Mr Smiths Hat

I hope I haven't kept you waiting. Yes, this is the crime club. I'm the librarian. Mr. Smith's hat. Yes, we have that crime club story for you. Come right over. Good.

Take the easy chair by the window. Comfortable? The book is on this shelf. Here it is, Mr. Smith's Hat by Helen Riley, a very intriguing story of a finger that puts its print on death.

Let's look at it under the reading lamp. It was a bad day for New York City, the worst in a three-week period of early summer heat. Inspector Christopher McKee was in his office at the Central Street Police Headquarters when the telephone rang.

Yes, Inspector McKee talking, homicide. Yes, I was just going to talk to you about that. What? Homicide. How'd you like to meet a freshly made corpse? Go ahead, mister. Well, go to 1142 West 16th Street, Gilbert Shannon's apartment.

Mm-hmm. Not there now, but don't worry. You'll find me waiting for you. What's your name? Gilbert Shannon. Hehehehehe. I'll be...of all the days to be hung up by a lunatic. Yes Inspector McKee. Cassidy, get the local precinct for West 16th Street. I want them to check on a nut.

Yes. Hold a minute. Back to McKee homicide. Inspector. Inspector, my father's been killed. Murdered. Mm-hmm. Alright lady, give me the facts. Name, please. Gilbert Chan in 1142 West 16th Street. What's that? 1142 West 16th Street.

I just found him lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Your name, please. Julie, will you please send someone over here right away, please? Please? Yes. Cassidy. Yes, Inspector. Never mind calling the local precinct. Get the medical examiner and order my car.