The Roman Hat Mystery - (4)

“Oh, yes, sir. He said LL32 Left, and sure enough that’s where I found him.”
    “Quite right.” The Inspector, after a pause, asked casually, “Did you notice if he was alone, Jess?”
    “Sure thing, sir,” returned the boy in a cheerful tone. “He was sittin’ all alone on this end seat. The reason I noticed it was that the show’s been packed ever since it opened, and I thought it was queer that there should be so many seats empty around here.”
    “That’s fine, Jess. You’ll make a detective yet.... You couldn’t tell me how many seats were empty, I suppose?”
    “Well, sir, it was kind of dark and I wasn’t payin’ much attention. I guess it was about half a dozen, all told—some next to him in the same row and some right in the row in front.”
    “Just a moment, Jess.” The boy turned, licking his lips in honest fright at the sound of Ellery’s low cool voice. “Did you see anything more of that shiny topper when you handed him the bottle of ginger ale?” asked Ellery, tapping the point of his neat shoe with his stick.
    “Why, yes—yes, sir!” stammered the boy. “When I gave him the bottle he was holding the hat in his lap, but before I left I saw him stick it underneath his seat.”
    “Another question, Jess.” The boy sighed with relief at the sound of the Inspector’s reassuring voice. “About how long, do you reckon, did it take you to deliver the bottle to this man after the second act started?”
    Jess Lynch thought gravely for a moment, and then said with finality, “It was just about ten minutes, sir. We got to keep pretty close tabs on the time, and I know it was ten minutes because when I came into the theatre with the bottle it was just the part on the stage when the girl is caught in the gang’s hang-out and is being grilled by the villain.”
    “An observant young Hermes!” murmured Ellery, smiling suddenly. The orangeade boy caught the smile and lost the last vestige of his fear. He smiled back. Ellery crooked his finger and bent forward. “Tell me, Jess. Why did it take you ten minutes to cross the street, buy a bottle of ginger ale and return to the theatre? Ten minutes is a long time, isn’t it?”
    The boy turned scarlet as he looked appealingly from Ellery to the Inspector. “Well, sir—I guess I stopped to talk for a few minutes with my girl....”
    “Your girl?” The Inspector’s voice was mildly curious.
    “Yes, sir. Elinor Libby—her old man owns the ice-cream parlor. She—she wanted me to stay there in the store with her when I went for the ginger ale. I told her I had to deliver it in the theatre, so she said all right but wouldn’t I come right back. And I did. We stayed there a couple of minutes and then I remembered the stand in the alley....”
    “The stand in the alley?” Ellery’s tone was eager. “Quite so, Jess—the stand in the alley. Don’t tell me that, by some remarkable whim of fortune, you went back to the alley!”
    “Sure I did!” rejoined the boy, in surprise. “I mean—we both did, Elinor and me.”
    “Elinor and you, eh, Jess?” said Ellery softly. “And how long were you there?”
    The Inspector’s eyes flashed at Ellery’s question. He muttered approvingly to himself and listened intently as the boy answered.
    “Well, I wanted to take the stand right away, sir, but Elinor and me—we got to talking there—and Elinor said why not stay in the alley till the next intermission.... I figured that was a good idea. I’d wait till a few minutes before 10:05, when the act ends, and I’d duck down for some more orangeade, and then when the doors opened for the second intermission I’d be all ready. So we stayed there, sir.... It wasn’t wrong, sir. I didn’t mean anything wrong.”
    Ellery straightened and fixed the boy with his eyes. “Jess, I want you to be very careful now. At exactly what time did you and your Elinor get to the alley?”
    “Well....” Jess scratched his head. “It was about 9:25 when I gave that man the ginger ale. I went across for Elinor, stayed a few minutes and then came over to the alley. Musta been just about 9:35—just about—when I went back for my orangeade stand.”
    “Very good. And what time exactly did you leave the alley?”
    “It was just ten o’clock, sir. Elinor looked at her wrist-watch when I asked her if it was time to go in for my orangeade refills.”
    “You didn’t hear anything going on in the theatre?”
    “No, sir. We were too busy talking, I guess.... I didn’t know anything had happened inside until we walked out of the alley and I met Johnny Chase, one of the ushers, standing there, like he was on guard. He told me there was an accident inside and Mr. Panzer had sent him to stand outside the left alley.”
    “I see....” Ellery removed his pince-nez in some agitation and flourished it before the boy’s nose. “Carefully now, Jess. Did anyone go in or out of the alley all the time you were there with Elinor?”
