It was,
I think, what is called a "picture-hat"--a huge, flat, shapeless mass of
gauze and ribbon and feather, spangled over freely with dark-blue
sequins. In one part of the brim was a ragged hole, and from this the
glittering sequins dropped off in little showers when the hat was moved.
"This will have been worn tilted over on the left side," said Thorndyke,
"judging by the general shape and the position of the hole."
"Yes," I agreed. "Like that of the Duchess of Devonshire in
Gainsborough's portrait."
"Exactly."
He shook a few of the sequins into the palm of his hand, and, replacing
the hat on its peg, dropped the little discs into an envelope, on which
he wrote, "From the hat," and slipped it into his pocket. Then, stepping
over to the table, he drew back the sheet reverently and even tenderly
from the dead woman's face, and looked down at it with grave pity. It
was a comely face, white as marble, serene and peaceful in expression,
with half-closed eyes, and framed with a mass of brassy, yellow hair;
but its beauty was marred by a long linear wound, half cut, half bruise,
running down the right cheek from the eye to the chin.
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