The Corpse Wore a Wig

I hope I haven't kept you waiting. Yes, this is the crime club. I'm the librarian. The cops wore a wig. 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. The corpse wore a wig by George Bagby, the very intriguing story of a method of dying that was as deadly as murder. Let's look at it under the reading lamp.

It was a few minutes before noon, and Inspector Schmidt was already having his troubles in his office at New York City's police headquarters. As a matter of fact, he was having his hands full, rubbing his aching feet, and all how they ached.

All right, all right, you bloodless devil. Hello, Schmidt, talking. What do you want? Inspector, this is Cassidy. Cassidy, huh? That's a big help. Which Cassidy are you? This argent, sir. I suppose it's wondered you are what me and Inspector McKee-man is doing on one of your cases.

I don't start wondering until I know what you're talking about Cassidy. Oh, sure, sure. It's right, you are. You know the good Inspector McKee went on his vacation last night. Yes, yes, but what's that got to do with me?

Well, I'm working for you now, Inspector McKee's orders. Oh, my King feet. That's the reason, sir. Well, I'm down here in the coroner's autopsy room. You know that suicide cadaver that was brought in this morning.

I had him brought in. That's Dr. Jeremy Bullock. I wondered a autopsy, none. It's been then, and it was no suicide inspector. What? Clear and simple. An open and shut case of murder. Let me talk to the coroner.