The Roman hat mystery A problem in deduction
few moments later he reappeared, only to make his way to the cubicle
which was used as an office by the publicity man, Harry Neilson. He
was in this compartment for some time. He came out and visited the
cashiers’ offices. Shutting the door behind him when he had finished,
he wended his way down the steps on the right of the theatre leading
to the general lounge, on the floor below the orchestra. Here he took
his time, delving into every corner, every niche in the wall, every
waste-container—all of which he found to be empty. He speculatively
eyed the large bin standing directly under the water-fountain. He
peered into this receptacle and pottered away, finding nothing.
Thereupon with a sigh he opened the door on which was gilt-lettered,
ladies’ rest room, and went inside. A few moments later he reappeared
to push his way through the swinging-doors marked gentlemen.
When his meticulous search of the lower floor was completed he trudged
up the steps again. In the orchestra he found Louis Panzer waiting,
slightly flushed from his exertions but displaying a triumphant smile.
The little manager was carrying a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.
“So you saw Cronin after all, Panzer?” said the Inspector, scurrying
forward. “This is mighty nice of you, my boy—I appreciate it more than
I can say. Is this the package Cronin gave you?”
“It is. A very nice chap, Cronin. I didn’t have to wait long after I
telephoned you. He came in with two other men named Stoates and Lewin.
He didn’t keep me more than ten minutes altogether. I hope it was
important, Inspector?” Panzer continued, smiling. “I should like to
feel that I’ve been instrumental in clearing up part of the puzzle.”
“Important?” echoed the Inspector, taking the parcel from the manager’s
hand. “You have no idea how important it is. Some day I’ll tell you
more about it.... Will you excuse me a moment, Panzer?”
The little man nodded in a fleeting disappointment as the Inspector
grinned, backing off into a dark corner. Panzer shrugged and
disappeared into his office.
When he came out, hat and coat left behind, the Inspector was stuffing
the parcel into his pocket.
“Did you get what you wanted, sir?” inquired Panzer.
“Oh, yes, yes, indeed!” Queen said, rubbing his hands. “And now—I see
Ellery is still gone—suppose we go into your office for a few minutes
and while away the time until he returns.”
They went into Panzer’s sanctum and sat down. The manager lit a
long Turkish cigarette while the Inspector dipped into his snuff-box.
“If I’m not presuming, Inspector,” said Panzer casually, crossing his
short fat legs and emitting a cloud of smoke, “how are things going?”
Queen shook his head sadly. “Not so well—not so well. We don’t seem to
be getting anywhere with the main angles of the case. In fact, I don’t
mind telling you that unless we get on the track of a certain object we
face failure.... It’s pretty hard on me—I’ve never encountered a more
puzzling investigation.” He wore a worried frown as he snapped the lid
of his snuff-box shut.
“That’s too bad, Inspector,” Panzer clucked in sympathy. “And I was
hoping—Ah, well! We can’t put our personal concerns above the demands
of justice, I suppose! Just what is it you are seeking, Inspector, if
you don’t mind telling an outsider?”
Queen brightened. “Not at all. You’ve done me a good turn this morning
and—By jingo, how stupid of me not to think of this before!” Panzer
leaned forward eagerly. “How long have you been manager of the Roman
Theatre, Panzer?”
The manager raised his eyebrows. “Ever since it was built,” he said.
“Before that I managed the old Electra on 43rd Street—it is also owned
by Gordon Davis,” he explained.
“Oh!” The Inspector seemed to reflect deeply. “Then you would know
this theatre from top to bottom—you would be as familiar with its
construction as the architect, perhaps?”
“I have a rather thorough knowledge of it, yes,” confessed Panzer,
leaning back.
“That’s excellent! Let me give you a little problem, then, Panzer....
Suppose you wished to conceal a—let us say, a tophat—somewhere in
the building, in such a way that not even an exhaustive search of the
premises would bring it to light. What would you do? Where would you
hide it?”
Panzer scowled thoughtfully at his cigarette. “A rather unusual
question, Inspector,” he said at last, “and one which it is not easy
to answer. I know the plans of the theatre very well; I was consulted
about them in a conference with the architect before the theatre
was built. And I can positively state that the original blueprints
did not provide for such medieval devices as concealed passageways,
secret closets or anything of that sort. I could enumerate any number
of places where a man might hide a comparatively small object like
a tophat, but none of them would be proof against a really thorough
search.”
“I see.” The Inspector squinted at his finger-nails in an appearance of
disappointment. “So that doesn’t help. We’ve been over the place from
top to bottom, as you know, and we can’t find a trace of it....”
The door opened and Ellery, a trifle begrimed but wearing a cheerful
smile, entered. The Inspector glanced at him in eager curiosity. Panzer
rose hesitantly with the evident intention of leaving father and son
alone. A flash of intelligence shot between the Queens.
“It’s all right, Panzer—don’t go,” said the Inspector peremptorily.
“We’ve no secrets from you. Sit down, man!”
Panzer sat down.
“Don’t you think, dad,” remarked Ellery, perching on the edge of the
desk and reaching for his pince-nez, “that this would be an opportune
moment to inform Mr. Panzer of to-night’s opening? You remember we
decided while he was gone that the theatre might be thrown open to the
public this evening and a regular performance given....”
