The Roman hat mystery A problem in deduction
down the aisle during the second act? And that she had not seen, at any
time during the evening at all, the person whom we know sat in LL30
from half-past nine until ten or fifteen minutes before the body was
discovered?”
“It’s a tricky question, dad,” remarked Ellery seriously, “because if
she was lying about these things, we are losing a mine of information.
If she _was_ lying—good Lord!—she might be in a position at this
moment either to describe, or identify, or possibly name the murderer!
However, her nervousness and peculiar attitude might be ascribed to
her knowledge that Parson Johnny was in the theatre, with a pack of
policemen just aching to get their fingers on him.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” grumbled Queen. “Well, what about Parson
Johnny? How does he fit into this—or does he fit into it at all? We
must always remember that, according to Morgan’s statement, Cazzanelli
was actively associated with Field. Field had been his lawyer, and
perhaps had even bought the Parson’s services for this shady business
Cronin is nosing around about. If the Parson was not there by accident,
was he there through Field or through Madge O’Connell, as she and he
both say? I think, my son,” he added with a fierce tug at his mustache,
“that I’m going to give Parson Johnny a taste of the lash—it won’t hurt
his thick hide! And that snippy little O’Connell chit—won’t do any harm
to scare the wits out of her either....”
He took an enormous pinch of snuff, sneezing to the tune of
Ellery’s sympathetic chuckles.
“And dear old Benjamin Morgan,” continued the Inspector, “was he
telling the truth about the anonymous letter which so conveniently gave
him a mysterious source for his theatre ticket?
“And that most interesting lady, Mrs. Angela Russo.... Ah, the ladies,
bless ’em! They always muddle a man’s logic so. What did she say—that
she came to Field’s apartment at 9:30? Is her alibi perfectly sound?
Of course, the doorman at the apartment house confirmed her statement.
But it’s easy to ‘fix’ doormen.... Does she know more than she has
indicated about Field’s business—particularly his private business?
Was she lying when she said that Field told her he would be back at
ten o’clock? Remember, we know that Field had an appointment in the
Roman Theatre beginning at 9:30—did he really expect to keep it and
be back at his rooms by ten o’clock? By cab it would be a fifteen
or twenty-minute drive, through traffic, which would leave only ten
minutes for the transaction—possible, of course. Couldn’t do it much
sooner by subway, either. We mustn’t forget, too, that this woman was
not in the theatre at any time during the evening.”
“You’ll have your hands full with that fair flower of Eve,” remarked
Ellery. “It’s so beautifully evident that she’s keeping back a story of
some sort. Did you notice that brazen defiance? Wasn’t mere bravado.
She knows something, dad. I would certainly keep my eye on her—sooner
or later she’ll give herself away.”
“Hagstrom will take care of her,” said Queen abstractedly. “Now, how
about Michaels? He has no supported alibi for Monday evening. But then
it might not make any difference. He wasn’t in the theatre.... There’s
something fishy about that fellow. Was he really looking for
something when he came to Field’s apartment Tuesday morning? We’ve
made a thorough search of the premises—is it possible we’ve overlooked
something? It’s quite evident that he was lying when he spilled that
story about the check, and not knowing that Field was dead. And
consider this—he _must_ have realized that he was running into danger
in coming to Field’s rooms. He’d read about the murder and couldn’t
have hoped that the police would delay going to the place. So he was
taking a desperate chance—for what reason? Answer that one!”
“It might have had something to do with his imprisonment—by George, he
looked surprised when I accused him, didn’t he?” chuckled Ellery.
“Might at that,” returned the Inspector. “By the way. I’ve heard from
Velie about Michaels’ term up in Elmira. Thomas reports that it was
a hushed-up case—much more serious than the light sentence in the
Reformatory indicates. Michaels was suspected of forgery—and it looked
mighty black for him. Then Lawyer Field nicely got Mr. Michaels off
on an entirely different count—something to do with petty larceny—and
nothing was ever heard about the forgery business again. This boy
Michaels looks like the real thing—have to step on his heels a bit.”
“I have a little idea of my own about Michaels,” said Ellery
thoughtfully. “But let it go for the present.”
Queen seemed not to hear. He stared into the fire roaring in the stone
fireplace. “There’s Lewin, too,” he said. “Seems incredible that a man
of Lewin’s stamp should have been so confidentially associated with
his employer without knowing a good deal more than he professes. Is he
keeping something back? If he is, heaven help him—because Cronin will
just about pulverize him!”
“I rather like that chap Cronin,” sighed Ellery. “How on earth can a
fellow be so set on one idea?... Has this occurred to you? I wonder
if Morgan knows Angela Russo? Despite the fact that both of them
deny a mutual acquaintance. Would be deucedly interesting if they did,
wouldn’t it?”
“My son,” groaned Queen, “don’t go looking for trouble. We’ve a peck of
it now without going out of our way for more.... By jingo!”
There was a comfortable silence as the Inspector sprawled in the light
of the leaping flames. Ellery munched contentedly on a succulent piece
of pastry. Djuna’s bright eyes gleamed from the far corner of the room,
where he had stolen noiselessly and squatted on his thin haunches on
the floor, listening to the conversation.
Suddenly the old man’s eyes met Ellery’s in a spasmodic transference of
thought.
“The hat....” muttered Queen. “We always come back to the hat.”
