The Roman hat mystery A problem in deduction
door open curiously. A suit of street-clothes hung there, a half-dozen
neckties and a fedora hat. The Inspector carried the hat back into
the office and examined it. He handed it to Ellery, who disdainfully
returned it at once to its peg in the closet.
“Dang those hats!” exploded the Inspector. There was a knock on the
door and Hesse admitted a bland young man.
“Inspector Queen?” inquired the newcomer politely.
“Right,” snapped the Inspector, “and if you’re a reporter you
can say the police will apprehend the murderer of Monte Field within
twenty-four hours. Because that’s all I’m going to give you right now.”
The young man smiled. “Sorry, Inspector, but I’m not a reporter. I’m
Arthur Stoates, new man at District Attorney Sampson’s office. The
Chief couldn’t reach me until this morning and I was busy on something
else—that’s why I’m a little late. Too bad about Field, isn’t it?” He
grinned as he threw his coat and hat on a chair.
“It’s all in the point of view,” grumbled Queen. “He’s certainly
causing a heap of trouble. Just what were Sampson’s instructions?”
“Well, I’m not as familiar with Field’s career as I might be,
naturally, but I’m pinch-hitting for Tim Cronin, who’s tied up
this morning on something else. I’m to make a start until Tim gets
untangled, which will be some time this afternoon. Cronin, you know,
was the man after Field a couple of years ago. He’s aching to get busy
with these files.”
“Fair enough. From what Sampson told me about Cronin—if there’s
anything incriminating in these records and files, he’ll ferret it
out.—Hesse, take Mr. Stoates outside and introduce him to Lewin.—That’s
the office-manager, Stoates. Keep your eye on him—he looks like a wily
bird. And, Stoates—remember you’re looking not for legitimate business
and clientele in these records, but for something crooked.... See you
later.”
Stoates gave him a cheery smile and followed Hesse out. Ellery and his
father faced each other across the room.
“What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” asked the old man sharply.
“A copy of ‘What Handwriting Tells,’ which I picked up in this
bookcase,” replied Ellery lazily. “Why?”
“Come to think of it now, El,” declared the Inspector slowly, “there’s
something fishy about this handwriting business.” He shook his
head in despair and rose. “Come along, son—there isn’t a blamed thing
here.”
On their way through the main office, now empty except for Hesse, Lewin
and Stoates, Queen beckoned to the detective. “Go home, Hesse,” he said
kindly. “Can’t have you coming down with the grippe.” Hesse grinned and
sped through the door.
In a few minutes Inspector Queen was sitting in his private office at
Center Street. Ellery termed it “the star chamber.” It was small and
cozy and homelike. Ellery draped himself over a chair and began to con
the books on handwriting which he had filched from Field’s apartment
and office. The Inspector pressed a buzzer and the solid figure of
Thomas Velie loomed in the doorway.
“Morning, Thomas,” said Queen. “What is this remarkable news you have
for me from Browne Bros.?”
“I don’t know how remarkable it is, Inspector,” said Velie coolly,
seating himself in one of the straight-backed chairs which lined the
wall, “but it sounded like the real thing to me. You told me last night
to find out about Field’s tophat. Well, I’ve an exact duplicate of it
on my desk. Like to see it?”
“Don’t be silly, Thomas,” said Queen. “On the run!” Velie departed
and was back in a moment carrying a hatbox. He tore the string and
uncovered a shining tophat, of such fine quality that Queen blinked.
The Inspector picked it up curiously. On the inside was marked the
size: 7⅛.
“I spoke to the clerk, an old-timer, down at Browne’s. Been waiting
on Field for years,” resumed Velie. “It seems that Field bought every
stitch of his clothing there—for a long time. And it happens that he
preferred one clerk. Naturally the old buzzard knows quite a bit about
Field’s tastes and purchases.
“He says, for one thing, that Field was a fussy dresser. His
clothes were always made to order by Browne’s special tailoring
department. He went in for fancy suits and cuts and the latest in
underclothes and neckwear....”
“What about his taste in hats?” interposed Ellery, without looking up
from the book he was reading.
“I was coming to that, sir,” continued Velie. “This clerk made a
particular point of the hat business. For instance, when I questioned
him about the tophat, he said: ‘Mr. Field was almost a fanatic on the
subject. Why, in the last six months he has bought no less than _three_
of them!’ I caught that up, of course—made him check back with the
sales-records. Sure enough, Field bought three silk-toppers in the last
half-year!”
Ellery and his father found themselves staring at each other, the same
question on their lips.
“Three—” began the old man.
“Now ... isn’t that an extraordinary circumstance?” asked Ellery
slowly, reaching for his pince-nez.
“Where in heaven’s name are the other two?” continued Queen, in a
bewildered manner.
Ellery was silent.
Queen turned impatiently toward Velie. “What else did you find out,
Thomas?”
“Nothing much of value, except for this point”—answered Velie—“that
Field was an absolute fiend when it came to clothes. So much so that
last year he bought fifteen suits and no less than a dozen hats,
including the toppers!”
“Hats, hats, hats!” groaned the Inspector. “The man must have been
a lunatic. Look here—did you find out whether Field ever bought
walking-sticks at Browne’s?”
A look of consternation spread over Velie’s face. “Why—why, Inspector,”
he said ruefully, “I guess I slipped up there. I never even thought of
asking, and you hadn’t told me last night—”
“Heck! We’re none of us perfect,” growled Queen. “Get that clerk on the
wire for me, Thomas.”
