Tales of Chinatown/The White Hat

THE WHITE HATMAJOR JACK RAGSTAFF
HALLO! Innes,” said Paul Harley as his secretary entered. “Someone is making a devil of a row outside.”
“This is the offender, Mr. Harley,” said Innes, and handed my friend a visiting card.
Glancing at the card, Harley read aloud:
“Major J. E. P. Ragstaff, Cavalry Club.”
Meanwhile a loud harsh voice, which would have been audible in a full gale, was roaring in the lobby.
“Nonsense!” I could hear the Major shouting. “Balderdash! There's more fuss than if I had asked for an interview with the Prime Minister. Piffle! Balderdash!”
Innes's smile developed into a laugh, in which Harley joined, then:
“Admit the Major,” he said.
Into the study where Harley and I had been seated quietly smoking, there presently strode a very choleric Anglo-Indian. He wore a horsy check suit and white spats, and his tie closely resembled a stock. In his hand he carried a heavy malacca cane, gloves, and one of those tall, light-gray hats commonly termed white. He was below medium height, slim and wiry; his gait and the shape of his legs, his build, all proclaimed the dragoon. His complexion was purple, and the large white teeth visible beneath a bristling gray moustache added

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