Ellery’s glance was troubled. “And not a bad thing to come back to,
dad. Hat—hat—hat! Where does it fit in? Just what do we know about it?”
The Inspector shifted in his chair. He crossed his legs, took another
pinch of snuff and proceeded with a fresh vigor. “All right. We can’t
afford to be lazy in the matter of that blamed silk-topper,” he said
briskly. “What do we know so far? First, that the hat did not leave
the theatre. It seems funny, doesn’t it? Doesn’t seem possible that we
would find no trace at all after such a thorough search.... Nothing
was left in the cloak-room after everybody was gone; nothing was found
in the sweepings that might indicate a hat torn to small pieces or
burned; in fact, not a trace, not a thing for us to go on. Therefore,
Ellery, the only sensible conclusion we can make at this point is
_that we haven’t looked for the hat in the right place_! And further,
wherever it is, it’s still there, due to our precaution of closing the
theatre down since Monday night. Ellery, we’ve got to go back to-morrow
morning and turn that place upside down. I won’t sleep until we
see light somewhere in this matter.”
Ellery was silent. “I’m not at all satisfied with things as you’ve
stated them, dad,” he muttered at last. “Hat—hat—there’s something
wrong somewhere!” He fell silent once more. “No! The hat is the focal
point of this investigation—I cannot see any other way out of it. Solve
the mystery of Field’s hat and you will find the one essential clue
that will point to the murderer. I’m so convinced of this that I’ll be
satisfied we’re on the right track only when we’re making progress in
the explanation of the hat.”
The old man nodded his head vigorously. “Ever since yesterday morning,
when I had time to think over the hat business, I’ve felt that we had
gone astray somewhere. And here it is Wednesday night—still no light.
We’ve done necessary things—they’ve led nowhere....” He stared into the
fire. “Everything is so badly muddled. I’ve got all the loose ends at
my fingertips, but for some blasted reason I can’t seem to make them
cohere—fit together—_explain_ anything.... Undoubtedly, son, what is
missing is the story of the top-piece.”
The telephone bell rang. The Inspector sprang for the instrument. He
listened attentively to a man’s unhurried tones, made a brisk comment
and finally hung up.
“Who’s the latest midnight babbler, O recipient of many confidences?”
asked Ellery, grinning.
“That was Edmund Crewe,” said Queen. “You remember I asked him
yesterday morning to go over the Roman. He spent all of yesterday
and today at it. And he reports positively that there is no secret
hiding-place anywhere on the premises of the theatre. If Eddie Crewe,
who is about the last word in architectural matters of this kind, says
there’s no hiding-place there, you may rest assured it’s so.”
He jumped to his feet and espied Djuna squatting on his hams in
the corner. “Djuna! Get the old bed ready,” he roared. Djuna slipped
through the room and disappeared with a silent grin. Queen wheeled on
Ellery, who had already taken off his coat and was fumbling with his
tie.
“The first thing we do to-morrow morning is go down to the Roman
Theatre and start all over again!” the old man said decisively. “And
let me tell you, son—I’m through fooling around! Somebody’d better
watch out!”
Ellery affectionately encircled his father’s shoulders with one great
arm. “Come on to bed, you old fraud!” he laughed.
PART THREE
_“A good detective is born, not made. Like all genius, he springs not
from a carefully nurtured_ polizei _but from all mankind. The most
amazing detective I ever knew was a dirty old witch-doctor who had
never been out of the bush.... It is the peculiar gift of the truly
great detective that he can apply to the inexorable rules of logic
three catalyzers: an abnormal observation of events, a knowledge of
the human mind and an insight into the human heart.”_
—_From_ The Man-Hunter’s Manual,
_By_ James Redix (the Younger).
CHAPTER XIV
IN WHICH THE HAT GROWS
On Thursday, September 27th, the third morning after the events of the
crime in the Roman Theatre, Inspector Queen and Ellery rose at an early
hour and dressed hastily. They repaired to a makeshift breakfast under
the protesting eye of Djuna, who had been pulled bodily from his bed
and thrust into the sober habiliments which he affected as major-domo
of the Queen ménage.
While they were munching at anæmic pancakes, the old man asked Djuna to
get Louis Panzer on the telephone.
In a few moments the Inspector was speaking genially into the
mouthpiece. “Good morning, Panzer. Please forgive me for hauling you
out of bed at this ungodly time of the morning.... There’s something
important in the wind and we need your help.”
Panzer murmured a sleepy reassurance.
“Can you come down to the Roman Theatre right away and open it for us?”
went on the old man. “I told you that you wouldn’t be shut down very
long and now it looks as if you’ll be able to cash in on the publicity
the affair has been getting. I’m not sure when we can reopen, you
understand, but it’s barely possible that you’ll be able to put your
show on to-night. Can I count on you?”
“This is excellent!” Panzer’s voice came over the wire in a tremulous
eagerness. “Do you want me to come down to the theatre at once? I’ll be
there in a half-hour—I’m not dressed.”
“That will be fine,” returned Queen. “Of course, Panzer—no one is to
be allowed inside yet. Wait for us on the sidewalk before you use
your keys and don’t notify any one, either. We’ll talk it all over at
the theatre.... Just a moment.”
He clamped the mouthpiece against his chest and looked up inquiringly