The Roman hat mystery A problem in deduction
tophat, and other minor details. _But there is no replacement hat._ We
have every right to expect a replacement hat in a crime so carefully
concocted as this one. There being none, our only conclusion can be
that the murderer did not know beforehand the importance of Field’s
hat; otherwise he would assuredly have taken the intelligent precaution
of leaving another hat behind. In this way the police would never know
that Field’s hat had any significance at all.
“Another point in corroboration. Even if the murderer didn’t desire,
for some dark reason of his own, to leave a replacement hat, he
certainly would have arranged to secure what was in the hat by cutting
it out. All he had to do was to provide himself in advance with a sharp
instrument—a pocket-knife, for example. The _empty_ hat, though cut,
would not have presented the problem of disposal that the _missing_ hat
would. Surely the murderer would have preferred this procedure, had he
foreknowledge of the hat’s contents. But he did not do even this. This,
it seems to me, is strong corroborative evidence that he did not know
before he came to the Roman Theatre that he would have to take away a
hat or its contents. _Quod erat demonstrandum._”
The District Attorney gazed at Ellery with puckered lips. Inspector
Queen seemed sunk in a lethargy. His hand hovered midway between his
snuff-box and his nose.
“Just what’s the point, Ellery?” inquired Sampson. “Why is it
important for you to know that the murderer had no foreknowledge of the
hat’s significance?”
Ellery smiled. “Merely this. The crime was committed after the
beginning of the second act. I want to be sure in my own mind that the
murderer, by not knowing in advance of the hat’s significance, could
not have used the first intermission in any manner whatsoever as an
essential element of his plan.... Of course, Field’s hat may turn up
somewhere on the premises, and its discovery would invalidate all these
speculations. But—I don’t think it will....”
“That analysis of yours might be elementary, boy, but it sounds quite
logical to me,” said Sampson approvingly. “You should have been a
lawyer.”
“You can’t beat the Queen brains,” chuckled the old man suddenly, his
face wreathed in a wide smile. “But I’m going to get busy on another
tack that ought to jibe somewhere with this puzzle of the hat. You
noticed, Ellery, the name of the clothier sewed into Field’s coat?”
“No sooner said than done,” grinned Ellery. Producing one of the small
volumes which he carried in his topcoat pocket, he opened it and
pointed to a notation on the fly-leaf. “Browne Bros., gentlemen—no less.”
“That’s right; and I’ll have Velie down there in the morning to
check up,” said the Inspector. “You must have realized that Field’s
clothing is of exceptional quality. That evening-suit cost three
hundred dollars, if it cost a penny. And Browne Bros. are the artists
to charge such fashionable prices. But there’s another point in this
connection: every stitch of clothing on the dead man’s body had the
same manufacturer’s mark. That’s not uncommon with wealthy men; and
Browne’s made a specialty of outfitting their customers from head to
foot. What more probable to assume—”
“Than that Field bought his hats there, too!” exclaimed Sampson,
with an air of discovery.
“Exactly, Tacitus,” said Queen, grinning. “Velie’s job is to check up
on this clothing business and if possible secure an exact duplicate of
the hat Field wore to-night. I’m mighty anxious to look it over.”
Sampson rose with a cough. “I suppose I really ought to get back to
bed,” he said. “The only reason I came down here was to see that you
didn’t arrest the Mayor. Boy, that friend of mine was sore! I’ll never
hear the end of it!”
Queen looked up at him with a quizzical smile. “Before you go, Henry,
suppose you tell me just where I stand on this thing. I know that I
used a pretty high hand to-night, but you must realize how necessary it
was. Are you going to put one of your own men on the case?”
Sampson glared at him. “When did you get the idea I wasn’t satisfied
with your conduct of the investigation, you old canary bird!” he
growled. “I’ve never checked you up yet, and I’m not going to start
now. If you can’t bring this thing to a successful conclusion, I
certainly don’t think any of my men can. My dear Q, go ahead and detain
half of New York if you think it’s necessary. I’ll back you up.”
“Thanks, Henry,” said Queen. “I just wanted to be sure. And now, since
you’re so nice about it, watch my smoke!”
He ambled across the room into the anteroom, stuck his head past the
doorway into the theatre, and shouted, “Mr. Panzer, will you come here
a moment?”
He came back smiling grimly to himself, the swarthy theatre-manager
close on his heels.
“Mr. Panzer, meet District Attorney Sampson,” said Queen. The two men
shook hands. “Now, Mr. Panzer, you’ve got one more job and you can go
home and go to sleep. I want this theatre shut down so tight a
mouse couldn’t get into it!”
Panzer grew pale. Sampson shrugged his shoulders, as if to indicate
that he washed his hands of the entire affair. Ellery nodded sagely in
approval.
“But—but Inspector, just when we’re playing to capacity!” groaned the
little manager. “Is it absolutely necessary?”
“So necessary, my dear man,” answered the Inspector coolly, “that I’m
going to have two men here patrolling the premises all the time.”
Panzer wrung his hands, looking furtively at Sampson. But the District
Attorney was standing with his back to them, examining a print on the
wall.
“This is terrible, Inspector!” wailed Panzer. “I’ll never hear the end
of it from Gordon Davis, the producer.... But of course—if you say so,
it will be done.”