    The boy’s answer was immediate and emphatic. “No, sir. Not a soul.”
    “Right, my lad.” The Inspector gave the boy a spanking slap on the back and sent him off grinning. Queen looked around sharply, spied Panzer, who had made his announcement on the stage with ineffectual results, and beckoned with an imperative finger.
    “Mr. Panzer,” he said abruptly, “I want some information about the time-schedule of the play.... At what time does the curtain go up on the second act?”
    “The second act begins at 9:15 sharp and ends at 10:05 sharp,” said Panzer instantly.
    “Was to-night’s performance run according to this schedule?”
    “Certainly. We must be on the dot because of cues, lights, and so on,” responded the manager.
    The Inspector muttered some calculations to himself. “That makes it 9:25 the boy saw Field alive,” he mused. “He was found dead at....”
    He swung about and called for Officer Doyle. The man came running.
    “Doyle,” asked the Inspector, “Doyle, do you remember exactly at what time this fellow Pusak approached you with his story of the murder?”
    The policeman scratched his head. “Why, I don’t remember exactly, Inspector,” he said. “All I do know is that the second act was almost over when it happened.”
    “Not definite enough, Doyle,” said Queen irritably. “Where are the actors now?”
    “Got ’em herded right over there back of the center section, sir,” said Doyle. “We didn’t know what to do with ’em except that.”
    “Get one of them for me!” snapped the Inspector.
    Doyle ran off. Queen beckoned to Detective Piggott, who was standing a few feet to the rear between a man and a woman.
    “Got the doorman there, Piggott?” asked Queen. Piggott nodded and a tall, corpulent old man, cap trembling in his hand, uniform shrunken on his flabby body, stumbled forward.
    “Are you the man who stands outside the theatre—the regular doorman?” asked the Inspector.
    “Yes, sir,” the doorman answered, twisting the cap in his hands.
    “Very well. Now think hard. Did anyone—anyone, mind you—leave the theatre by the front entrance during the second act?” The Inspector was leaning forward, like a small greyhound.
    The man took a moment before replying. Then he said slowly, but with conviction, “No, sir. Nobody went out of the theatre. Nobody, I mean, but the orangeade boy.”
    “Were you there all the time?” barked the Inspector.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Now then. Do you remember anybody coming in during the second act?”
    “We-e-ll.... Jessie Lynch, the orangeade boy, came in right after the act started.”
    “Anybody else?”
    There was silence as the old man made a frenzied effort at concentration. After a moment he looked helplessly from one face to another, eyes despairing. Then he mumbled, “I don’t remember, sir.”
    The Inspector regarded him irritably. The old man seemed sincere in his nervous way. He was perspiring and frequently looked sidewise at Panzer, as if he sensed that his defection of memory would cost him his position.
    “I’m awfully sorry, sir,” the doorman repeated. “Awfully sorry. There might’ve been some one, but my memory ain’t as good as it used to be when I was younger. I—I just can’t seem to recall.”
    Ellery’s cool voice cut in on the old man’s thick accents.
    “How long have you been a doorman?”
    The old man’s bewildered eyes shifted to this new inquisitor. “Nigh onto ten years, sir. I wasn’t always a doorman. Only when I got old and couldn’t do nothin’ else—”
    “I understand,” said Ellery kindly. He hesitated a moment, then added inflexibly, “A man who has been a doorman for as many years as you have might forget something about the first act. But people do not often come into a theatre during the second act. Surely if you think hard enough you can answer positively, one way or the other?”
    The response came painfully. “I—I don’t remember, sir. I could say no one did, but that mightn’t be the truth. I just can’t answer.”
    “All right.” The Inspector put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Forget it. Perhaps we’re asking too much. That’s all for the time being.” The doorman shuffled away with the pitiful alacrity of old age.
    Doyle clumped toward the group, a tall handsome man dressed in rough tweeds in his wake, traces of stage make-up streaking his face.
    “This is Mr. Peale, Inspector. He’s the leading man of the show,” reported Doyle.
    Queen smiled at the actor, offering his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Peale. Perhaps you can help us out with a little information.”
    “Glad to be of service, Inspector,” replied Peale, in a rich baritone. He glanced at the back of the Medical Examiner, who was busy over the dead man; then looked away with repugnance.
    “I suppose you were on the stage at the time the hue-and-cry went up in this unfortunate affair?” pursued the Inspector.
