The Roman hat mystery: A problem in deduction

I. In Which Are Introduced a Theatre-Audience and a Corpse 3 II. In Which One Queen Works and Another Queen Watches 12 III. In Which a “Parson” Comes to Grief 29 IV. In Which Many Are Called and Two Are Chosen 47 V. In Which Inspector Queen Conducts Some Legal Conversations 56 VI. In Which the District Attorney Turns Biographer 79 VII. The Queens Take Stock 90 VIII. In Which the Queens Meet Mr. Field’s Very Best Friend 105 IX. In Which the Mysterious Mr. Michaels Appears 123 X. In Which Mr. Field’s Tophats Begin to Assume Proportions 131 XI. In Which the Past Casts a Shadow 145 XII. In Which the Queens Invade Society 158 XIII. Queen to Queen 174 XIV. In Which the Hat Grows 197 XV. In Which an Accusation Is Made 214 XVI. In Which the Queens Go to the Theatre 226 XVII. In Which More Hats Grow 240 XVIII. Stalemate 261 INTERLUDE In Which the Reader’s Attention Is Respectfully Requested 271 XIX. In Which Inspector Queen Conducts More Legal Conversations 275 XX. In Which Mr. Michaels Writes a Letter 286 XXI. In Which Inspector Queen Makes a Capture— 290 XXII. —And Explains 295 FORWARD I have been asked by both publisher and author to write a cursory preface to the story of Monte Field’s murder. Let me say at once that I am neither a writer nor a criminologist. To make authoritative remarks, therefore, anent the techniques of crime and crime-fiction is obviously beyond my capacity. Nevertheless, I have one legitimate claim to the privilege of introducing this remarkable story, based as it is upon perhaps the most mystifying crime of the past decade.... If it were not for me, “The Roman Hat Mystery” would never have reached the fiction-reading public. I am responsible for its having been brought to light; and there my pallid connection with it ends. During the past winter I shook off the dust of New York and went a-traveling in Europe. In the course of a capricious roving about the corners of the Continent (a roving induced by that boredom which comes to every Conrad in quest of his youth)—I found myself one August day in a tiny Italian mountain-village. How I got there, its location and its name do not matter; a promise is a promise, even when it is made by a stockbroker. Dimly I remembered that this…