The Roman hat mystery 16Part 1 · In Which an Accusation Is Made
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Roman hat mystery 16
Part 1 · In Which an Accusation Is Made
QueenEnglish
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 back to the Inspector with a toss of the head.
Queen was looking at her sadly. “My dear Mrs. Russo, you’re not being fair to a poor old man. I wanted merely to point out that you had—shall I say—lied to me the last time I spoke to you. Now that’s a very dangerous procedure with police Inspectors, my dear—very dangerous.”
“Listen here!” the woman said suddenly. “You’re not going to get anywhere with this soft soap, Inspector. I did lie to you Tuesday morning. Because, you see, I didn’t think you had anyone here who could follow me very long. Well, I took a gambler’s chance and I lost. So you found out I was lying, and you want to know what it’s all about. I’ll tell you—and then maybe again I won’t!”
“Oho!” exclaimed Queen softly. “So you feel you’re in a safe enough position to dictate terms, eh? But Mrs. Russo—believe me you’re putting your very charming neck into a noose!”
“Yeh?” The mask was fairly off now; the woman’s face was stripped to its essential character of intrigue. “You got nothing on me and you know it damn’ well. All right—I did lie to you—what are you going to do about it? I’m admitting it now. And I’ll even tell you what I was doing in that guy Morgan’s office, if that’ll help you any! That’s the kind of a square-shooter I am, Mr. Inspector!”
“My dear Mrs. Russo,” returned the Inspector in a pained voice, a little puffed smile in his cheeks, “we know already what you were doing in Mr. Morgan’s office this morning, so you won’t be conferring such a great favor on us after all.... I’m really surprised that you should be willing to incriminate yourself to that extent, Mrs. Russo. Blackmail is a mighty serious offense!”
The woman grew deathly white. She half rose in the chair, gripping its arms.
“So Morgan squealed after all, the dirty dog!” she snarled. “And I thought he was a wise guy. I’ll give him something to squeal about, take it from me!”
“Ah, now you’re beginning to talk my language,” murmured the Inspector, leaning forward. “And just what is it you know about our friend Morgan?”
“I know this about him—but look here, Inspector, I can give you a red-hot tip. You wouldn’t frame a poor lonely woman on a blackmail charge, would you?”
The Inspector’s face lengthened. “Now, now, Mrs. Russo!” he said. “Is that a nice thing to say? Certainly I can’t make any promises....” He rose, his slender body deadly in its immobility. She shrank back a little. “You will tell me what you have on your mind, Mrs. Russo,” he said deliberately, “on the bare chance that I may show my gratitude in the generally accepted fashion. You will please talk—truthfully, do you understand?”
“Oh, I know well enough you’re a tough nut, Inspector!” she muttered. “But I guess you’re fair, too.... What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Well, it isn’t my funeral,” she said, in a more composed voice. There was a pause while Queen examined her curiously. In accusing her of blackmailing Morgan he had made a successful stab in the dark; now a flash of doubt assailed him. She seemed much too sure of herself if all she knew were the details of Morgan’s past, as the Inspector had taken for granted from the beginning of the interview. He glanced at Ellery and was apprehensively quick to note that his son’s eyes were no longer on the book but riveted on the profile of Mrs. Russo.
“Inspector,” said Mrs. Russo, a shrill triumph creeping into her voice, “I know who killed Monte Field!”
“What’s that?” Queen jumped out of his seat, a flush suffusing his white features. Ellery had straightened convulsively in his chair, his sharp eyes boring into the woman’s face. The book he had been reading slipped out of his fingers and dropped to the floor with a thud.
“I said I know who killed Monte Field,” repeated Mrs. Russo, evidently enjoying the sensation she had caused. “It’s Benjamin Morgan, and I heard him threaten Monte the night before he was murdered!”
“Oh!” said the Inspector, sitting down. Ellery picked up his book and resumed his interrupted study of “The Complete Guide to Handwriting Analysis.” Quiet descended once more. Velie, who had been staring at father and son in struggling amazement, seemed at a loss to understand their suddenly changed manner.
Mrs. Russo grew angry. “I suppose you think I’m lying again, but I’m not!” she screamed. “I tell you I heard with my own ears Ben Morgan tell Monte Sunday night that he’d put him away!”
The Inspector was grave, but undisturbed. “I don’t doubt your word in the least, Mrs. Russo. Are you sure it was Sunday night?”
“Sure?” she shrilled. “I’ll say I’m sure!”
“And where did this happen?”
“Right in Monte Field’s own apartment, that’s where!” she said bitingly. “I was with Monte all evening Sunday, and as far I know he wasn’t expecting company, because we didn’t usually have company when we spent the evening together.... Monte himself jumped when the door-bell rang about eleven o’clock and said, ‘Who in hell could that be?’ We were in the living-room at the time. But he got up and went to the door, and right after that I heard a man’s voice outside. I figured Monte wouldn’t want me to be seen by anybody, so I went into the bedroom and closed the door, just leaving a crack open. I could hear Monte trying to stall the man off. Anyway, they finally came into the living-room. Through the crack in the door I saw it was this fellow Morgan—I didn’t know who he was at the time, but later on I got it during the talk they had. And afterward Monte told me.”
She stopped. The Inspector listened imperturbably and Ellery was paying not the slightest attention to her words. She went on desperately.