    “Oh, yes. In fact, the entire cast was. What is it you would like to know?”
    “Could you definitely place the time that you noticed something wrong in the audience?”
    “Yes, I can. We had just about ten minutes before the end of the act. It was at the climax of the play, and my rôle demands the discharge of a pistol. I remember we had some discussion during rehearsals of this point in the play, and that is how I can be so sure of the time.”
    The Inspector nodded. “Thank you very much, Mr. Peale. That’s exactly what I wanted to know.... Incidentally, let me apologize for having kept you people crowded back here in this fashion. We were quite busy and had no time to make other arrangements. You and the rest of the cast are at liberty to go backstage now. Of course, make no effort to leave the theatre until you are notified.”
    “I understand completely, Inspector. Happy to have been able to help.” Peale bowed and retreated to the rear of the theatre.
    The Inspector leaned against the nearest seat, absorbed in thought. Ellery, at his side, was absently polishing the lenses of his pince-nez. Father motioned significantly to son.
    “Well, Ellery?” Queen asked in a low voice.
    “Elementary, my dear Watson,” murmured Ellery. “Our respected victim was last seen alive at 9:25, and he was found dead at approximately 9:55. Problem: What happened between times? Sounds ludicrously simple.”
    “You don’t say?” muttered Queen. “Piggott!”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Is that the usherette? Let’s get some action.”
    Piggott released the arm of the young woman standing at his side. She was a pert and painted lady with even white teeth and a ghastly smile. She minced forward and regarded the Inspector brazenly.
    “Are you the regular usherette on this aisle, Miss—?” asked the Inspector briskly.
    “O’Connell, Madge O’Connell. Yes, I am!”
    The Inspector took her arm gently. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to be as brave as you are impertinent, my dear,” he said. “Step over here for a moment.” The girl’s face was deathly white as they paused at the LL row. “Pardon me a moment, Doc. Mind if we interrupt your work?”
    Dr. Prouty looked up with an abstracted scowl. “No, go right ahead, Inspector. I’m nearly through.” He stood up and moved aside, biting the cigar between his teeth.
    Queen watched the girl’s face as she stooped over the dead man’s body. She drew her breath in sharply.
    “Do you remember ushering this man to his seat to-night, Miss O’Connell?”
    The girl hesitated. “Seems like I do. But I was very busy to-night, as usual, and I must have ushered two hundred people all told. So I couldn’t say positively.”
    “Do you recall whether these seats which are empty now”—he indicated the seven vacant chairs—“were unoccupied all during the first and second acts?”
    “Well.... I do seem to remember noticing them that way as I walked up and down the aisle.... No, sir. I don’t think anybody sat in those seats all night.”
    “Did anyone walk up or down this aisle during the second act, Miss O’Connell? Think hard, now; it’s important that you answer correctly.”
    The girl hesitated once more, flashing bold eyes at the impassive face of the Inspector. “No—I didn’t see anybody walk up or down the aisle.” She quickly added, “I couldn’t tell you much. I don’t know a thing about this business. I’m a hard-working girl, and I—”
    “Yes, yes, my dear, we understand that. Now—where do you generally stand when you’re not ushering people to their seats?”
    The girl pointed to the head of the aisle.
    “Were you there all during the second act, Miss O’Connell?” asked the Inspector softly.
    The girl moistened her lips before she spoke. “Well—yes, I was. But, honest, I didn’t see anything out of the way all night.”
    “Very well.” Queen’s voice was mild. “That’s all.” She turned away with quick, light steps.
    There was a stir behind the group. Queen wheeled to confront Dr. Prouty, who had risen to his feet and was closing his bag. He was whistling dolefully.
    “Well, Doc—I see you’re through. What’s the verdict?” asked Queen.
    “It’s short and snappy, Inspector. Man died about two hours ago. Cause of death puzzled me for a while but it’s pretty well settled in my mind as poison. The signs all point to some form of alcoholic poisoning—you’ve probably noticed the sallow blue color of the skin. Did you smell his breath? Sweetest odor of bum booze I ever had the pleasure of inhaling. He must have been drunk as a lord. At the same time, it couldn’t have been ordinary alcoholic poisoning—he wouldn’t have dropped off so fast. That’s all I can tell you right now.” He paused, buttoning his coat.
