The Roman hat mystery A problem in deduction
“My dear sir,” returned the Inspector quietly, “I didn’t accuse
her of anything. Nobody knows better than I what peculiar things can
happen in the course of a criminal investigation; therefore I never let
the slightest blind spot escape my notice. All I did was to ask her to
identify the bag. When she did so, I told her where it was found. I was
waiting, of course, for an explanation. It did not come.... You must
understand, Mr. Ives-Pope, that when a man is murdered and a woman’s
bag is found in his pocket it is the duty of the police to discover
the owner of the bag and his or her connection with the crime. But of
course—I do not have to convince you of that.”
The magnate drummed on the arm of his chair. “I see your point of view,
Inspector,” he said. “It was obviously your duty, and it is still your
duty to go to the bottom of the thing. In fact, I want you to make
every effort to. My own personal opinion is that she is the victim
of circumstances. But I don’t want to plead her case. I trust you
sufficiently to rely on your judgment after you’ve thoroughly probed
the problem.” He paused. “Inspector Queen, how would you like to have
me arrange a little interview at my home to-morrow morning? I would not
ask you to go to this trouble,” he added apologetically, “except that
Frances is quite ill, and her mother insists she stay at home. May we
expect you?”
“Very good of you, Mr. Ives-Pope,” remarked Queen calmly. “We’ll be
there.”
The financier seemed indisposed to end the interview. He shifted
heavily in his chair. “I’ve always been a fair man, Inspector,” he
said. “I feel somehow that I may be accused of using my position as a
means of securing special privileges. That is not so. The shock of your
tactics last night made it impossible for Frances to tell her story.
At home, among the members of her family, I am sure she will be able
to clear up her connection with the affair to your satisfaction.” He
hesitated for a moment, then continued in a colder tone. “Her
fiancé will be there and perhaps his presence will help to calm her.”
His voice expressed the thought that he personally did not think so.
“May we expect you, let us say, at ten-thirty?”
“That will be fine,” said Queen, nodding. “I should like to know more
definitely, sir, just who will be present.”
“I can arrange it as you wish, Inspector,” replied Ives-Pope, “but
I imagine Mrs. Ives-Pope will want to be there and I know that Mr.
Barry will—my future son-in-law,” he explained dryly. “Perhaps a few
of Frances’ friends—theatrical friends. My son Stanford may also grace
us with his presence—a very busy young man, you know,” he added with a
suspicion of bitterness.
The three men shifted embarrassedly. Ives-Pope rose with a sigh
and Ellery, Queen and Sampson followed suit. “That’s all, I think,
Inspector,” said the financier in a lighter tone. “Is there anything
else I can do?”
“Not a thing.”
“Then I’ll be getting along.” Ives-Pope turned to Ellery and Sampson.
“Of course, Sampson, if you can get away, I’d like you to be there.
Do you think you can make it?” The District Attorney nodded. “And Mr.
Queen”—the big man turned to Ellery—“will you come also? I understand
that you have been following the investigation very closely at your
father’s side. We shall be happy to have you.”
“I’ll be there,” said Ellery softly, and Ives-Pope left the office.
“Well, what do you think, Q?” asked Sampson, fidgeting in his
swivel-chair.
“A most interesting man,” returned the Inspector. “How fair-minded he
is!”
“Oh, yes—yes,” said Sampson. “Er—Q, he asked me before you came if you
wouldn’t go easy on the publicity. Sort of special favor, you know.”
“He didn’t have the nerve to come out with it to me, eh?” chuckled
the Inspector. “He’s quite human.... Well, Henry, I’ll do my best, but
if that young woman is implicated seriously, I won’t vouch for hands
off with the press.”
“All right, all right, Q—it’s up to you,” said Sampson irritably.
“Damn this throat of mine!” He took an atomizer from a desk-drawer and
sprinkled his throat wryly.
“Didn’t Ives-Pope recently donate a hundred thousand dollars to the
Chemical Research Foundation?” asked Ellery suddenly, turning to
Sampson.
“I seem to remember something of that sort,” said Sampson, gargling.
“Why?”
Ellery mumbled an inaudible explanation that was lost in Sampson’s
violent gyrations with the sprayer. Queen, who was regarding his son
speculatively, shook his head, consulted his watch and said, “Well,
son, it’s time we knocked off for lunch. What do you say—Henry,
think you’d like to join us in a bite?”
Sampson grinned with an effort. “I’m full up to my neck with work, but
even a District Attorney has to eat,” he said. “I’ll go on only one
condition—that I pay the check. I owe you something, anyway.”
As they donned their coats Queen picked up Sampson’s telephone.
“Mr. Morgan?.... Oh, hello, Morgan. I say, do you think you can find
a little time this afternoon for a chat?... Right. Two-thirty will be
fine. Good-by.”
“That settles that,” said the Inspector comfortably. “Always pays to be
polite, Ellery—remember that.”
At two-thirty promptly the two Queens were ushered into the quiet
law-office of Benjamin Morgan. It was noticeably different from Field’s
lavish suite—richly furnished but with a more business-like simplicity.
A smiling young woman closed the door after them. Morgan greeted
them with some reserve. He held out a box of cigars as they sat down.
“No thanks—my snuff will do,” said the Inspector genially, while Ellery
after being introduced lit a cigarette and blew smoke-rings. Morgan lit
a cigar with shaking fingers.
“I suppose you’re here to continue that talk of ours last night,
Inspector?” said Morgan.
