The Roman hat mystery A problem in deduction
the world: _id est_, by way of some man’s head, its owner being garbed
in appropriate evening-clothes!”
The Inspector was keenly interested. He thought over Ellery’s statement
for a moment. Then he said seriously, “That’s getting us somewhere,
son. But you say a man left the theatre wearing Monte Field’s hat—an
important and enlightening statement. But please answer this question:
What did he do with his own hat, since no one left with two?”
Ellery smiled. “You now have your hand on the heart of our little
mystery, dad. But let it hold for the moment. We have a number of other
points to mull over. For example, the man who departed wearing Monte
Field’s hat could have been only one of two things: either he was the
actual murderer, or he was an accomplice of the murderer.”
“I see what you’re driving at,” muttered the Inspector. “Go on.”
“If he was the murderer, we have definitely established the sex
and also the fact that our man was wearing evening-clothes that
night—perhaps not a very illuminating point, since there were scores of
such men in the theatre. If he was only an accomplice, we must conclude
that the murderer was one of two possibilities: either a man
dressed in ordinary clothes, whose possession of a tophat as he left
would be patently suspicious; or else a woman, who of course could not
sport a tophat at all!”
The Inspector sank back into the leather cushions. “Talk about your
logic!” he chortled. “My son, I’m almost proud of you—that is, I would
be if you weren’t so disgustingly conceited.... Things standing where
they do, therefore, the reason you pulled your little drama in Panzer’s
office....”
His voice lowered as Ellery leaned forward. They continued to converse
in inaudible tones until the taxicab drew up before the headquarters
building.
No sooner had Inspector Queen, who had proceeded blithely through the
sombre corridors with Ellery striding at his side, entered his tiny
office than Sergeant Velie lumbered to his feet.
“Thought you were lost, Inspector!” he exclaimed. “That Stoates kid
was in here not long ago with a suffering look on his face. Said that
Cronin was tearing his hair at Field’s office—that they still hadn’t
found a thing in the files of an incriminating nature.”
“Go away, go away, Thomas my lad,” gurgled the Inspector softly. “I
can’t bother myself with petty problems like putting a dead man behind
bars. Ellery and I—”
The telephone bell rang. Queen sprang forward and snatched the
instrument from the desk. As he listened the glow left his thin cheeks
and a frown settled once more on his forehead. Ellery watched him with
a strange absorption.
“Inspector?” came the hurried voice of a man. “This is Hagstrom
reporting. Just got a minute—can’t say much. Been tailing Angela
Russo all morning and had a tough time.... Seems to be wise that
I’m following her.... A half hour ago she thought she’d given
me the slip—she hopped into a cab and beat it downtown.... And say,
Inspector—just three minutes ago I saw her enter Benjamin Morgan’s
office!”
Queen barked, “Nail her the instant she comes out!” and slammed the
receiver down. He turned slowly to Ellery and Velie and repeated
Hagstrom’s report. Ellery’s face became a study in frowning
astonishment. Velie appeared unmistakably pleased.
But the old man’s voice was strained as he sat down weakly in his
swivel-chair. Finally he groaned, “What do you know about that!”
CHAPTER XV
IN WHICH AN ACCUSATION IS MADE
Detective Hagstrom was a phlegmatic man. He traced his ancestry to the
mountains of Norway, where stolidity was a virtue and stoicism the
ultimate cult. Nevertheless, as he leaned against a gleaming marble
wall on the twentieth floor of the Maddern Building, thirty feet to the
side of the bronze-and-glass door marked:
BENJAMIN MORGAN
_Attorney-at-Law_
his heart beat a trifle faster than usual. He shuffled his feet
nervously as his jaw masticated a wad of chewing-tobacco. If the truth
were told Detective Hagstrom, a man of varied experience in the service
of the police department, had never clamped his hand on the shoulder
of a female with intent to arrest. He faced his coming assignment
therefore in some trepidation, remembering with appalling clarity the
fiery temperament of the lady for whom he was waiting.
His apprehension was well founded. When he had been lounging in the
corridor some twenty minutes, and wondering whether his quarry had
not slipped away through another exit, Benjamin Morgan’s office-door
suddenly swung open and the large, curved figure of Mrs. Angela
Russo, garbed in a modish tweed ensemble, appeared. An unbecoming
snarl distorted her carefully made-up features; she swung her purse
menacingly as she strode toward the line of elevators. Hagstrom glanced
quickly at his wrist-watch. It was ten minutes to twelve. In a
short time the offices would be disgorging their occupants for the
lunch hour, and he was most desirous of making his arrest in the quiet
of the deserted hall.
Accordingly he straightened up, adjusted his orange-and-blue necktie
and stepped with a fair assumption of coolness into full view of the
approaching woman. As she caught sight of him she slackened her stride
perceptibly. Hagstrom hurried toward her, anticipating flight. But Mrs.
Angela Russo was made of sterner stuff. She tossed her head and came on
brazenly.
Hagstrom fixed his large red hand on her arm. “I guess you know what I
want you for,” he said fiercely. “Come along now, and don’t make a fuss
or I’ll put the nippers on you!”
Mrs. Russo shook off his hand. “My, my—aren’t you the big rough cop?”
she murmured. “Just what do you think you’re doing, anyway?”
Hagstrom glared. “None o’ your lip, now!” His finger pressed savagely
on the “Down” signal for the elevators. “You just shut up and come
along!”