“Heck, man, don’t look so blue,” said Queen, more kindly. “You’ll be
getting so much publicity out of this that when the show reopens you’ll
have to enlarge the theatre. I don’t expect to have the theatre shut
down more than a few days, anyway. I’ll give the necessary orders to
my own men outside. After you’ve transacted your routine business here
to-night, just tip off the men I’ve left and go home. I’ll let you know
in a few days when you can reopen.”
Panzer waggled his head sadly, shook hands all around and left. Sampson
immediately whirled on Queen and said, “By the Lord Harry, Q, that’s
going some! Why do you want the theatre closed? You’ve milked it dry,
haven’t you?”
“Well, Henry,” said Queen slowly, “the hat hasn’t been found. All those
people filed out of the theatre and were searched—and each one had just
one hat. Doesn’t that indicate that the hat we’re looking for is still
here somewhere? And if it’s still here, I’m not giving anybody a
chance to come in and take it away. If there’s any taking to be done,
I’ll do it.”
Sampson nodded. Ellery was still wearing a worried frown as the three
men walked out of the office into the almost deserted orchestra.
Here and there a busy figure was stooping over a seat, examining the
floor. A few men could be seen darting in and out of the boxes up
front. Sergeant Velie stood by the main door, talking in low tones
to Piggott and Hagstrom. Detective Flint, superintending a squad of
men, was working far to the front of the orchestra. A small group of
cleaning-women operated vacuum cleaners tiredly here and there. In one
corner, to the rear, a buxom police matron was talking with an elderly
woman—the woman Panzer had called Mrs. Phillips.
The three men walked to the main door. While Ellery and Sampson were
silently surveying the always depressing scene of an untenanted
auditorium, Queen spoke rapidly to Velie, giving orders in an
undertone. Finally he turned and said, “Well, gentlemen, that’s all for
to-night. Let’s be going.”
On the sidewalk a number of policemen had roped off a large space,
behind which a straggling crowd of curiosity-seekers was gaping.
“Even at two o’clock in the morning these night-birds patrol Broadway,”
grunted Sampson. With a wave of the hand he entered his automobile
after the Queens politely refused his offer of a “lift.” A crowd of
businesslike reporters pushed through the lines and surrounded the two
Queens.
“Here, here! What’s this, gentlemen?” asked the old man, frowning.
“How about the low-down on to-night’s job, Inspector?” asked one of
them urgently.
“You’ll get all the information you want, boys, from
Detective-Sergeant Velie—inside.” He smiled as they charged in a body
through the glass doors.
Ellery and Richard Queen stood silently on the curb, watching the
policemen herd back the crowd. Then the old man said with a sudden wave
of weariness, “Come on, son, let’s walk part of the way home.”
PART TWO
_“....To illustrate: Once young Jean C—— came to me after a month of
diligent investigation on a difficult assignment. He wore a forlorn
expression. Without a word he handed me a slip of official paper. I
read it in surprise. It was his resignation._
_“‘Here, Jean!’ I cried. ‘What is the meaning of this?’_
_“‘I have failed, M. Brillon,’ he muttered. ‘A month’s work, gone to
the devil. I have been on the wrong track. It is a disgrace.’_
_“‘Jean, my friend,’ said I solemnly, ‘this for your resignation.’
Wherewith I tore it to hits before his astonished eyes. ‘Go now,’ I
admonished him, ‘and begin from the beginning. For remember always the
maxim: He who would know right must first know wrong!’”_
—_From_ Reminiscences of a Prefect,
_By_ Auguste Brillon.
CHAPTER VIII
IN WHICH THE QUEENS MEET MR. FIELD’S VERY BEST FRIEND
The Queens’ apartment on West 87th Street was a man’s domicile from
the pipe-rack over the hearth to the shining sabres on the wall. They
lived on the top floor of a three-family brownstone house, a relic of
late Victorian times. You walked up the heavily-carpeted stairs through
seemingly endless halls of dismal rectitude. When you were quite
convinced that only mummified souls could inhabit such a dreary place,
you came upon the huge oaken door marked, “The Queens”—a motto lettered
neatly and framed. Then Djuna grinned at you from behind a crack and
you entered a new world.
More than one individual, exalted in his own little niche, had
willingly climbed the uninviting staircases to find sanctuary in this
haven. More than one card bearing a famous name had been blithely
carried by Djuna through the foyer into the living-room.
The foyer was Ellery’s inspiration, if the truth were told. It was so
small and so narrow that its walls appeared unnaturally towering. With
a humorous severity one wall had been completely covered by a tapestry
depicting the chase—a most appropriate appurtenance to this medieval
chamber. Both Queens detested it heartily, preserving it only because
it had been presented to them with regal gratitude by the Duke of
——, that impulsive gentleman whose son Richard Queen had saved from
a noisome scandal, the details of which have never been made public.
Beneath the tapestry stood a heavy mission table, displaying a
parchment lamp and a pair of bronze book-ends bounding a three-volume
set of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainment.
Two mission chairs and a small rug completed the foyer.
When you walked through this oppressive place, always gloomy and
almost always hideous, you were ready for anything except the perfect
cheeriness of the large room beyond. This study in contrast was
Ellery’s private jest, for if it were not for him the old man would
long since have thrown the foyer and its furnishings into some dark
limbo.
The living-room was lined on three sides with a bristling and