A Study in Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 4) by Ichabod Temperance

hat already has many striking details that transfer great information of its true owner. The style is one which was en vogue a few years back. As this hat was sold as new well since that time it puts me in mind of those scandalous shops of our city that prey upon the unwary tourista, conniving to get a top dollar rate on post fashionable styles from an innocent and naïve visitor. This is normally incurred on the great many unwashed and nouveau riche of our American cousins. The hat size is indicative of a man of moderate intelligence. This hat has received many wounds, yet still the owner clings to it. Though it is of a fine quality, the repairs outstrip the cost of a new hat. This obviously has a strong personal sentiment attached to it. I detect the scents of a hair pomade. I suspect that the frugal sensibilities of the wearer do not match the product. My deduction is that there is a feminine influence upon this male wearer. If I am correct in identifying the hair product, then my hypothesis leads me to think that this is a British female of olde money. There is evidence of a type of burn on the bowler I do not know. Its scent is totally alien to me. Here is a tiny repair done on one section of the hat that predates the scorching. Incredibly, the repair has been done in the Tibetan manner of sewing and with Llama hair thread! Another sign of abuse, if I am correct, would show that this derby has spent time in such high atmospheres of low pressures that this environment has acted to warp the hat’s brim. Another scorching is again of a burn unidentifiable to me! I have made an extensive study of this sort and it is incredible that I am unable to properly identify the source of the burns and incendiaries that would have produced these wounds. Time and time again, this fellow has retrieved his hat after many bizarre ordeals. What sort of beast am I dealing with? Moreover, where am I to locate this lead on tonight’s adventures?
    My first inclination is to check the hotels frequented by the more frugal American visitor to our shores, but when I couple the hat to the pomade, I reconsider. The English woman I think would want to board at more luxurious apartments.
    The hat’s owner thought enough of the covering to obligingly have his name embossed upon the lining. With this final piece of information I decide to begin my inquires in the vicinity of Westminster and St. James. I am at my third hotel lobby desk asking if this gentleman is in residence when the clerk of the Queen’s Hotel happily replies in the affirmative, and with a joyful expression of surprise, he points to the doors and announces, “Why, there he is now, sir.”
    I turn to see a most bedraggled couple. The woman’s bright pastel yellow dress is soiled, creased, and bears the marks of much mishandling. They stagger into the lobby’s opulent luxury, the woman holding to the hatless chap for support. The female is striking in her beauty. So much so that it is a little hard to understand why she is in the company of the homely little fellow with her. The fellow is at least as dirty if not more so than the female, but due to the nature of contrast, the filth shows more on her. I recognize that dirt from the subway excavation. I have no doubt that the intended targets are within my grasp.
    I walk straight to them both and introduce myself, adding:
    “Mr. Ichabod Temperance, I presume.”

Chapter Three.
The Problem of
the Plastered Bust.
    I am still a bit dizzy as Mr. Temperance helps to guide me through the doors of the Queen’s Hotel. The chloroform my abductors used has left me in possession of a temple-crushing headache. In combination with my energy blast expenditure, I feel myself to be in a drained and listless state. After this evening’s adventures, I wish for nothing more than to be able to collapse into bed to rejuvenate my depleted reserves. Perhaps I shall wake to find this has all been some midsummer’s nightmare.
    We have only just entered