The Roman hat mystery 20Part 1 · In Which Inspector Queen Conducts More Legal Conversations
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Roman hat mystery 20
Part 1 · In Which Inspector Queen Conducts More Legal Conversations
QueenEnglish
It was notable, particularly to District Attorney Sampson, that on Saturday evening Inspector Richard Queen was far from being himself. The old man was irritable, snappish and utterly uncongenial. He paced fretfully across the carpet of Manager Louis Panzer’s office, biting his lips and muttering beneath his breath. He seemed oblivious to the presence of Sampson, Panzer and a third person who had never been in that theatrical sanctum before and was seated, mouse-like, in one of Panzer’s big chairs, his eyes like saucers. This was bright-eyed Djuna, granted the unprecedented privilege of accompanying his grey patron on this latest incursion into the Roman Theatre.
In truth, Queen was singularly depressed. He had many times in his official life been confronted by apparently insoluble problems; he had as many times brought triumph out of failure. The Inspector’s strange manner therefore was doubly inexplicable to Sampson, who had been associated with the old man for years and had never seen him so completely unstrung.
The old man’s moodiness was not due to the progress of the Field investigation, as Sampson worriedly thought. Wiry little Djuna, sitting open-mouthed in his corner, was the only spectator to the Inspector’s mad pacing who could have put his finger on the truth. Djuna, wise by virtue of gamin perspicacity, observant by nature, familiar with Queen’s temperament through a loving association, knew that his patron’s manner was due solely to Ellery’s absence from the scene. Ellery had left New York on the 7:45 express that morning, having been gloomily accompanied to the station by his father. At the last moment the younger man had changed his mind, announcing his decision to forego the trip to Maine and abide in New York by his father’s side until the case was concluded. The old man would have none of it. With his shrewd insight into Ellery’s nature, he realized how keenly his highly strung son had been looking forward to this first vacation in over a year. It was not in his heart, impatient as he was for the constant presence of his son, to deprive him of this long contemplated pleasure trip.
Accordingly, he had swept aside Ellery’s proposal and pushed him up the steps of the train, with a parting clap and a wan smile. Ellery’s last words, shouted from the platform as the train glided out of the station, were: “I’m not forgetting you, dad. You’ll hear from me sooner than you expect!”
Now, torturing the nap of Manager Panzer’s rug, the Inspector was feeling the full impact of their separation. His brain was addled, his constitution flabby, his stomach weak, his eyes dim. He felt completely out of tune with the world and its denizens, and he made no attempt to conceal his irritation.
“Should be about time now, Panzer,” he growled to the stout little manager. “How long does this infernal audience take to clear out, anyway?”
“In a moment, Inspector, in a moment,” replied Panzer. The District Attorney sniffed away the remnants of his cold. Djuna stared in fascination at his god.
A rap on the door twisted their heads about. Towheaded Harry Neilson, the publicity man, poked his rugged face into the room. “Mind if I join the little party, Inspector?” he inquired cheerfully. “I was in at the birth, and if there’s going to be a death—why, I’m aiming to stick around, with your permission!”
The Inspector shot him a dour glare from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. He stood in a Napoleonic attitude, his every hair and muscle bristling with ill-nature. Sampson regarded him in surprise. Inspector Queen was showing an unexpected side to his temper.
“Might’s well,” he barked. “One more won’t hurt. There’s an army here as it is.”
Neilson reddened slightly and made a move as if to withdraw. The Inspector’s eye twinkled with a partial return to good spirits.
“Here—sit down, Neilson,” he said, not unkindly. “Mustn’t mind an old fogey like me. I’m just frazzled a bit. Might need you to-night at that.”
“Glad to be let in on it, Inspector,” grinned Neilson. “What’s the idea—sort of Spanish Inquisition?”
“Just about.” The old man bent his brows. “But—we’ll see.”
At this moment the door opened and the tall, broad figure of Sergeant Velie stepped quickly into the room. He was carrying a sheet of paper which he handed to the Inspector.
“All present, sir,” he said.
“Everybody out?” snapped Queen.
