“Nothing much of value, except for this point”—answered Velie—“that Field was an absolute fiend when it came to clothes. So much so that last year he bought fifteen suits and no less than a dozen hats, including the toppers!” “Hats, hats, hats!” groaned the Inspector. “The man must have been a lunatic. Look here—did you find out whether Field ever bought walking-sticks at Browne’s?” A look of consternation spread over Velie’s face. “Why—why, Inspector,” he said ruefully, “I guess I slipped up there. I never even thought of asking, and you hadn’t told me last night—” “Heck! We’re none of us perfect,” growled Queen. “Get that clerk on the wire for me, Thomas.” Velie picked up one of the telephones on the desk and a few moments later handed the instrument to his superior. “This is Inspector Queen speaking,” said the old man rapidly. “I understand that you served Monte Field for a good many years?... Well, I want to check up on a little detail. Did Field ever purchase canes or walking-sticks from you people?... What? Oh, I see.... Yes. Now, another thing. Did he ever give special orders about the manufacture of his clothes—extra pockets, or things like that?... You don’t think so. All right.... What? Oh, I see. Thank you very much.” He hung up the receiver and turned about. “Our lamented friend,” he said disgustedly, “seems to have had as great an aversion to sticks as he had a love for hats. This clerk said he tried many times to interest Field in canes, and Field invariably refused to buy. Didn’t like ’em, he said. And the clerk just confirmed his own impression about the special pockets—nothing doing. So that leaves us up a blank alley.” “On the contrary,” said Ellery coolly, “it does nothing of the kind. It proves fairly conclusively that _the only article of apparel_ taken away by the murderer last night was the hat. It seems to me that simplifies matters.” “I must have a moron’s intelligence,” grunted his father. “It doesn’t mean a thing to me.” “By the way, Inspector,” put in Velie, scowling, “Jimmy reported about the fingerprints on Field’s flask. There are a few, but there’s no question, he says, that they’re all Field’s. Jimmy got a print from the Morgue, of course, to check up.” “Well,” said the Inspector, “maybe the flask has nothing to do with the crime at all. We’ll have to wait, anyway, for Prouty’s report on its contents.” “There’s something else, Inspector,” added Velie. “That junk—the sweepings of the theatre—that you told Panzer to send over to you this morning came a couple of minutes ago. Want to see it?” “Sure thing, Thomas,” said Queen. “And while you’re out bring me the list you made last night containing the names of the people who had no stubs. The seat numbers are attached to each name, aren’t they?” Velie nodded and disappeared. Queen was looking morosely at the top of his son’s head when the Sergeant returned with an unwieldy package and a typewritten list.