“Yes, sir. Velie also asked me to tell you,” continued Johnson, “that he has a group of people separated from the rest of the audience—they’re the ones who have no ticket-stubs. He’d like to know what you want done with them.”
“Do their names appear on both lists, Johnson?” asked Queen, handing him the second sheaf for return to Velie.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then tell Velie to let them leave with the others, but not before he makes a special list of their names. It won’t be necessary for me to see or speak to them.”
Johnson saluted and disappeared.
Queen turned to converse in low tones with Ellery, who seemed to have something on his mind. They were interrupted by the reappearance of Panzer.
“Inspector?” The manager coughed politely.
“Oh, yes, Panzer!” said the Inspector, whirling about. “Everything straight with regard to the cleaning-women?”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything else you would like me to do . . . ? And, Inspector, I hope you will pardon me for asking, but how much longer will the audience have to wait? I have been receiving most disturbing inquiries from many people. I am hoping no trouble comes of this affair.” His dark face was glistening with perspiration.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Panzer,” said the Inspector casually. “Their wait is almost over. In fact, I am ordering my men to get them out of here in a few minutes. Before they leave, however, they’ll have one thing more to complain about,” he added with a grim smile.
“Yes, Inspector?”
“Oh, yes,” said Queen. “They’re going to submit to a search. No doubt they’ll protest, and you’ll hear threats of lawsuits and personal violence, but don’t worry about it. I’m responsible for everything done here to-night, and I’ll see that you’re kept out of trouble. . . . Now, we’ll need a woman-searcher to help our men. We have a police-matron here, but she’s busy downstairs. Do you think you could get me a dependable woman—middle-aged preferably—who won’t object to a thankless job and will know how to keep her mouth shut?”
The manager pondered for a moment. “I think I can get you the woman you want. She’s a Mrs. Phillips, our wardrobe-mistress. She’s well on in years and as pleasant as anyone you could get for such a task.”
“Just the person,” said Queen briskly. “Get her at once and station her at the main exit. Detective-Sergeant Velie will give her the necessary instructions.”
Velie had come up in time to hear the last remark. Panzer bustled down the aisle toward the boxes.
“Morgan set?” asked Queen.
“Yes, Inspector.”
“Well, then, you have one more job and you’ll be through for the night, Thomas. I want you to superintend the departure of the people seated in the orchestra and boxes. Have them leave one by one, and overhaul them as they go out. No one is to leave by any exit except the main door, and just to make sure tell the men at the side exits to keep ’em moving toward the rear.” Velie nodded. “Now, about the search. Piggott!” The detective came on the run. “Piggott, you accompany Mr. Queen and Sergeant Velie and help search every man who goes out the main door. There’ll be a matron there to search the women. Examine every parcel. Go over their pockets for anything suspicious; collect all the ticket-stubs; and watch especially for an extra hat. The hat I want is a silk topper. But if you find any other kind of extra hat, nab the owner and be sure he’s nabbed properly. Now, boys, get to work!”
Ellery, who had been lounging against a pillar, straightened up and followed Piggott. As Velie stalked behind, Queen called, “Don’t release the people in the balcony until the orchestra is empty. Send somebody up there to keep them quiet.”
With his last important instruction given the Inspector turned to Doyle, who was standing guard nearby, and said quietly, “Shoot downstairs to the cloak-room, Doyle, my lad, and keep your eyes open while the people are getting their wraps. When they’re all gone, search the place with a fine-comb. If there is anything left in the racks, bring it to me.”
Queen leaned back against the pillar which loomed, a marble sentinel, over the seat in which murder had been done. As he stood there, eyes blank, hands clutching his lapels, the broad-shouldered Flint hurried up with a gleam of excitement in his eyes. Inspector Queen regarded him critically.
“Found something, Flint?’ he asked, fumbling for his snuff-box.
The detective silently offered him a half-ticket, colored blue, and marked “LL30 Left.”
“Well, well!” exclaimed Queen. “Wherever did you find that?”
“Right inside the main door,” said Flint. “Looked as if it was dropped just as the owner came into the theatre.”
Queen did not answer. With a swooping dip of his fingers he extracted from his vest pocket the blue-colored stub he had found on the dead man’s person. He regarded them in silence—two identically colored and marked stubs, one with the inscription LL32 Left, the other LL30 Left.
His eyes narrowed as he studied the innocent-appearing pasteboards. He bent closer, slowly turning the stubs back to back. Then, with a puzzled light in his grey eyes, he turned them front to front. Still unsatisfied, he turned them back to front.
In none of the three positions did the torn edges of the tickets coincide!
38.As late as the mid-nineteenth century, there were more than a dozen boat slips on the eastern edge of lower Manhattan. These included Coffee House Slip, at the end of Wall St.; Fly Market Slip, at the bottom of Maiden Lane; Peck’s Slip, at the foot of Ferry St.; and Old Slip, at the bottom of William St. Most of the slips were filled in by 1898, but some still remain as malls, parks, and roads. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle Almanac for 1927 still lists Old Slip as a Manhattan street.
39.G. P. Bonomo was a principal in the Anthracite Silk Throwing Co. of Pennsylvania in 1915. What the Bonomo Silk affair was, however, remains a mystery.
40.A homily oft repeated—for example, it can be found in Proverbs; or The Manual of Wisdom (1804).
CHAPTER V
In Which Inspector Queen Conducts Some Legal Conversations
Queen made his way across the broad red carpet covering the rear of the orchestra, his hat pulled down over his eyes. He was searching the recesses of his pocket for the inevitable snuff-box. The Inspector was evidently engaged in a weighty mental process, for his hand closed tightly upon the two blue ticket-stubs and he grimaced, as if he were not at all satisfied with his thoughts.
Before opening the green-speckled door marked “Manager’s Office,” he turned to survey the scene behind him. The stir in the audience was businesslike. A great chattering filled the air; policemen and detectives circulated among the rows, giving orders, answering questions, hustling people out of their seats, lining them up in the main aisles to be searched at the huge outer door. The Inspector noticed absently that there was little protest from the audience at the ordeal they were facing. They seemed too tired to resent the indignity of a search. A long queue of half-angry, half-amused women was lined up at one side being examined rapidly, one by one, by a motherly woman dressed in black. Queen glanced briefly at the detectives blocking the door. Piggott with the experience of long practice was making rapid passes over the clothing of the men. Velie, at his side, was studying the reactions of the various people undergoing examination. Occasionally he searched a man himself.41 Ellery stood a little apart, hands in his capacious topcoat pockets, smoking a cigarette and seeming to be thinking of nothing more important than the first edition he had missed buying.
Queen sighed, and went in.
The anteroom to the main office was a tiny place, fitted out in bronze and oak. On one of the chairs against the wall, burrowed into the deep leather cushions, sat Parson Johnny, puffing at a cigarette with a show of unconcern. A policeman stood by the chair, one massive hand on the Parson’s shoulder.
“Trail along, Parson,” said Queen casually, without stopping. The little gangster lounged to his feet, spun his cigarette butt deftly into a shining brass cuspid
or, and slouched after the Inspector, the policeman treading on his heels.
Queen opened the door to the main office, glancing quickly about him as he stood on the threshold. Then he stepped aside, allowing the gangster and the bluecoat to precede him. The door banged shut behind them.
Louis Panzer had an unusual taste in office appointments. A clear green light-shade shone brilliantly above a carved desk. Chair and smoking-stands; a skillfully wrought clothes-tree; silk-covered divan—these and other articles were strewn tastefully about the room. Unlike most managers’ offices, Panzer’s did not exploit photographs of stars, managers, producers and “angels.” Several delicate prints, a huge tapestry, and a Constable oil painting hung on the wall.
But Inspector Queen’s scrutiny at the moment was not for the artistic quality of Mr. Panzer’s private chamber. It was rather for the six people who faced him. Beside Detective Johnson sat a middle-aged man inclining to corpulence, with shrewd eyes and a puzzled frown. He wore faultless evening clothes. In the next chair sat a young girl of considerable beauty, attired in a simple evening gown and wrap. She was looking up at a handsome young man in evening clothes, hat in hand, who was bending over her chair and talking earnestly in an undertone. Beside them were two other women, both leaning forward and listening intently.
The stout man held aloof from the others. At Inspector Queen’s entrance he immediately got to his feet with an inquiring look. The little group became silent and turned solemn faces on Queen.
With a deprecating cough Parson Johnny, accompanied by his escort, sidled across the rug and into a corner. He seemed overwhelmed by the splendor of the company in which he found himself. He shuffled his feet and cast a despairing look in the direction of the Inspector.
Queen moved over to the desk and faced the group. At a motion of his hand Johnson came quickly to his side. “Who are the three extra people, Johnson?” he asked in a tone inaudible to the others.
“The old fellow there is Morgan,” whispered Johnson, “and the good-looker sitting near him is the woman you told me to get. When I went for her in the orchestra I found the young chap and the other two women with her. The four of ’em were pretty chummy. I gave her your message, and she seemed nervous. But she stood up and came along like a major—only the other three came, too. I didn’t know but what you’d like to see ’em, Inspector. . . .”
Queen nodded. “Hear anything?” he asked in the same low tone.
“Not a peep, Inspector. The old chap doesn’t seem to know any of these people. The others have just been wondering why you could possibly want her.”
The Inspector waved Johnson to a corner and addressed the waiting group.
“I’ve summoned two of you,” he said pleasantly, “for a little chat. And since the others are here, too, it will be all right for them to wait. But for the moment I must ask you all to step into the anteroom while I conduct a little business with this gentleman.” He inclined his head toward the gangster, who stiffened indignantly.
With a flutter of excited conversation the two men and three women departed, Johnson closing the door behind them.
Queen whirled on Parson Johnny.
“Bring that rat here!” he snapped to the policeman. He sat down in Panzer’s chair and drew the tips of his fingers together. The gangster was jerked to his feet and marched across the carpet, to be pushed directly in front of the desk.
“Now, Parson,” said Queen menacingly, “I’ve got you where I want you. We’re going to have a nice little talk with nobody to interrupt. Get me?”
The Parson was silent, his eyes liquid with distrust.
“So you won’t say anything, eh, Johnny? How long do you think I’ll let you get away with that?”
“I told you before—I don’t know nothin’ and besides I won’t say nothin’ till I see my lawyer,” the gangster said sullenly.
“Your lawyer? Well, Parson, who is your lawyer?” asked the Inspector in an innocent tone.
The Parson bit his lip, remaining silent. Queen turned to Johnson.
“Johnson, my boy, you worked on the Babylon stick-up, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Sure did, Chief,” said the detective.
“That,” explained Queen gently, to the gangster, “was when you were sent up for a year. Remember, Parson?”
Still silence.
“And Johnson,” continued the Inspector, leaning back in his chair, “refresh my memory. Who was the lawyer defending our friend here?”
“Field. By—” Johnson exclaimed, staring at the Parson.
“Exactly. The gentleman now lying on one of our unfeeling slabs at the morgue. Well, what about it? Cut the comedy! Where do you come off saying you don’t know Monte Field? You knew his first name, all right, when I mentioned only his last. Come clean, now!”
The gangster had sagged against the policeman, a furtive despair in his eyes. He moistened his lips and said, “You got me there, Inspector. I—I don’t know nothin’ about this, though, honest. I ain’t seen Field in a month. I didn’t—my Gawd, you’re not tryin’ to tie this croakin’ around my neck, are you?”
He stared at Queen in anguish. The policeman jerked him straight.
“Parson, Parson,” said Queen, “how you do jump at conclusions. I’m merely looking for a little information. Of course, if you want to confess to the murder I’ll call my men in and we can get your story all straight and go home to bed. How about it?”
“No!” shouted the gangster, thrashing out suddenly with his arm. The officer caught it deftly and twisted it behind the squirming back. “Where do you get that stuff? I ain’t confessin’ nothin’. I don’t know nothin’. I didn’t see Field to-night an’ I didn’t even know he was here! Confess . . . I got some mighty influential friends, Inspector—you can’t pull that stuff on me, I’ll tell you!”
“That’s too bad, Johnny,” sighed the Inspector. He took a pinch of snuff. “All right, then. You didn’t kill Monte Field. What time did you get here to-night, and where’s your ticket?” The Parson twisted his hat in his hands. “I wasn’t goin’ to say nothin’ before, Inspector, because I figured you was tryin’ to railroad me. I can explain when and how I got here all right. It was about half past eight, and I got in on a pass, that’s how. Here’s the stub to prove it.” He searched carelessly in his coat pocket and produced a perforated blue stub. He handed it to Queen, who glanced at it carefully and put it in his pocket.
“And where,” he asked, “and where did you get the pass, Johnny?”
“I—my girl give it to me, Inspector,” replied the gangster nervously.
“Ah—the woman enters the case,” said Queen jovially. “And what might this young Circe’s42 name be, Johnny?”
“Who?—why, she’s—hey, Inspector, don’t get her in no trouble, will you?” burst out Parson Johnny. “She’s a reg’lar kid, an’ she don’t know nothin’ either. Honest, I—”
“Her name?” snapped Queen.
“Madge O’Connell,” whined Johnny. “She’s an usher here.”
Queen’s eyes lit up. A quick glance passed between him and Johnson. The detective left the room.
“So,” continued the Inspector, leaning back again comfortably, “so my old friend Parson Johnny doesn’t know a thing about Monte Field. Well, well, well! We’ll see how your lady-friend’s story backs you up.” As he talked he looked steadily at the hat in the gangster’s hand. It was a cheap black fedora, matching the sombre suit which the man was wearing. “Here, Parson,” he said suddenly. “Hand over that hat of yours.”
He took the head-piece from the gangster’s reluctant hand and examined it. He pulled down the leather band inside, eyed it critically and finally handed it back.
“We forgot something, Parson,” he said. “Officer, suppose you frisk Mr. Cazzanelli’s person, eh?”
The Parson submitted to the search with an ill grace, but he was quiescent enough. “No gat,” said the policeman briefly, and continued. He put his hand into the man’s hip-pocket, e
xtracting a fat wallet. “Want this, Inspector?”
Queen took it, counted the money briskly, and handed it back to the policeman, who returned it to the pocket.
“One hundred and twenty-two smackers, Johnny,” the old man murmured.43 “Seems to me I can smell Bonomo silk in these bills. However!” He laughed and said to the bluecoat, “No flask?” The policeman shook his head. “Anything under his vest or shirt?” Again a negative. Queen was silent until the search was completed. Parson Johnny relaxed with a sigh.
“Well, Johnny, mighty lucky night this is for you.—Come in!” Queen said at a knock on the door. It opened to disclose the slender girl in usherette’s uniform whom he had questioned earlier in the evening. Johnson came in after her and closed the door.
Madge O’Connell stood on the rug and stared with tragic eyes at her lover, who was thoughtfully studying the floor. She flashed a glance at Queen. Then her mouth hardened and she snapped at the gangster. “Well? So they got you after all, you sap! I told you not to try to make a break for it!” She turned her back contemptuously on the Parson and began to ply a powder-puff with vigor.
“Why didn’t you tell me before, my girl,” said Queen softly, “that you got a pass for your friend John Cazzanelli?”
“I ain’t telling everything, Mr. Cop,” she answered pertly. “‘Why should I? Johnny didn’t have anything to do with this business.”
“We won’t discuss that,” said the Inspector, toying with his snuff-box. “What I want you to tell me now, Madge, is whether your memory has improved any since I spoke to you.”
“What d’ya mean?” she demanded.
“I mean this. You told me that you were at your regular station just before the show started—that you conducted a lot of people to their seats—that you didn’t remember whether you ushered Monte Field, the dead man, to his row or not—and that you were standing up at the head of the left aisle all during the performance. All during the performance, Madge. Is that correct?”
Classic American Crime Fiction of the 1920s Page 69