“For about a half hour they talked till I could have howled. Morgan was sort of cold and set; he didn’t get excited till the last. From which I gathered, Monte had asked Morgan not long before for a big wad of dough in return for some papers; and Morgan said he didn’t have the money, couldn’t raise it. Said he’d decided to drop into Monte’s place for one last reckoning. Monte was kind of sarcastic and mean—he could be awfully mean when he wanted to. Morgan kept getting madder and madder, and I could see he was holding his temper in....”
The Inspector interrupted. “Just what was the reason for Field’s demand for money?”
“I wish I knew, Inspector,” she returned savagely. “But both of ’em were mighty careful not to mention the reason.... Anyway, it was something about those papers that Monte wanted Morgan to buy. It wouldn’t take much brains to guess that Monte had something on Morgan and was pushing it to the limit.”
At the mention of the word “papers” Ellery’s interest in Mrs. Russo’s story had revived. He had put the book down and begun to listen intently. The Inspector gave him a fleeting glance as he addressed the woman.
“Just how much money was Field demanding, Mrs. Russo?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she said, laughing disdainfully. “Monte was no piker. All he wanted was—fifty thousand dollars!”
The Inspector seemed unmoved. “Go on.”
“So there they were,” she continued, “jabbering back and forth, with Monte getting colder and Morgan getting madder. Finally Morgan picked up his hat and yelled, ‘I’ll be damned, you crook, if I’m going to be milked any more! You can do what you please—I’m through, do you understand? I’m through for good!’ He was blue in the face. Monte didn’t get up from his chair. He just said, ‘You can do as you please, Benjamin my friend, but I give you exactly three days to hand that money over. And no bargaining, remember! Fifty thousand, or—but surely I don’t have to remind you of the unpleasant consequences of refusal.’ Monte sure was slick,” she added admiringly. “Could sling the lingo like a professional.
“Morgan kept fiddling with his hat,” she went on, “just as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Then he exploded with, ‘I told you where you get off, Field, and I mean every word of it. Publish those papers, and if it means ruin to me—I’ll see to it that it’s the last time you’ll ever blackmail anybody!’ He shook his fist under Monte’s nose, and looked for a minute as if he was going to do him in then and there. Then all of a sudden he quieted down and without saying another word walked himself out of the apartment.”
“And that’s the story, Mrs. Russo?”
“Isn’t it enough?” she flared. “What are you trying to do—protect that murdering coward?... But it isn’t all. After Morgan left, Monte said to me, ‘Did you hear why my friend said?’ I made believe I didn’t, but Monte was wise. He took me on his lap and said playfully, ‘He’ll regret it, Angel....’ He always called me Angel,” she added coyly.
“I see....” The Inspector mused. “And just what did Mr. Morgan say—that you took for a threat against Field’s life?”
She stared at him incredulously. “Good gravy, are you dumb, or what?” she cried. “He said, ‘I’ll see to it it’s the last time you’ll ever blackmail anybody!’ And then when my darling Monte was killed the very next night....”
“A very natural conclusion,” smiled Queen. “Do I understand that you are preferring charges against Benjamin Morgan?”
“I’m not preferring anything except a little peace, Inspector,” she retorted. “I’ve told you the story—now do what you want with it.” She shrugged her shoulders and made as if to rise.
“One moment, Mrs. Russo.” The Inspector held up a small and delicate finger. “You referred in your story to some ‘papers’ that Field was holding over Morgan’s head. Did Field at any time during the quarrel between them actually bring out these papers?”
Mrs. Russo looked the old man coolly in the eye. “No sir, he didn’t. And make believe I’m not sorry he didn’t, too!”
“A charming attitude of yours, Mrs. Russo. One of these days.... I hope you understand that your skirts are not entirely—ah—clean in this matter, in a manner of speaking,” said the Inspector. “So please consider very carefully before you answer my next question. Where did Monte Field keep his private documents?”
“I don’t have to consider, Inspector,” she snapped, “I just don’t know. If there was any chance of my knowing I would, don’t worry.”
“Perhaps you made a few personal forays of your own when Field was absent from his apartment?” pursued Queen, smiling.
“Perhaps I did,” she answered with a dimpling cheek. “But it didn’t do any good. I’d swear they’re not in those rooms.... Well, Inspector, anything else?”
The clear voice of Ellery seemed to startle her. But she coquettishly patted her hair as she turned towards him.
“As far as you know, Mrs. Russo,” said Ellery icily, “from long and no doubt intimate association with your gallant Leander—how many different silk tophats did he possess?”
“You’re the original cross-word puzzle, aren’t you?” she gurgled. “As far as I know, Mr. Man, he had only one. How many does a guy need?”
“You’re certain of that, I suppose,” said Ellery.
“Sure’s you’re born, Mr.—Queen.” She contrived to slip a caress into her voice. Ellery stared at her as one stares at a strange zoological specimen. She made a little moué and turned about gayly.
“I’m not so popular around here so I’ll beat it.... You’re not going to put me in a nasty cell, are you, Inspector? I can go now, can’t I?”
The Inspector bowed. “Oh yes—you may go, Mrs. Russo, under a certain amount of surveillance.... But please understand that we may still require your delightful company at some not distant date. Will you remain in town?”
“Charmed, I’m sure!” she laughed and swept out of the room.
Velie snapped to his feet like a soldier and said, “Well, Inspector, I guess that settles it!”
The Inspector sank wearily into his chair. “Are you insinuating, Thomas, like some of Ellery’s stupid fiction-sergeants—which you are not—that Mr. Morgan be arrested for the murder of Monte Field?”
“Why—what else?” Velie seemed at a loss.
“We’ll wait a while, Thomas,” returned the old man heavily.
