"Doesn't sound likely to me," said the inspector. "But—well, can you describe him at all?"
"He was tall and broad-shouldered, wore a dark overcoat and black boots, a bowler hat. He had a dark pointed beard and gold-rimmed eyeglasses."
"Take away the overcoat, the beard and the eyeglasses, and there wouldn't be much to know him by," grumbled the inspector. "He could alter his appearance easy enough in five minutes if he wanted to—which he would do if he's the swell pickpocket you suggest."
I had not intended to suggest anything of the kind. But from this moment I gave the inspector up as hopeless.
"Nothing more you can tell us about him?" he demanded, as I rose to depart.
"Yes," I said. I seized my opportunity to fire a parting shot. "His head was markedly brachycephalic. He will not find it so easy to alter that."
I observed with pleasure that Inspector Meadow's pen wavered. It was clear that he did not know how to spell brachycephalic.