Queen sneezed, replaced his snuff-box, and leaned back in the chair.
“Look here, Morgan old man,” he said evenly. “You haven’t been quite on
the up-and-up with me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Morgan, coloring.
“You told me last night,” said the Inspector reflectively, “you told me
last night that you parted amicably with Field two years ago, when you
dissolved the firm of Field & Morgan. Did you say that?”
“I did,” said Morgan.
“How, then, my dear fellow,” asked Queen, “do you explain the little
incident of the quarrel at the Webster Club? I certainly would not call
a threat against another man’s life an ‘amicable’ way of dissolving a
partnership!”
Morgan sat quietly for several minutes while Queen stared patiently
at him and Ellery sighed. Then he looked up and began to speak in a
passionate undertone.
“I’m sorry, Inspector,” he muttered, glancing away. “I might have
known that a threat like that would be remembered by somebody.... Yes,
it’s true enough. We had lunch one day in the Webster Club at Field’s
suggestion. As far as I was concerned, the less I had to do with him
socially the better I liked it. But the purpose of the luncheon was to
go over some last details of the dissolution, and of ♦course I had no
choice.... I’m afraid I lost my temper. I did make a threat against his
life, but it was—well, it was said in the heat of an angry moment.
I forgot the whole thing before the week was over.”
♦ “couse” replaced with “course”
The Inspector nodded sagely. “Yes, things do happen like that
sometimes. But”—and Morgan licked his lips in despairing
anticipation—“a man doesn’t threaten another man’s life, even if he
doesn’t mean it, merely over a matter of business detail.” He leveled
his finger at Morgan’s shrinking body. “Come on now, man—out with it.
What are you holding back?”
Morgan’s entire body had gone flaccid. His lips were ashy as he turned
from one Queen to the other, mute appeal in his eyes. But their
glances were inexorable and Ellery, who was regarding him much as a
vivisectionist regards a guinea-pig, interrupted.
“My dear Morgan,” he said coldly, “Field had something on you, and he
thought that that was a good time to tell you about it. It’s as obvious
as the red in your eye.”
“You’ve guessed it in part, Mr. Queen. I’ve been one of the most
unfortunate men God ever created. That devil Field—whoever killed
him deserves to be decorated for his service to humanity. He was an
octopus—a soulless beast in human form. I can’t tell you how happy—yes,
happy!—I am that he is dead!”
“Softly there, Morgan,” said Queen. “Although I gather our mutual
friend was a good deal of a skunk, your remarks might be overheard by a
less sympathetic audience. And—?”
“Here’s the whole story,” mumbled Morgan, his eyes fixed on the
desk-blotter. “It’s a hard one to tell.... When I was a kid at
college I got into some trouble with a girl—a waitress in the college
restaurant. She was not bad—just weak, and I suppose I was wild in
those days. At any rate she had a child—my child.... I suppose you
know that I come from a strait-laced family. If you don’t, you would
find out soon enough on investigation. They had great plans for
me, they were socially ambitious—to cut it short, I couldn’t very well
marry the girl and bring her to father’s house as my wife. It was a
caddish thing to do....”
He paused.
“But it was done, and that’s all that matters. I’ve—I’ve always loved
her. She was sensible enough about the arrangements.... I managed
to provide for her out of my generous allowance. No one—I’ll swear
not a soul in this world with the exception of her widowed mother, a
fine old lady—knew about the affair. I’ll swear to that, I say. And
yet—” His fist clenched, but he resumed with a sigh. “Eventually, I
married the girl whom my family had selected for me.” There was a
painful silence as he stopped to clear his throat. “It was a _mariage
de convenance_—just that and nothing more. She came from an old
aristocratic family, and I had the money. We have lived fairly happily
together.... Then I met Field. I curse the day I ever consented to
go into partnership with him—but my own business was not exactly all
it might have been and Field, if nothing else, was an aggressive and
clever lawyer.”
The Inspector took a pinch of snuff.
“Everything went smoothly at first,” continued Morgan in the same
low tone. “But by degrees I began to suspect that my partner was
not everything he should have been. Queer clients—queer clients
indeed—would enter his private office after hours; he would evade
my questions about them; things began to look peculiar. Finally I
decided my own reputation would suffer if I continued to be linked with
the man, and I broached the subject of dissolution. Field objected
strenuously, but I was stubborn and after all he could not dominate my
desires. We dissolved.”
Ellery’s fingers tapped an absent tattoo on the handle of his stick.
“Then the affair at the Webster. He insisted we have lunch
together for the settlement of the last few details. That wasn’t his
purpose at all, of course. You can guess, I suppose, his intentions....
He came out quite suavely with the overwhelming statement that he knew
I was supporting a woman and my illegitimate child. He said that he
had some of my letters to prove it, and a number of cancelled vouchers
of checks I had sent her.... He admitted he had stolen them from me.
I hadn’t looked at them for years, of course.... Then he blandly
announced that he meant to make capital out of this evidence!”
“Blackmail!” muttered Ellery, a light creeping into his eyes.
“Yes, blackmail,” retorted Morgan bitterly. “Nothing less. He described
in very graphic terms what would happen if the story should come out.
Oh, Field was a clever crook! I saw the entire structure of social
position I had built up—a process which took years—destroyed in an
instant. My wife, her family, my own family—and more than that, the
circle in which we moved—I shouldn’t have been able to lift my head out