“Yes, sir. I’ve told the cleaning-women to go down into the lounge and hang around until we’re through. Cashiers have gone home, so have the ushers and usherettes. Cast is backstage, I guess, getting dressed.”
“Right. Let’s go, gentlemen.” The Inspector stalked out of the room followed closely by Djuna, who had not opened his mouth all evening except to emit noiseless gasps of admiration, for no reason that the amused District Attorney could see. Panzer, Sampson and Neilson also followed, Velie bringing up the rear.
The auditorium was again a vast and deserted place, the empty rows of seats stark and cold. The lights of the theatre had been switched on in full and their cold radiance lit up every corner of the orchestra.
As the five men and Djuna swung toward the extreme left aisle, there was a concerted bobbing of heads from the left section of seats. It was apparent now that a small group of people were awaiting the arrival of the Inspector, who walked heavily down the aisle and took up a position in front of the left boxes, so that all the seated people faced him. Panzer, Neilson and Sampson stood at the head of the aisle with Djuna at one side, a feverish spectator.
The assembled party was placed peculiarly. From the row nearest the Inspector, who stood about half-way down the orchestra, and proceeding towards the rear the only seats occupied were those directly on the left aisle. The end two seats of the dozen rows were filled by a motley aggregation—men and women, old and young. They were the same people who had occupied these chairs on the night of the fatal performance and whom Inspector Queen had personally examined after the discovery of the body. In the section of eight seats—Monte Field’s and the empty ones which had surrounded it—were grouped William Pusak, Esther Jablow, Madge O’Connell, Jess Lynch and Parson Johnny—the Parson furtive-eyed, uneasy and whispering to the usherette behind nicotined fingers.
At the Inspector’s sudden gesture all became silent as the grave. Sampson, looking about him at the bright chandeliers and lights, the deserted theatre, the lowered curtain, could not help feeling that the stage was being set for dramatic revelations. He leaned forward interestedly. Panzer and Neilson were quiet and watchful. Djuna kept his eyes fixed on the old man.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Queen announced curtly, staring at the assembled company, “I’ve brought you here for a definite purpose. I will not keep you any longer than is absolutely necessary, but what is necessary and what is not necessary is entirely up to me. If I find that I do not receive what I consider truthful answers to my questions, everybody will stay here until I am satisfied. I want that thoroughly understood before we proceed.”
He paused and glared about. There was a ripple of apprehension, a sudden crackle of conversation which died as quickly as it was born.
“On Monday night,” continued the Inspector frostily, “you people attended the performance at this theatre and, with the exception of certain employees and others now seated at the rear, occupied the seats in which you now find yourselves.” Sampson grinned as he noticed the stiffening of backs at these words, as if each individual felt his seat grow suddenly warm and uncomfortable beneath him.
“I want you to imagine that this is Monday night. I want you to think back to that night and try to remember everything that happened. By everything I mean any occurrence, no matter how trivial or apparently unimportant, that might have left an impression on your memory....”
As the Inspector warmed to his words, a number of people drifted into the orchestra at the rear. Sampson greeted them in whispers. The little party was composed of Eve Ellis, Hilda Orange, Stephen Barry, James Peale and three or four other members of the cast of “Gunplay.” They were dressed in their street-clothes. Peale whispered to Sampson that they had just come from their dressing-rooms and had dropped into the auditorium on hearing voices.
“Queen’s holding a little pow-wow,” whispered Sampson in return.
“Do you think the Inspector has any objections to our staying a while and listening?” asked Barry in a low tone, with an apprehensive glance toward the Inspector, who had stopped and was staring icily in their direction.
“Don’t see why—” began Sampson worriedly, when Eve Ellis murmured “Shhh!” and they all became silent.
“Now—” said the Inspector venomously, when the flurry had subsided, “this is the situation. Remember, you are now back in Monday evening. The curtain has gone up on the second act and the theatre is dark. There is a lot of noise from the stage and you are intent on the exciting sequences of the play.... Did any of you, especially those sitting in the aisle seats, notice anything peculiar, unusual or disturbing around or near you at that time?”
He paused expectantly. There were puzzled, fearful shakings of the head. No one answered.