    Queen took Field’s kerchief-wrapped flask from his pocket and handed it to Dr. Prouty. “This is the dead man’s flask, Doc. Suppose you analyze the contents for me. Before you handle it, though, let Jimmy down at the laboratory look it over for fingerprints. And—but wait a minute.” The Inspector peered about and picked up the half-empty ginger-ale bottle where it stood in a corner on the carpet. “You can analyze this ginger ale for me, too, Doc,” he added.
    The Assistant Medical Examiner, after stowing the flask and bottle into his bag, tenderly adjusted the hat on his head.
    “Well, I’ll be going, Inspector,” he drawled. “I’ll have a fuller report for you when I’ve performed the autopsy. Ought to give you something to work on. Incidentally, the morgue-wagon must be outside—I ’phoned for one on my way down. So long.” He yawned and slouched away.
    As Dr. Prouty disappeared, two white-garbed orderlies hurried across the carpet, bearing a stretcher between them. At a sign from Queen they lifted the inert body, deposited it on the stretcher, covered it with a blanket and hustled out. The detectives and policemen around the door watched with relief as the grisly burden was borne away—the main work of the evening for them was almost over. The audience—rustling, whispering, shifting, coughing, murmuring—twisted about with a renewal of interest as the body was unceremoniously carted off.
    Queen had just turned to Ellery with a weary sigh when from the extreme right-hand side of the theatre came an ominous commotion. People everywhere popped out of their seats, staring, while policemen shouted for quiet. Queen spoke rapidly to a uniformed officer nearby. Ellery slipped to one side, eyes gleaming. The disturbance came nearer by jerky degrees. Two policemen appeared hauling a struggling figure between them. They dragged their capture to the head of the left aisle and hustled the man to his feet, holding him up by main force.
    The man was short and ratlike. He wore cheap store-clothes of a sombre cut. On his head was a black hat of the kind sometimes worn by country dominies. His mouth writhed in an ugly manner; imprecations issued from it venomously. As he caught the eye of the Inspector fixed upon him, however, he ceased struggling and went limp at once.
    “Found this man tryin’ to sneak out the alley door on the other side of the buildin’, Inspector,” panted one of the bluecoats, shaking the captive roughly.
    The Inspector chuckled, took his brown snuff-box from his pocket, inhaled, sneezed his habitual joyful sneeze, and beamed upon the silent cowering man between the two officers.
    “Well, well, Parson,” he said genially. “Mighty nice of you to turn up so conveniently!”
    CHAPTER IV
    IN WHICH MANY ARE CALLED AND TWO ARE CHOSEN
    Some natures, through peculiar weakness, cannot endure the sight of a whining man. Of all the silent, threatening group ringed about the abject figure called “Parson,” Ellery alone experienced a sick feeling of disgust at the spectacle the prisoner was making of himself.
    At the hidden lash in Queen’s words, the Parson drew himself up stiffly, glared into the Inspector’s eyes for a split second, then with a resumption of his former tactics began to fight against the sturdy arms which encircled him. He writhed and spat and cursed, finally becoming silent again. He was conserving his breath. The fury of his threshing body communicated itself to his captors; another policeman joined the mêlée and helped pin the prisoner to the floor. And suddenly he wilted and shrank like a pricked balloon. A policeman hauled him roughly to his feet, where he stood, eyes downcast, body still, hat clutched in his hand.
    Ellery turned his head.
    “Come now, Parson,” went on the Inspector, just as if the man had been a balky child at rest after a fit of temper, “you know that sort of business doesn’t go with me. What happened when you tried it last time at the Old Slip on the riverfront?”
    “Answer when you’re spoken to!” growled a bluecoat, prodding him in the ribs.
    “I don’t know nothin’ and besides I got nothin’ to say,” muttered the Parson, shifting from one foot to the other.
    “I’m surprised at you, Parson,” said Queen gently. “I haven’t asked you what you know.”
    “You got no right to hold an innocent man!” shouted the Parson indignantly. “Ain’t I as good as anybody else here? I bought a ticket and I paid for it with real dough, too! Where do you get that stuff—tryin’ to keep me from goin’ home!”
    “So you bought a ticket, did you?” asked the Inspector, rocking on his heels. “Well, well! Suppose you snap out the old stub and let Papa Queen look it over.”
    The Parson’s hand mechanically went to his lower vest pocket, his fingers dipping into it with a quite surprising deftness. His face went blank as he slowly withdrew his hand, empty. He began a search of his other pockets with an appearance of fierce annoyance that made the Inspector smile.
    “Hell!” grunted the Parson. “If that ain’t the toughest luck. I always hangs onto my ticket-stubs, an’ just to-night I have to go and throw it away. Sorry, Inspector!”