She faced him sweetly. “Are you trying to arrest me, by any chance?”
she cooed. “Because you know, my big he-man, you’ve got to have a
warrant to do that!”
“Aw, stow it!” he growled. “I’m not arresting you—I’m just inviting you
to step down to headquarters for a little gab with Inspector Queen. You
coming, or do I have to call the wagon?”
An elevator flashed to a stop. The elevator-man snapped, “Going down!”
The woman glanced with momentary uncertainty at the car, peered slyly
at Hagstrom and finally stepped into the elevator, the detective’s
hand firmly clasped on her elbow. They descended in silence under the
curious scrutiny of several passengers.
Hagstrom, uneasy but determined, sensing somehow a storm brewing in the
breast of the woman who strode so calmly by his side, was taking
no chances. He did not relax his grasp until they sat side by side in a
taxicab, bound for headquarters. Mrs. Russo’s face had gone pasty under
her rouge, despite the bold smile curving her lips. She turned suddenly
to face her captor, leaning close to his rigidly official body.
“Mr. Cop, darling,” she whispered, “do you think you could use a
hundred-dollar bill?”
Her hand fumbled suggestively in her purse. Hagstrom lost his temper.
“Bribery, huh?” he sneered. “We’ll have to chalk that one up for the
Inspector!”
The woman’s smile faded. For the rest of the journey she sat looking
fixedly at the back of the driver’s neck.
It was only when she was being marched, like a soldier on parade, down
the dark corridors of the big police structure that her poise returned.
And when Hagstrom held open the door of Inspector Queen’s office, she
passed inside with an airy tilt to her head and a pleasant smile that
would have deceived a police matron.
Inspector Queen’s office was a cheery affair of sunlight and color. At
the moment it resembled a clubroom. Ellery’s long legs were stretched
comfortably across the thick carpet, his eyes pleasantly absorbed in
the contents of a small cheaply bound book entitled “The Complete
Guide to Handwriting Analysis.” The smoke of a cigarette curled from
his slack fingers. Sergeant Velie was sitting stolidly in a chair
against the far wall, engrossed in a contemplation of Inspector Queen’s
snuff-box, which was held lovingly between the thumb and forefinger of
the old police official himself. Queen was seated in his comfortable
armchair, smiling in hazy introspection at some secret thought.
“Ah! Mrs. Russo! Come in, come in!” exclaimed the Inspector, bouncing
to his feet. “Thomas—a chair for Mrs. Russo, if you please.” The
Sergeant silently placed one of the bare wooden chairs by the side of
the Inspector’s desk and as silently retreated to his corner. Ellery
had not even glanced in the woman’s direction. He read on, the same
pleasantly abstracted smile on his lips. The old man was bowing with
hospitable courtesy to Mrs. Russo.
She looked about at the peaceful scene with bewilderment. She had been
prepared for severity, harshness, brutality—the domestic atmosphere of
the little office took her completely by surprise. Nevertheless she
seated herself and, the instant of hesitation gone, she exhibited the
same agreeable smile, the same ladylike demeanor that she had practiced
so successfully in the corridors.
Hagstrom was standing inside the doorway, glaring with offended dignity
at the profile of the seated woman.
“She tried to slip me a century note,” he said indignantly. “Tried to
bribe me, Chief!”
Queen’s eyebrows instantly rose in shocked surprise. “My dear Mrs.
Russo!” he exclaimed in a sorrowful voice. “You really didn’t intend
to make this excellent officer forget his duty to the City, did you?
But of course not! How stupid of me! Hagstrom, certainly you must
be mistaken, my dear fellow. A hundred dollars—” He shook his head
dolefully, sinking back into the leather swivel-chair.
Mrs. Russo smiled. “Isn’t it queer how these cops get the wrong
impression?” she asked in a lovely voice. “I assure you, Inspector—I
was just having a little fun with him....”
“Exactly,” said the Inspector, smiling again, as if this statement
restored his faith in human nature. “Hagstrom, that’ll be all.”
The detective, who was staring open-mouthed from his superior to the
smiling woman, recovered in time to intercept a wink which passed
from Velie to Queen across the woman’s head. He went out quickly,
muttering to himself.
“Now, Mrs. Russo,” began the Inspector, in a businesslike tone, “what
can we do for you to-day?”
She stared at him. “Why—why, I thought you wanted to see me....” Her
lips tightened. “Cut the comedy, Inspector!” she said shortly. “I’m not
paying any social calls on my own hook to this place and you know it.
What did you pinch me for?”
The Inspector spread his sensitive fingers deprecatingly, his mouth
pursed in protest. “But, my dear lady!” he said. “Certainly you have
something to tell me. Because, if you are here—and we cannot evade that
evident fact—you are here for a reason. Granted that you did not come
exactly of your own free will—still you were brought here because you
have something to say to me. Don’t you see?”
Mrs. Russo stared fixedly into his eyes. “What the—Hey, look here,
Inspector Queen, what are you driving at? What do you think I’ve got to
tell you? I answered everything you asked me Tuesday morning.”
“Well!” The old man frowned. “Let us say that you did _not_ answer
every question Tuesday morning with absolute veracity. For example—do
you know Benjamin Morgan?”
She did not flinch. “All right. You take the cake on that one. Your
bloodhound caught me coming out of Morgan’s office—what of it?” She
deliberately opened her purse and began to dab powder on her nose. As
she did so she glanced slyly at Ellery from the corner of her eye. He
was still engrossed in his book, oblivious to her presence. She turned