“Think hard,” growled the Inspector. “You remember on Monday night I went down this aisle and questioned all of you in the same vein. Naturally I don’t want lies, and I can’t reasonably expect that you will tell me something startling now when you could remember nothing Monday night. But this is a desperate situation. A man was murdered here and we are frankly up against it. One of the most difficult cases we have ever encountered! In the light of such a condition, when we find ourselves against a blank wall with not the slightest idea where to turn—I am being honest with you as I expect you to be with me—I must turn to you as the only members of the audience five nights ago who were in a position to see something important, if anything important occurred.... It has been my experience that often, under stress of nervousness and excitement, a man or woman will forget a little detail that returns to memory after a few hours, days, weeks of normalcy. It is my hope that something of the sort has taken place with you....”
As Inspector Queen spoke, the words dropping acidly from his lips, the company lost its nervousness in its fascinated interest. When he paused, people put their heads together and whispered excitedly, shaking their heads at times, arguing in fierce, low tones at others. The Inspector waited in a resigned patience.
“Raise your hands if you have something to tell me....” he said.
A woman’s timid white hand fluttered aloft.
“Yes, madam?” commanded Queen, pointing his finger. “Do you recall anything unusual?”
A withered old lady rose embarrassedly to her feet and began to stammer in a squeaking voice. “I don’t know whether it’s important or not, sir,” she said tremulously. “But I do remember some time during the second act a woman, I think it was, walking down the aisle and a few seconds later walking up again.”
“Yes? That’s interesting, madam,” commented the Inspector. “About what time was this—can you recall?”
“I don’t remember the time, sir,” shrilled the old lady, “but it was about ten minutes or so after the beginning of the act.”
“I see.... And do you recall anything of her appearance? Was she young or old? What did she wear?”
The old lady looked troubled. “I don’t exactly remember, sir,” she quavered. “I wasn’t paying—”
A high, clear voice interrupted from the rear. Heads twisted about. Madge O’Connell had jumped to her feet.
“You don’t have to mess around with that any more. Inspector,” she announced coldly. “That lady saw me walking down the aisle and back again. That was before I—you know.” She winked pertly in the Inspector’s direction.
People gasped. The old lady stared with pitiful bewilderment at the usherette, then at the Inspector and finally sat down.
“I’m not surprised,” said the Inspector quietly. “Well, anybody else?”
There was no answer. Realizing that the company might feel shy of announcing their thoughts in public Queen started up the aisle, working from row to row, questioning each person separately in tones inaudible to the rest. When he had finished he returned slowly to his original position.
“I see that I must allow you ladies and gentlemen to return to your peaceful firesides. Thank you very much for your help.... Dismissed!”
He flung the word at them. They stared at him dazedly, then rose in muttering groups, took up their coats and hats and under Velie’s stern eye began to file out of the theatre. Hilda Orange, standing in the group behind the last row, sighed.
“It’s almost embarrassing to see that poor old gentleman’s disappointment,” she whispered to the others. “Come on, folks, let’s be going, too.”
The actors and actresses left the theatre among the departing company.
When the last man and woman had disappeared, the Inspector marched back up the aisle and stood gloomily staring at the little group who were left. They seemed to sense the seething fire in the old man and they cowered. But the Inspector, with a characteristic lightning change of front, became human again.
He sat down in one of the seats and folded his arms over the back, surveying Madge O’Connell, Parson Johnny and the others.
“All right, folks,” he said in a genial tone. “How about you, Parson? You’re a free man, you don’t have to worry about silks any more and you can speak up now like any self-respecting citizen. Can you give us any help in this affair?”
“Naw,” grunted the little gangster. “I told you all I knew. Ain’t got a thing to say.”
“I see.... You know, Parson, that we’re interested in your dealings with Field.” The gangster looked up in shocked surprise. “Oh, yes,” continued the Inspector. “We want you to tell us sometime about your business with Mr. Field in the past. You’ll keep that in mind, won’t you?... Parson,” he said sharply, “who killed Monte Field? Who had it in for him? If you know—out with it!”
“Aw, Inspector,” the Parson whined, “you ain’t pullin’ that stuff on me again, are you? How should I know? Field was one slick guy—he didn’t go around welching on his enemies. No, sir! I wouldn’t know.... He was pretty good to me—got me off on a couple of charges,” he admitted unblushingly. “But I didn’t have no more idea he was here Monday night than—hell, than anything.”