“How could I have forgotten—!” said the Inspector without
blinking, although this was the first time he had heard about the
mythical decision. “I think we’re about ready, Panzer, to lift the ban
on the Roman. We find that we can do nothing further here, so there is
no reason for depriving you of your patronage any longer. You may run a
performance to-night—in fact, we are most anxious to see a show put on,
aren’t we, Ellery?”
“‘Anxious’ is hardly the word,” said Ellery, lighting a cigarette. “I
should say we insist upon it.”
“Exactly,” murmured the Inspector severely. “We insist upon it, Panzer.”
The manager had bobbed out of his chair, his face shining. “That’s
simply splendid, gentlemen!” he cried. “I’ll telephone Mr. Davis
immediately to let him know the good news. Of course”—his face
fell—“it’s terribly late to expect any sort of response from the public
for to-night’s performance. Such short notice....”
“You needn’t worry about that, Panzer,” retorted the Inspector. “I’ve
caused your shut-down and I’ll see that the theatre is compensated
for it to-night. I’ll get the newspaper boys on the wire and ask them
to ballyhoo the opening in the next edition. It will mean a lot of
unexpected publicity for you and undoubtedly the free advertising,
combined with the normal curiosity of the public, will give you a
sell-out.”
“That’s sporting of you, Inspector,” said Panzer, rubbing his hands.
“Is there anything else I can do for you at the moment?”
“There’s one item you’ve forgotten, dad,” interposed Ellery. He
turned to the swart little manager. “Will you see that LL32 and LL30
Left are not sold to-night? The Inspector and I would enjoy seeing
this evening’s performance. We’ve not really had that pleasure yet,
you know. And naturally we wish to preserve a stately incognito,
Panzer—dislike the adulation of the crowd and that sort of thing.
You’ll keep it under cover, of course.”
“Anything you say, Mr. Queen. I’ll instruct the cashier to put aside
those tickets,” returned Panzer pleasantly. “And now, Inspector—you
said you would telephone the press, I believe—?”
“Certainly.” Queen took up the telephone and held pithy conversations
with the city editors of a number of metropolitan newspapers. When he
had finished Panzer bade them a hurried good-by to get busy with the
telephone.
Inspector Queen and his son strolled out into the orchestra, where they
found Flint and the two detectives who had been examining the boxes
awaiting them.
“You men hang around the theatre on general principles,” ordered the
Inspector. “Be particularly careful this afternoon.... Any of you find
anything?”
Flint scowled. “I ought to be digging clams in Canarsie,” he said with
a disgruntled air. “I fell down on the job Monday night, Inspector, and
I’m blamed if I could find a thing for you to-day. That place upstairs
is swept as clean as a hound’s tooth. Guess I ought to go back to
pounding a beat.”
Queen slapped the big detective on the shoulder. “What’s the matter
with you? Don’t be acting like a baby, lad. How on earth could you
find anything when there wasn’t anything to find? You fellows get
something?” he demanded, swinging on the other two men.
They shook their heads in a gloomy negation.
A moment later the Inspector and Ellery climbed into a passing taxicab
and settled back for the short drive to headquarters. The old man
carefully closed the glass sliding-window separating the driver’s seat
from the interior of the car.
“Now, my son,” he said grimly, turning on Ellery, who was puffing
dreamily at a cigarette, “please explain to your old daddy that
hocus-pocus in Panzer’s office!”
Ellery’s lips tightened. He stared out of the window before replying.
“Let me start this way,” he said. “You have found nothing in your
search to-day. Nor have your men. And although I scouted about myself,
I was just as unsuccessful. Dad, make up your mind to this one primary
point: The hat which Monte Field wore to the performance of ‘Gunplay’
on Monday night, in which he was seen at the beginning of the second
act, and which presumably the murderer took away after the crime was
committed, _is not in the Roman Theatre now and has not been there
since Monday night_. To proceed.” Queen stared at him with grizzled
brows. “In all likelihood Field’s tophat no longer exists. I would
stake my Falconer against your snuff-box that it has fled this life and
now enjoys a reincarnation as ashes in the City dumps. That’s point
number one.”
“Go on,” commanded the Inspector.
“Point number two is so elementary as to be infantile. Nevertheless,
allow me the privilege of insulting the Queen intelligence.... If
Field’s hat is not in the Roman Theatre now and has not been in the
Roman Theatre since Monday night, it must of necessity have been taken
_out_ of the Roman Theatre some time during the course of that evening!”
He paused to gaze thoughtfully through the window. A traffic-officer
was waving his arms at the juncture of 42nd Street and Broadway.
“We have established therefore,” he continued lightly, “the factual
basis of a point which has been running us ragged for three days: to
wit, did the hat for which we are looking leave the Roman Theatre....
To be dialectic—yes, it did. It left the Roman Theatre the night of
the murder. Now we approach a greater problem—_how_ did it leave
and _when_.” He puffed at his cigarette and regarded the glowing tip.
“We know that no person left the Roman Monday night with two hats or
no hat at all. In no case was there anything incongruous in the attire
of any person leaving the theatre. That is, a man wearing a full-dress
costume did not go out with a fedora. In a similar way, no one wearing
a silk-topper was dressed in ordinary street-clothes. Remember, we
noticed nothing wrong from this angle in _anyone_.... This leads us
inevitably, to my staggering mind, to the third fundamental conclusion:
that Monte Field’s hat left the theatre in the most natural manner in