    “Oh, that’s quite all right,” said Queen. His face went bleak and hard. “Quit stalling, Cazzanelli! What were you doing in this theatre to-night? What made you decide to duck out so suddenly? Answer me!”
    The Parson looked about him. His arms were held very securely by two bluecoats. A number of hard-looking men surrounded him. The prospect of escape did not seem particularly bright. His face underwent another change. It assumed a priestly, outraged innocence. A mist filmed his little eyes, as if he were truly the Christian martyr and these tyrants his pagan inquisitors. The Parson had often employed this trick of personality to good purpose.
    “Inspector,” he said, “you know you ain’t got no right to grill me this way, don’t you, Inspector? A man’s got a right to his lawyer, ain’t he? Sure he’s got a right!” And he stopped as if there were nothing more to be said.
    The Inspector eyed him curiously. “When did you see Field last?” he asked.
    “Field? You don’t mean to say—Monte Field? Never heard of him, Inspector,” muttered the Parson, rather shakily. “What are you tryin’ to put over on me?”
    “Not a thing, Parson, not a thing. But as long as you don’t care to answer now, suppose we let you cool your heels for a while. Perhaps you’ll have something to say later.... Don’t forget, Parson, there’s still that little matter of the Bonomo Silk robbery to go into.” He turned to one of the policemen. “Escort our friend to that anteroom off the manager’s office, and keep him company for a while, officer.”
    Ellery, reflectively watching the Parson being dragged toward the rear of the theatre, was startled to hear his father say, “The Parson isn’t too bright, is he? To make a slip like that—!”
    “Be thankful for small favors,” smiled Ellery. “One error breeds twenty more.”
    The Inspector turned with a grin to confront Velie, who had just arrived with a sheaf of papers in his hand.
    “Ah, Thomas is back,” chuckled the Inspector, who seemed in good spirits. “And what have you found, Thomas?”
    “Well, Inspector,” replied the detective, ruffling the edges of his papers, “it’s hard to say. This is half of the list—the other half isn’t ready yet. But I think you’ll find something interesting here.”
    He handed Queen a batch of hastily written names and addresses. They were the names which the Inspector had ordered Velie to secure by interrogation of the audience.
    Queen, with Ellery at his shoulder, examined the list, studying each name carefully. He was half-way through the sheaf when he stiffened. He squinted at the name which had halted him and looked up at Velie with a puzzled air.
    “Morgan,” he said thoughtfully. “Benjamin Morgan. Sounds mighty familiar, Thomas. What does it suggest to you?”
    Velie smiled frostily. “I thought you’d ask me that, Inspector. Benjamin Morgan was Monte Field’s law-partner until two years ago!”
    Queen nodded. The three men stared into each other’s eyes. Then the old man shrugged his shoulders and said briefly, “Have to see some more of Mr. Morgan, I’m afraid.”
    He turned back to the list with a sigh. Again he studied each name, looking up at intervals reflectively, shaking his head, and going on. Velie, who knew Queen’s reputation for memory even more thoroughly than Ellery, watched his superior with respectful eyes.
    Finally the Inspector handed the papers back to the detective. “Nothing else there, Thomas,” he said. “Unless you caught something that escaped me. Did you?” His tone was grave.
    Velie stared at the old man wordlessly, shook his head and started to walk away.
    “Just a minute, Thomas,” called Queen. “Before you get that second list completed, ask Morgan to step into Panzer’s office, will you? Don’t scare him. And by the way, see that he has his ticket-stub before he goes to the office.” Velie departed.
    The Inspector motioned to Panzer, who was watching a group of policemen being marshaled by detectives for Queen’s work. The stout little manager hurried up.
    “Mr. Panzer,” inquired the Inspector, “at what time do your scrub-women generally start cleaning up?”
    “Why, they’ve been here for quite a while now, Inspector, waiting to get to work. Most theatres are tidied early in the morning, but I’ve always had my employees come immediately after the evening performance. Just what is on your mind?”
    Ellery, who had frowned slightly when the Inspector spoke, brightened at the manager’s reply. He began to polish his pince-nez with satisfaction.
    “Here’s what I want you to do, Mr. Panzer,” continued Queen evenly. “Arrange to have your cleaning-women make a particularly thorough search to-night, after everybody is gone. They must pick up and save everything—everything, no matter how seemingly trivial—and they’re to watch especially for ticket-stubs. Can you trust these people?”