The Roman hat mystery 17Part 1 · In Which the Queens Go to the Theatre
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Roman hat mystery 17
Part 1 · In Which the Queens Go to the Theatre
QueenEnglish
Ellery and his father regarded each other across the length of the little office. Velie had resumed his seat with a puzzled frown. He sat quietly for a time in the growing silence, seemed suddenly to make a decision and asking permission left the room.
The Inspector grinned as he fumbled with the lid of his snuff-box.
“Did you get a scare, too, Ellery?”
Ellery, however, was serious. “That woman gives me a case of Wodehouse ‘willies,’” he said, shuddering. “Scare is much too mild a word.”
“I couldn’t for the moment grasp the significance of her attitude,” said Inspector Queen. “To think that she knew, while we have been fumbling around.... It scattered my wits.”
“I should say the interview was highly successful,” commented Ellery. “Principally because I’ve been gathering a few interesting facts from this ponderous tome on chirography. But Mrs. Angela Russo does not measure up to my conception of perfect womanhood....”
“If you ask me,” chuckled the Inspector, “our beauteous friend has a crush on you. Consider the opportunities, my son—!”
Ellery made a grimace of profound ♦distaste.
♦ “distate” replaced with “distaste”
“Well!” Queen reached for one of the telephones on the desk. “Do you think we ought to give Benjamin Morgan another chance, Ellery?”
“Hanged if he deserves it,” grumbled Ellery. “But I suppose it’s the routine thing to do.”
“You forget the papers, son—the papers,” retorted the Inspector, a twinkle in his eye.
He spoke to the police operator in pleasant accents and a few moments later the buzzer sounded.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan!” Queen said cheerfully. “And how are you to-day?”
“Inspector Queen?” asked Morgan after a slight hesitation. “Good afternoon to you, sir. How is the case progressing?”
“That’s a fair question, Mr. Morgan,” laughed the Inspector. “One, however, which I daren’t answer for fear of being accused of incompetency.... Mr. Morgan, are you free this evening by any chance?”
Pause. “Why—not free exactly.” The lawyer’s voice was barely audible. “I am due at home, of course, for dinner, and I believe my wife has arranged a little bridge. Why, Inspector?”
“I was thinking of asking you to dine with my son and me this evening,” said the Inspector regretfully. “Could you possibly get away for the dinner-hour?”
A longer pause. “If it’s absolutely necessary, Inspector—?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way exactly, Mr. Morgan.... But I would appreciate your accepting the invitation.”
“Oh.” Morgan’s voice came more resolutely now. “In that case I’m at your command, Inspector. Where shall I meet you?”
“That’s fine, that’s fine!” said Queen. “How about Carlos’, at six?”
“Very well, Inspector,” returned the lawyer quietly and hung up the receiver.
“I can’t help feeling sorry for the poor chap,” murmured the old man.
Ellery grunted. He was not feeling inclined to sympathize. The taste of Mrs. Angela Russo was still strong in his mouth, and it was not a pleasant taste at all.
Promptly at six o’clock Inspector Queen and Ellery joined Benjamin Morgan in the convivial atmosphere of Carlos’ restaurant-foyer. He was sitting dejectedly in a red-leather chair, staring at the backs of his hands. His lips drooped sadly, his knees were widely separated in an instinctive attitude of depression.
He made a laudable attempt to smile as the two Queens approached. He rose with a firmness that indicated to his keen hosts a mind determined upon a fixed course of action. The Inspector was at his bubbling best, partly because he felt a genuine liking for the corpulent attorney and partly because it was his business. Ellery, as usual, was noncommittal.
The three men shook hands like old friends.
“Glad to see you’re on time, Morgan,” said the Inspector, as a stiff headwaiter conducted them to a corner-table. “I really must apologize for taking you away from your dinner at home. There was a time once—” He sighed and they sat down.
“No apology necessary,” said Morgan with a wan smile. “I suppose you know that every married man relishes a bachelor dinner at times.... Just what is it, Inspector, you wanted to talk to me about?”
The old man raised a warning finger. “No business now, Morgan,” he said. “I have an idea Louis has something up his sleeve in the way of solid refreshment—right, Louis?”
The dinner was a culinary delight. The Inspector, who was quite indifferent to the nuances of the art, had left the details of the menu to his son. Ellery was fanatically interested in the delicate subject of foods and their preparation. Consequently the three men dined well. Morgan was at first inclined to taste his food abstractedly, but he became more and more alive to the delightful concoctions placed before him, until finally he forgot his troubles altogether and chatted and laughed with his hosts.
With café au lait and excellent cigars, which Ellery smoked cautiously, the Inspector diffidently, and Morgan with enjoyment, Queen came to the point.
“Morgan, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I have an idea you know why I asked you here to-night. I’m going to be perfectly honest. I want the true explanation for your silence regarding the events of Sunday night, September the twenty-third—four nights ago.”
Morgan had become grave immediately the Inspector began to speak. He put the cigar on the ash-tray and regarded the old man with an expression of ineffable weariness.
“It was bound to come,” he said. “I might have known that you would find out sooner or later. I suppose Mrs. Russo told you out of spite.”