The Inspector turned to Madge O’Connell.
“How about you, O’Connell?” he asked softly. “My son, Mr. Queen, tells me that on Monday night you confided in him about closing the exit-doors. You didn’t say anything to me about that. What do you know?”
The girl returned his stare coolly. “I told you once, Inspector. I haven’t a thing to say.”
“And you, William Pusak—” Queen turned to the weazened little bookkeeper. “Do you remember anything now that you forgot Monday night?”
Pusak wriggled uncomfortably. “Meant to tell you, Inspector,” he mumbled. “And when I read about it in the papers it came back to me.... As I bent over Mr. Field Monday night I smelled a terrible smell of whiskey. I don’t remember if I told you that before.”
“Thank you,” remarked the Inspector dryly, rising. “A very important contribution to our little investigation. You may go, the whole lot of you....”
The orangeade-boy, Jess Lynch, looked disappointed. “Don’t you want to talk to me, too, sir?” he asked anxiously.
The Inspector smiled despite his abstraction. “Ah, yes. The helpful purveyor of orangeade.... And what have you to say, Jess?”
“Well, sir, before this fellow Field came over to my stand to ask for the ginger ale, I happened to notice that he picked up something in the alleyway,” said the boy eagerly. “It was shiny, sort of, but I couldn’t see it clear enough. He put it in his hip-pocket right away.”
He concluded triumphantly, glancing about him as if to invite applause. The Inspector seemed interested enough.
“What was this shiny object like, Jess?” he inquired. “Might it have been a revolver?”
“Revolver? Gosh, I don’t think so,” said the orangeade-boy doubtfully. “It was square, like....”
“Might it have been a woman’s purse?” interrupted the Inspector.
The boy’s face brightened. “That’s it!” he cried. “I’ll bet that’s what it was. Shined all over, like colored stones.”
Queen sighed. “Very good. Lynch,” he said. “You go home now like a good boy.”
Silently the gangster, the usherette, Pusak and his feminine charge, and the orangeade-boy rose and departed. Velie accompanied them to the outer door.
Sampson waited until they had gone before he took the Inspector to one side.
“What’s the matter, Q?” he demanded. “Aren’t things going right?”
“Henry, my boy,” smiled the Inspector, “we’ve done as much as mortal brains could. Just a little more time.... I wish—” He did not say what he wished. He grasped Djuna firmly by the arm and bidding Panzer, Neilson, Velie and the District Attorney a placid good-night, left the theatre.
At the apartment, as the Inspector wielded his key and the door swung open, Djuna pounced on a yellow envelope lying on the floor. It had evidently been stuck through the crack at the bottom of the door. Djuna flourished it in the old man’s face.
“It’s from Mr. Ellery, I’ll bet!” he cried. “I knew he wouldn’t forget!” He seemed more extraordinarily like a monkey than ever as he stood grinning, the telegram in his hand.
The Inspector snatched the envelope from Djuna’s hand and, not pausing to take off his hat or coat, switched on the lights in the living-room and eagerly extracted the yellow slip of paper.
Djuna had been correct.
ARRIVED SAFELY [it ran] CHAUVIN WILD WITH DELIGHT FISHING PROSPECT EXCEPTIONAL stop THINK I HAVE SOLVED YOUR LITTLE PROBLEM stop JOIN DISTINGUISHED COMPANY OF RABELAIS CHAUCER SHAKESPEARE DRYDEN WHO SAID MAKE A VIRTUE OF NECESSITY stop WHY NOT GO INTO BLACKMAILING BUSINESS YOURSELF stop DONT GROWL DJUNA TO DEATH AFFECTIONATELY ELLERY
The Inspector stared down at the harmless yellow slip, a startled comprehension transmuting the harsh lines of his face.
He whirled on Djuna, clapped that young gentleman’s cap on his tousled head and pulled his arm purposefully.
“Djuna, old son,” he said gleefully, “let’s go around the corner and celebrate with a couple of ice-cream sodas!”