Velie picked up one of the telephones on the desk and a few moments
later handed the instrument to his superior.
“This is Inspector Queen speaking,” said the old man rapidly. “I
understand that you served Monte Field for a good many years?... Well,
I want to check up on a little detail. Did Field ever purchase canes
or walking-sticks from you people?... What? Oh, I see.... Yes. Now,
another thing. Did he ever give special orders about the manufacture of
his clothes—extra pockets, or things like that?... You don’t think so.
All right.... What? Oh, I see. Thank you very much.”
He hung up the receiver and turned about.
“Our lamented friend,” he said disgustedly, “seems to have had as
great an aversion to sticks as he had a love for hats. This clerk said
he tried many times to interest Field in canes, and Field invariably
refused to buy. Didn’t like ’em, he said. And the clerk just confirmed
his own impression about the special pockets—nothing doing. So that
leaves us up a blank alley.”
“On the contrary,” said Ellery coolly, “it does nothing of the kind.
It proves fairly conclusively that _the only article of apparel_ taken
away by the murderer last night was the hat. It seems to me that
simplifies matters.”
“I must have a moron’s intelligence,” grunted his father. “It doesn’t
mean a thing to me.”
“By the way, Inspector,” put in Velie, scowling, “Jimmy reported about
the fingerprints on Field’s flask. There are a few, but there’s no
question, he says, that they’re all Field’s. Jimmy got a print from the
Morgue, of course, to check up.”
“Well,” said the Inspector, “maybe the flask has nothing to do with the
crime at all. We’ll have to wait, anyway, for Prouty’s report on its
contents.”
“There’s something else, Inspector,” added Velie. “That junk—the
sweepings of the theatre—that you told Panzer to send over to you this
morning came a couple of minutes ago. Want to see it?”
“Sure thing, Thomas,” said Queen. “And while you’re out bring me the
list you made last night containing the names of the people who had no
stubs. The seat numbers are attached to each name, aren’t they?”
Velie nodded and disappeared. Queen was looking morosely at the top of
his son’s head when the Sergeant returned with an unwieldy package and
a typewritten list.
They spread the contents of the package carefully on the desk. For the
most part the collected material consisted of crumpled programs, stray
scraps of paper, chiefly from candy-boxes, and many ticket-stubs—those
which had not been found by Flint and his searchers. Two women’s gloves
of different design; a small brown button, probably from a man’s coat;
the cap of a fountain pen; a woman’s handkerchief and a few other
scattered articles of the kind usually lost or thrown away in theatres
came to light.
“Doesn’t look as if there’s much here, does it?” commented the
Inspector. “Well, at least we’ll be able to check up on the ticket-stub
business.”
Velie heaped the lost stubs in a small pile and began to read off their
numbers and letters to Queen, who checked them off on the list Velie
had brought him. There were not many of these and the checking-off
process was completed in a few moments.
“That all, Thomas?” inquired the Inspector, looking up.
“That’s all, Chief.”
“Well, there are about fifty people still unaccounted for according to
this list.—Where’s Flint?”
“He’s in the building somewhere, Inspector.”
Queen picked up his telephone and gave a rapid order. Flint
appeared almost at once.
“What did you find last night?” asked Queen abruptly.
“Well, Inspector,” answered Flint sheepishly, “we practically
dry-cleaned that place. We found quite a bit of stuff, but most of
it was programs and things like that, and we left those for the
cleaning-women, who were working along with us. But we did pick up a
raft of ticket-stubs, especially out in the alleys.” He brought forth
from his pocket a package of pasteboards neatly bound with a rubber
band. Velie took them and continued the process of reading off numbers
and letters. When he was finished Queen slapped the typewritten list
down on the desk before him.
“No fruit in the loom?” murmured Ellery, looking up from the book.
“Ding it, every one of those people who had no stubs is accounted for!”
growled the Inspector. “There isn’t a stub or a name left unchecked....
Well, there’s one thing I can do.” He searched through the pile of
stubs, referring to the lists, until he found the stub which had
belonged to Frances Ives-Pope. He fished from his pocket the four stubs
he had collected Monday night and carefully tested the girl’s stub with
the one for Field’s seat. The torn edges did not coincide.
“There’s one consolation,” the Inspector continued, stuffing the five
tickets into his vest pocket, “we haven’t found a trace of the six
tickets for the seats next to and in front of Field’s seat!”
“I didn’t think you would,” remarked Ellery. He put the book down and
regarded his father with unwonted seriousness. “Have you ever stopped
to consider, dad, that we don’t know definitely _why_ Field was in the
theatre last night?”
Queen knit his grey brows. “That particular problem has been
puzzling me, of course. We know from Mrs. Russo and Michaels that Field
did not care for the theatre—”
“You can never tell what vagary will seize a man,” said Ellery
decisively. “Many things might make a non-theatre-going man decide
suddenly to go in for that sort of entertainment. The fact remains—he
was there. But what I want to know is _why_ he was there.”
The old man shook his head gravely. “Was it a business appointment?
Remember what Mrs. Russo said—that Field had promised to be back at 10
o’clock.”
“I fancy the business appointment idea,” applauded Ellery. “But
consider how many probabilities there are—the Russo woman might be
lying and Field said nothing of the sort; or if he did, he might have