`I am employed by Sir William Bitton, of Berkeley Square, sir. I–I hope, sir,' said Marks, swallowing, `that this is not in connexion with — with that dreadful business, sir, of Mr Philip.
'Your last position?'
'For fifteen years sir, 'I had the honour to serve Lord Sandival,' Marks said, eagerly.
'Aha!' rumbled the doctor, closing one eye. He looked rather as the Ghost would have looked had he caught Hamlet playing pinochle when he should have been attending to business. `Why did you leave your last place? Sacked?'
'No, sir! It was the death of His Lordship, sir.'
'M'm. Murdered, I suppose?' inquired the Ghost.
'Good Heavens, no sir!'
Marks was visibly wilting. The Ghost became practical. 'Now, look here, Marks, I don't mind telling you you're in a very had corner.. You've got a good position, haven't you?’
'Yes, sir. And I'm sure Sir William will give me the highest… '
'He won't, Marks, if he knows what we know. Would you like to lose your position, and go to gaol besides?' rumbled Dr Fell, picking up the handcuffs.
Marks moved backwards, his forehead damp.
'Marks,' said the Ghost, `give me your hat!'
As the valet held out his bowler, they could see under the light the large gold letters BITTON on the inside of the white lining in the crown. `Aha!' said the Ghost. `Pinching Sir William's hats, eh?'
'No, sir!' Marks cried. `Sir William gave me that hat. I wear the same size as he does. And he gave me that because he bought two new hats only, recently, and if you'll only let me prove it, sir…!’
'I'll give you your chance,' said the Ghost, ominously. He thrust his hand across the table. It held something round and flat and black; there was a click, and it leaped full grown into an opera-hat., `Put this hat on, Marks!’
By this time Rampole was so bewildered that he almost expected to see Dr Fell take from the hat a brace of rabbits. Marks stared. -
`This is Sir William's hat!' shouted the Ghost, `Put it on. If it fits you, I'll believe what you say.'
He began to stab with the hat in the direction of Marks's forehead. The valet was compelled to put it on. It was too large; not so, large as it had been on, the body of Driscoll, but still too large.
'So-ho!' rumbled the Ghost, standing up behind the table. Absently he had been fumbling in his pockets; the Ghost was excited, and making gestures with anything he could lay hold of. Dr Fell lifted his hand and shook it in the air. 'Confess, Marks!' he thundered. 'Miserable wretch, your guilt has found you out!'
He crashed his hand down on the table. To Marks's stupefaction, and Dr Fell's own irritation at the anti-climax, a large rubber mouse with white whiskers popped out of his hand and ambled slowly across the table towards Hadley. Dr Fell snatched it up hastily and put it into his pocket.
'Hem!' observed the Ghost. Then he paused, and added something which really brought Hadley out of his chair. `Marks,' said Dr Fell, `you stole Sir William's manuscript:
For a moment it looked as though the other were going to faint.
`I swear I didn't! But I didn't know, and I was afraid to tell when he explained it to me…!’
'I'll tell you what you did, Marks,' said Dr Fell, forgetting all about the Ghost and threatening in a natural voice. `Sir William gave me all the facts. You're a good valet, Marks, but you're one of the stupidest creatures in God's` world. Sir William bought two new hats on Saturday. One of the opera-hats he tried on at the shop was too large for him. But a mistake was made, and they sent the large one to him along with the Homburg, which was of the right size. Ha? You saw it. You wear the same size. But Sir William was going out to the theatre that night. You know what sort of a temper he has. If he found a hat that slid down over his forehead, he'd make it hot for the first person he could lay hands on….’
`Naturally you wanted his hat to be the right size, didn't you, Marks? But there wasn't time to get another hat; it was Saturday evening. So you did the natural thing. You used the same quick makeshift people have been using since hats were invented. You neatly stuffed the band on the inside with paper, the first harmless-looking paper you could find….'
Hadley flung the tin revolver on the table. `Good God, he said, `do you seriously mean to tell us that Marks tightened up the fit of that hat with Sir William's manuscript?'
`Sir William,' the doctor said, amiably, `gave us two clues himself which were absolutely, revealing. He said that the manuscript consisted of thin sheets of paper folded several times lengthwise, and rather long. Try folding over any piece of paper that way, and you'll get a long, narrow, compact set, admirably suited for stuffing the lining of a hat. And do you remember what he said besides? The manuscript was wrapped in tissue paper. Taken all together it was the obvious thing for Marks to use.'
`But Bitton said it was in the drawer.'
`I doubt that,' said Dr Fell. `Was it, Marks?'
Marks brushed a handkerchief over his damp forehead. 'N-no, sir,' he faltered. `It was lying there on the desk. I–I didn't think it was important. It was tissue-paper with some crackly stuff inside, the sort of thing they use to pack objects in cardboard boxes.'
`And then,' said Dr Fell, `you learned next day what you'd done. You learned it was worth thousands of pounds. And so you were afraid to tell Sir William what you'd done, because in the meantime the hat had been stolen.' He turned to Hadley. `I rather thought this was the case, from Sir William's description of Marks's behaviour when he interviewed him afterwards. Sir William made us an invaluable suggestion, which he thought was satiric. He said; "Do you think I go about carrying valuable manuscripts in my hat?" And that's precisely what he did.'
`And that,' Hadley said in a queer voice, `that was why Sir William's hat fitted him. It's what you meant by your hint'.'
`It's what I meant by telling you we had got to clear away all the nonsense from this case before we could see the truth. That one little accident precipitated a whole series of ghastly events. I was staking everything on my belief that that's what had happened. Now I know the whole truth…. But you can see for yourself why I couldn't have Sir William with me when I was questioning Marks.'
The valet removed the opera-hat and was holding it like a bomb. His face was dull and helpless.
`All right,' he said in a normal, human, almost even tone.' `All right, gents. You've, got me. That means my job. What are you going to do with me?'
`Eh?' said Dr` Fell. `Oh! No, Marks. You're safe enough. Now you walk out to the car again, and sit there till you're called. I won't tell Sir William.'
The mild little man thrust himself out violently. `Honest to God?' he demanded. `Do you mean it?' `I mean it, Marks.'
There was a pause. Marks drew himself up and adjusted his, impeccable coat. `Very good, sir,' he said in a precise tone. 'I'm sure I'm very grateful, sir.''
'Turn on the centre lights,' Dr Fell suggested to Rampole, `and give Hadley's notebook back before he gets apoplexy.' Beaming, the doctor sat down behind the table and produced the rubber mouse. He pushed his shovel-hat to the back of his head, and set the mouse to running in circles over the table. `This almost marred my effect. I say, Hadley, I'm devilish sorry I didn't think to buy a pair of false whiskers.'
As the lights went on, Hadley, Rampole,' and a very excited Dalrye almost literally seized him.
'Let me get all this straight,' the chief inspector said, heavily. `On Saturday night Bitton walked out of his house with that manuscript in his hat. And this Mad Hatter chap stole the hat….'
`Ah,' said the doctor, sombrely. 'There's where everything started to go wrong. Over and over, with tears in my eyes, I've implored you to believe that the last thing in the world Driscoll wanted to do was even to touch Bitton's beloved manuscript. And so what must have been his horror when he discovered he'd done the one thing in the world he didn't' want to do….!'