been a threat. The first would only warn their victim. The second would have been more publicity, which the hat-fellow wanted in the-first place; look at the way he acts. It would have done no harm, and assuredly it would have helped young Driscoll's job.'
'Suppose he'd actually found out who the man was, though?'
`Why, the newspaper would have communicated with the police,' and Driscoll would have got the credit. Do you seriously think anybody would have been afraid, at the time, of a person who seemed to be a mere genial practical joker?
No, no. You're letting the hat on the corpse run away with your own sense of humour. I'm willing to agree with Sir William's statement the boy wasn't a coward but what was it he did fear? There's a tip. Think it over.'
`I have something to say to you in a moment,' the chief inspector told him. `But, for the moment, let's continue. Have you any suggestions, General?'
General Mason had been smoking glumly. He took the cigar out of his mouth and shook his head.
`None whatever. Except that it's fairly obvious now he was stabbed and not shot with that bolt.'
`Mr Rampole?' Hadley saw that the American was ill at ease, and raised his eyebrows encouragingly. `Any ideas?'
Three pairs of eyes were fixed on him, and he tried to be casual under the scrutiny. This might be the test as to whether he heard anything more of the case after today.
`There was something,' he said, feeling his voice a trifle unsteady. `The crossbow bolt didn't come from the collection here, and one of the warders said its pattern was late fourteenth century. Now, it isn't probable, is it, that Driscoll was really killed with a steel bolt made in thirteen hundred and something?' He hesitated. `I used to dabble a bit with arms and armour; one of the finest collections in the world is at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. In a bolt so old as that one, the steel would be far gone in corrosion. Would it be possible to get that bright polish and temper on the one used to kill Driscoll? It looks new. If I remember correctly, you have no arms exhibits here previous to the fifteenth century. And even your early fifteenth-century helmets are worn to a sort of rusty shell.'
There was a silence. `I begin to see,' nodded the chief inspector. `You mean that the bolt is of recent manufacture. And if it is ?'
`Well, sir, if it, is, who made it? Certainly there aren't many smiths turning out crossbow bolts of fourteenth-century pattern. It may be a curio of some kind, or there may be somebody who does it for amusement or for decorative purposes.'
Hadley made a note in his black book. -`It's a long shot,' he remarked, shaking his head, `but undoubtedly there's something in it. Good work! Now we come to my usually garrulous colleague, Dr Fell. What are your comments on the testimony we've heard?'
Dr' Fell cocked his head on one side. He seemed to meditate.
`Why, I'm afraid I wasn't paying a great deal of attention to it. However, I want to ask one question.' `That's gratifying. What is it?'
`This hat.' He picked up the topper. `I suppose you noticed. When it was put on the boy's head, it slid down over his ears. Of course, he's very, small, Sir William, and you're tall. But you have rather a long narrow head. Wasn't' it too large even for you?'
'Too… ' The other looked bewildered. `Why, no! No, it wasn't too large. Hold on, though. I remember now. When I was trying, on hats at the shop, I remember one I tried on, among others, was too large. But the one they sent me was quite all right: a good fit.'
`Well, would you mind putting this one on?'
For a moment Sir William seemed about to stretch out his hand, as General Mason took the hat from Dr Fell and passed it across. Then he sat rigid.
`You'll have to excuse me,' he said through his teeth. `I — sorry, but I can't do it.'
`Well, well, it's of no consequence,' Dr Fell said, genially. He took back the hat, pressed it down so that it collapsed, and fanned his ruddy face with it. `Not for the moment, anyhow. Who are your hatters?'
`Steele's, in Regent,' Street. Why?'
'Mrs Lester Bitton,'' said a voice at the door. The warder on guard pushed it open.
Mrs Bitton was not backward. She came into the room with an assurance which betokened a free stride, and she radiated energy. Mrs Bitton was a slim woman in the late twenties, with a sturdy, well-shaped figure like a swimmer's. She had level, rather shining brown eyes, a straight nose, and a humorous but determined mouth. Her light-brown hair was caught under the tilt of a tight blue hat; beneath a broad fur collar the tight-fitting coat showed off her full breasts and rather voluptuous hips..:. As she caught sight of Sir William she became less assured.
'Hallo!' she said. The voice was quick and self-determined. 'Bob didn't tell me you were here. I'm sorry you got here so soon.'
Sir William performed the introductions. Rampole set out a chair for her beside Hadley's desk.
'So you're Mr Hadley,' she observed, studying him with her bead slightly back. Then she looked at Sir William. `I've heard Will speak of you.' She made a cool inspection of everybody in the room, finally craning round the better to see Dr Fell. `And these are your inspectors or something. I'm afraid I kicked up rather a row across the way. But then I didn't know. Even when Bob told me… told me it was Phil, I didn't believe him.'
Despite her assurance Rampole got a definite impression that she was nervous.
`You know the circumstances, Mrs Bitton?' Hadley asked impassively.
`What Bob was able to tell me. Poor Phil! I'd like to..'
She paused, seeming to meditate punishments for a murderer. `Of course it was absurd asking me to fill out that silly paper. As though I had to explain: