The two men retired to Panzer’s office. Five minutes later they rëentered the auditorium. Panzer held a sealed envelope in his hand and hurried out into the street. Queen watched him go, then turned with a sigh to Ellery, who had perched himself on the arm of the seat in which Field had been murdered and was still consulting the penciled map.
The Inspector whispered a few words to his son. Ellery smiled and clapped the old man vigorously on the back.
“What do you say we get a move on, son?” said Queen. “I forgot to ask Panzer if he had succeeded in reaching this Mrs. Phillips. I guess he did, though, or he would have said something about it. Where in thunder is she?”
He beckoned to Flint, who was helping the other two detectives in the back-breaking task of removing the tarpaulin.
“I’ve one of those popular bending-exercises for you this morning, Flint. Go up to the balcony and get busy.”
“What am I supposed to be looking for to-day, Inspector?” grinned the broad-shouldered detective. “Because I hope I have better luck than I did Monday night.”
“You’re looking for a hat—a nice, shiny top-piece such as the swells wear, my boy,” announced the Inspector. “But if you should come across anything else, use your lungs!” Flint trotted up the wide marble staircase towards the balcony. Queen looked after him, shaking his head. “I’m afraid the poor lad is doomed to another disappointment,” he remarked to Ellery. “But I must make absolutely certain that there’s nothing up there—and that the usher Miller who was guarding the balcony staircase Monday night was telling the truth. Come along, lazy-bones . . .”
Ellery shed his topcoat reluctantly and tucked the little book away in his pocket. The Inspector wriggled out of his ulster and preceded his son down the aisle. Working side by side they began to search the orchestra-pit at the extreme end of the auditorium. Finding nothing there, they clambered out into the orchestra again and, Ellery taking the right side and his father the left, began a slow, methodical combing of the theatre-premises. They lifted the seats; probed experimentally into the plush cushions with long needles which the Inspector had produced mysteriously from his breast-pocket; and kneeled to examine every inch of the carpet by the light of electric torches.
The two detectives who had by now completed the task of rolling up the tarpaulin began, on the Inspector’s brief command, to work through the boxes, a man to each side of the theatre.
For a long time the four men proceeded in silence, unbroken except for the somewhat labored breathing of Inspector Queen. Ellery was working swiftly and efficiently, the old man more slowly. As they met near the center after completing the search of a row, they would regard each other significantly, shake their heads and continue afresh.
About twenty minutes after Panzer’s departure the Inspector and Ellery, absorbed in their examination, were startled by the ringing of a telephone bell. In the silence of the theatre the clear trill of the bell rang out with astonishing sharpness. Father and son looked at each other blankly for an instant, then the old man laughed and plodded up the aisle in the direction of Panzer’s office.
He returned shortly, smiling. “It was Panzer,” he announced. “Got down to Field’s office and found the place closed. No wonder—it’s only a quarter of nine. But I told him to wait there until Cronin comes. It can’t be long now.”
Ellery laughed and they set to work again.
Fifteen minutes later, when the two men were almost finished, the front door opened and a small elderly woman dressed in black stood blinking in the brilliant arc-lights. The Inspector sprang forward to meet her.
“You’re Mrs. Phillips, aren’t you?” he cried warmly. “It’s mighty nice of you to come so soon, madam. I think you know Mr. Queen here?”
Ellery came forward, smiling one of his rare smiles and bowing with genuine gallantry. Mrs. Phillips was representative of a lovable old womanhood. She was short and of motherly proportions. Her gleaming white hair and air of kindliness endeared her immediately to Inspector Queen, who had a sentimental weakness for middle-aged ladies of presence.
“I certainly do know Mr. Queen,” she said, extending her hand. “He was very nice to an old woman Monday night. . . . And I was so afraid you’d have to wait for me, sir!” she said softly, turning to the Inspector. “Mr. Panzer sent a messenger for me this morning—I haven’t a telephone, you see. There was a time, when I was on the stage. . . . I came just as soon as I could.”
The Inspector beamed. “For a lady it was remarkably prompt, remarkably prompt, Mrs. Phillips!”
“My father kissed the Blarney Stone several centuries ago, Mrs. Phillips,” said Ellery gravely. “Don’t believe a word ov ’im. . . . I suppose it will be au fait77 if I leave you to tackle the rest of the orchestra, dad? I’d like to have a little chat with Mrs. Phillips. Do you think you’re physically able to complete the job alone?”
“Physically able—!” snorted the Inspector. “You plump right down that aisle and go about your business, son. . . . I should appreciate your giving Mr. Queen all the help you can, Mrs. Phillips.”
The white-haired lady smiled and Ellery, taking her arm, led her off in the direction of the stage. Inspector Queen, looking after them wistfully, shrugged his shoulders after a moment and turned back to resume the search. A short time later, when he chanced to straighten up, he espied Ellery and Mrs. Phillips seated on the stage conversing earnestly, like two players rehearsing their rôles. Queen proceeded slowly up and down the rows, weaving in and out among the empty seats, shaking his head dolefully as he approached the last few rows still empty-handed. When he looked up again the two chairs on the stage held no occupants. Ellery and the old lady had disappeared.
Queen came at last to LL32 Left—the seat in which Monte Field had died. He made a painstaking examination of the cushions, a light of resignation in his eyes. Muttering to himself he walked slowly across the carpet at the rear of the theatre and entered Panzer’s office. A few moments later he reappeared, only to make his way to the cubicle which was used as an office by the publicity man, Harry Neilson. He was in this compartment for some time. He came out and visited the cashiers’ offices. Shutting the door behind him when he had finished, he wended his way down the steps on the right of the theatre leading to the general lounge, on the floor below the orchestra. Here he took his time, delving into every comer, every niche in the wall, every waste-container—all of which he found to be empty. He speculatively eyed the large bin standing directly under the water-fountain. He peered into this receptacle and pottered away, finding nothing. Thereupon with a sigh he opened the door on which was gilt-lettered, LADIES’ REST ROOM, and went inside. A few moments later he reappeared to push his way through the swinging-doors marked GENTLEMEN.
When his meticulous search of the lower floor was completed he trudged up the steps again. In the orchestra he found Louis Panzer waiting, slightly flushed from his exertions but displaying a triumphant smile. The little manager was carrying a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.
“So you saw Cronin after all, Panzer?” said the Inspector, scurrying forward. “This is mighty nice of you, my boy—I appreciate it more than I can say. Is this the package Cronin gave you?”
“It is. A very nice chap, Cronin. I didn’t have to wait long after I telephoned you. He came in with two other men named Stoates and Lewin. He didn’t keep me more than ten minutes altogether. I hope it was important, Inspector?” Panzer continued, smiling. “I should like to feel that I’ve been instrumental in clearing up part of the puzzle.”
“Important?” echoed the Inspector, taking the parcel from the manager’s hand. “You have no idea how important it is. Some day I’ll tell you more about it. . . . Will you excuse me a moment, Panzer?”
The little man nodded in a fleeting disappointment as the Inspector grinned, backing off into a dark corner. Panzer shrugged and disappeared into his office.
When he came out, hat and coat left behind, the Inspector was stuffing the parcel into his pock
et.
“Did you get what you wanted, sir?” inquired Panzer.
“Oh, yes, yes, indeed!” Queen said, rubbing his hands.
“And now—I see Ellery is still gone—suppose we go into your office for a few minutes and while away the time until he returns.”
They went into Panzer’s sanctum and sat down. The manager lit a long Turkish cigarette while the lnspector dipped into his snuff-box.
“If I’m not presuming, Inspector,” said Panzer casually, crossing his short fat legs and emitting a cloud of smoke, “how are things going?”
Queen shook his head sadly. “Not so well—not so well. We don’t seem to be getting anywhere with the main angles of the case. In fact, I don’t mind telling you that unless we get on the track of a certain object we face failure. . . . It’s pretty hard on me—I’ve never encountered a more puzzling investigation.” He wore a worried frown as he snapped the lid of his snuff-box shut.
“That’s too bad, Inspector,” Panzer clucked in sympathy. “And I was hoping—Ah, well! We can’t put our personal concerns above the demands of justice, I suppose! Just what is it you are seeking, Inspector, if you don’t mind telling an outsider?”
Queen brightened. “Not at all. You’ve done me a good turn this morning and— By jingo, how stupid of me not to think of this before!” Panzer leaned forward eagerly. “How long have you been manager of the Roman Theatre, Panzer?”
The manager raised his eyebrows. “Ever since it was built,” he said. “Before that I managed the old Electra on 43rd Street78—it is also owned by Gordon Davis,” he explained.
“Oh!” The Inspector seemed to reflect deeply. “Then you would know this theatre from top to bottom—you would be as familiar with its construction as the architect, perhaps?”
“I have a rather thorough knowledge of it, yes,” confessed Panzer, leaning back.
“That’s excellent! Let me give you a little problem, then, Panzer. . . . Suppose you wished to conceal a—let us say, a tophat—somewhere in the building, in such a way that not even an exhaustive search of the premises would bring it to light. What would you do? Where would you hide it?”
Panzer scowled thoughtfully at his cigarette. “A rather unusual question, Inspector,” he said at last, “and one which is not easy to answer. I know the plans of the theatre very well; I was consulted about them in a conference with the architect before the theatre was built. And I can positively state that the original blueprints did not provide for such medieval devices as concealed passageways, secret closets or anything of that sort. I could enumerate any number of places where a man might hide a comparatively small object like a tophat, but none of them would be proof against a really thorough search.”
“I see.” The Inspector squinted at his finger-nails in an appearance of disappointment. “So that doesn’t help. We’ve been over the place from top to bottom, as you know, and we can’t find a trace of it. . . .”
The door opened and Ellery, a trifle begrimed but wearing a cheerful smile, entered. The Inspector glanced at him in eager curiosity. Panzer rose hesitantly with the evident intention of leaving father and son alone. A flash of intelligence shot between the Queens.
“It’s all right, Panzer—don’t go,” said the Inspector peremptorily. ‘We’ve no secrets from you. Sit down, man!”
Panzer sat down.
“Don’t you think, dad,” remarked Ellery, perching on the edge of the desk and reaching for his pince-nez, “that this would be an opportune moment to inform Mr. Panzer of to-night’s opening? You remember we decided while he was gone that the theatre might be thrown open to the public this evening and a regular performance given . . . ?”
“How could I have forgotten—!” said the Inspector without blinking, although this was the first time he had heard about the mythical decision. “I think we’re about ready, Panzer, to lift the ban on the Roman. We find that we can do nothing further here, so there is no reason for depriving you of your patronage any longer. You may run a performance to-night—in fact, we are most anxious to see a show put on, aren’t we Ellery?”
‘“Anxious’ is hardly the word,” said Ellery, lighting a cigarette. “I should say we insist upon it.”
“Exactly,” murmured the Inspector severely. “We insist upon it, Panzer.”
The manager had bobbed out of his chair, his face shining. “That’s simply splendid, gentlemen!” he cried. “I’ll telephone Mr. Davis immediately to let him know the good news. Of course”—his face fell—”it’s terribly late to expect any sort of response from the public for to-night’s performance. Such short notice . . .”
“You needn’t worry about that, Panzer,” retorted the Inspector. “I’ve caused your shut-down and I’ll see that the theatre is compensated for it to-night. I’ll get the newspaper boys on the wire and ask them to ballyhoo the opening in the next edition. It will mean a lot of unexpected publicity for you and undoubtedly the free advertising, combined with the normal curiosity of the public, will give you a sell-out.”
“That’s sporting of you, Inspector,” said Panzer, rubbing his hands. “Is there anything else I can do for you at the moment?”
“There’s one item you’ve forgotten, dad,” interposed Ellery. He turned to the swart little manager. “Will you see that LL32 and LL30 Left are not sold to-night? The Inspector and I would enjoy seeing this evening’s performance. We’ve not really had that pleasure yet, you know. And naturally we wish to preserve a stately incognito, Panzer—dislike the adulation of the crowd and that sort of thing. You’ll keep it under cover, of course.”
“Anything you say, Mr. Queen. I’ll instruct the cashier to put aside those tickets,” returned Panzer pleasantly. “And now, Inspector—you said you would telephone the press, I believe—?”
“Certainly.” Queen took up the telephone and held pithy conversations with the city editors of a number of metropolitan newspapers. When he had finished Panzer bade them a hurried good-by to get busy with the telephone.
Inspector Queen and his son strolled out into the orchestra, where they found Flint and the two detectives who had been examining the boxes awaiting them.
“You men hang around the theatre on general principles,” ordered the Inspector. “Be particularly careful this afternoon. . . . Any of you find anything?”
Flint scowled. “I ought to be digging clams in Canarsie,” he said with a disgruntled air. “I fell down on the job Monday night, Inspector, and I’m blamed if I could find a thing for you to-day. That place upstairs is swept as clean as a hound’s tooth. Guess I ought to go back to pounding a beat.”
Queen slapped the big detective on the shoulder. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t be acting like a baby, lad. How on earth could you find anything when there wasn’t anything to find? You fellows get something?” he demanded, swinging on the other two men.
They shook their heads in a gloomy negation.
A moment later the Inspector and Ellery climbed into a passing taxicab and settled back for the short drive to headquarters. The old man carefully closed the glass sliding-window separating the driver’s seat from the interior of the car.
“Now, my son,” he said grimly, turning on Ellery, who was puffing dreamily at a cigarette, “please explain to your old daddy that hocus-pocus in Panzer’s office!”
Ellery’s lips tightened. He stared out of the window before replying. “Let me start this way,” he said. “You have found nothing in your search to-day. Nor have your men. And although I scouted about myself, I was just as unsuccessful. Dad, make up your mind to this one primary point: The hat which Monte Field wore to the performance of ‘Gunplay’ on Monday night, in which he was seen at the beginning of the second act, and which presumably the murderer took away after the crime was committed, is not in the Roman Theatre now and has not been there since Monday night. To proceed.” Queen stared at him with grizzled brows. “In all likelihood Field’s tophat no longer exists. I would stake my Falconer against your snuff-box that
it has fled this life and now enjoys a reincarnation as ashes in the City dumps. That’s point number one.”
“Go on,” commanded the Inspector.
“Point number two is so elementary as to be infantile. Nevertheless, allow me the privilege of insulting the Queen intelligence. . . . If Field’s hat is not in the Roman Theatre now and has not been in the Roman Theatre since Monday night, it must of necessity have been taken out of the Roman Theatre sometime during the course of that evening!”
He paused to gaze thoughtfully through the window. A traffic-officer was waving his arms at the juncture of 42nd Street and Broadway.
“We have established therefore,” he continued lightly, “the factual basis of a point which has been running us ragged for three days: to wit, did the hat for which we are looking leave the Roman Theatre. . . . To be dialectic—yes, it did. It left the Roman Theatre the night of the murder. Now we approach a greater problem—how did it leave and when.” He puffed at his cigarette and regarded the glowing tip. “We know that no person left the Roman Monday night with two hats or no hat at all. In no case was there anything incongruous in the attire of any person leaving the theatre. That is, a man wearing a full-dress costume did not go out with a fedora. In a similar way, no one wearing a silk-topper was dressed in ordinary street-clothes. Remember, we noticed nothing wrong from this angle in anyone. . . . This leads us inevitably, to my staggering mind, to the third fundamental conclusion: that Monte Field’s hat left the theatre in the most natural manner in the world: id est,79 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.”
Classic American Crime Fiction of the 1920s Page 83