(An oddity about King Crimson: their first album gave me a slew of images of undefined places: walled courts, grey light through glassless windows, large chess pieces, etc. I assumed I was seeing childhood trips to the museum on cloudy Sundays: the grey stone romanesque building, the unfamiliar (Buddhist, probably) stone statuary in the indirect light of the clerestories, the sense of age. Somewhere in the intervening years those walled courts became the stupa of Somei Reien in Sugamo.)
In a spirit of completion, have been reading the last two- later- Father Brown collections. Dragging my feet on them because Chesterton's Catholic idiosyncrasies and hair-raising racism- as expressed both by himself and his less likable characters- make for unpleasant reading. Conan Doyle was much more egalitarian, in the Holmes canon at any rate; but then again, he wasn't proselytizing. I assume it's the message that has put anyone off trying to pastiche Father Brown, while everyone and their siblings will pastiche Conan Doyle.