“She did,” confessed Queen frankly. “As a gentleman I refuse to listen to tales; as a policeman it is my duty. Why have you kept this from me, Morgan?”
Morgan traced a meaningless figure on the cloth with a spoon. “Because—well, because a man is always a fool until he is made to realize the extent of his folly,” he said quietly, looking up. “I hoped and prayed—it is a human failing, I suppose—that the incident would remain a secret between a dead man and myself. And to find that that prostitute was hiding in the bedroom—listening to every word I said—it rather took the wind out of my sails.”
He gulped down a glass of water, rushing ahead. “The God’s honest truth, Inspector, is that I thought I was being drawn into a trap and I couldn’t bring myself to furnish contributory evidence. There I found myself in the theatre, not so far away from my worst enemy found murdered. I could not explain my presence except by an apparently silly and unsubstantiated story; and I remembered in a bitter flash that I had actually quarreled with the dead man the night before. It was a tight position, Inspector—take my word for it.”
Inspector Queen said nothing. Ellery was leaning far back in his chair, watching Morgan with gloomy eyes. Morgan swallowed hard and went on.
“That’s why I didn’t say anything. Can you blame a man for keeping quiet when his legal training warns him so decisively of the net of circumstantial evidence he is helping to manufacture?”
Queen was silent for a moment. Then—“We’ll let that pass for the moment, Morgan. Why did you go to see Field Sunday night?”
“For a very good reason,” answered the lawyer bitterly. “On Thursday, a week ago, Field called me up at my office and told me that he was making a last business venture that entailed his procuring fifty thousand dollars at once. Fifty thousand dollars!” Morgan laughed dryly. “After he had milked me until I was as flabby financially as an old cow.... And his ‘business venture’—can you imagine what it was? If you knew Field as well as I did, you would find the answer on the race-tracks and the stock-market.... Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps he was hard pressed for money and was cleaning up his old ‘accounts.’ At any rate, he wanted the fifty thousand on a brand-new proposition—that he would actually return the original documents to me for that sum! It was the first time he had even suggested such a thing. Every time—before—he had insolently asked blackmail for silence. This time it was a buy-and-sell proposition.”
“That’s an interesting point, Mr. Morgan,” put in Ellery, with a flicker of his eyes. “Did anything in his conversation definitely lead you to suspect that he was ‘cleaning up old accounts,’ as you phrase it?”
“Yes. That is why I said what I did. He gave me the impression that he was hard up, meant to take a little vacation—vacation to him would be a three-year jaunt on the Continent, nothing less—and was soliciting all his ‘friends.’ I never knew that he was in the blackmailing business on a large scale; but this time—!”
Ellery and the Inspector exchanged glances. Morgan forged ahead.
“I told him the truth. That I was in a bad way financially, chiefly through him, and that it would be absolutely impossible for me to raise the preposterous amount he demanded. He merely laughed—insisted on getting the money. I was most anxious to get the papers back, of course....”
“Had you verified from your cancelled vouchers the fact that some were missing?” asked the Inspector.
“It wasn’t necessary, Inspector,” grated Morgan. “He actually exhibited the vouchers and letters for my benefit in the Webster Club two years ago—when we had the quarrel. Oh, there is no question about it. He was top man.”
“Go on.”
“He hung up on me with a thinly veiled threat last Thursday. I had tried desperately during the conversation to make him believe that I would in some way meet his demands, because I knew that he would have no scruples at all about publishing the papers once he realized he had sucked me dry....”
“Did you ask him if you could see the documents?” asked Ellery.
“I believe I did—but he laughed at me and said I would see the color of my checks and letters when he saw the color of my money. He was nobody’s fool, that crook—he was taking no chances on my doing him in while he brought out the damning evidence.... You see how frank I am. I will even admit that at times the thought of violence entered my head. What man could keep from thinking such thoughts under those circumstances? But I never entertained homicidal fancies seriously, gentlemen—for a very good reason.” He paused.
“It wouldn’t have done you any good,” said Ellery softly. “You didn’t know where the documents were!”
“Exactly,” returned Morgan with a tremulous smile. “I didn’t know. And with those papers liable to come to light at any time—to fall into anybody’s hands—what good would Field’s death have done me? I would probably have exchanged a bad taskmaster for a worse.... On Sunday night, after trying for three terrible days to get together the money he asked for—with no result—I decided to come to a final settlement with him. I went to his apartment and found him in a dressing-gown, much surprised and not at all apprehensive at seeing me. The living-room was upset—I did not know at the time that Mrs. Russo was hiding in the next room.”
He re-lit the cigar with shaking fingers.
“We quarreled—or rather I quarreled and he sneered. He would listen to no argument, to no plea. He wanted the fifty thousand or he would send the story around—and the proofs. It sort of got on my nerves after a while.... I left before I lost control of myself utterly. And that’s all, Inspector, on my word of honor as a gentleman and as an unfortunate victim of circumstances.”
He turned his head away. Inspector Queen coughed and threw his cigar into the ash-tray. He fumbled in his pocket for the brown snuff-box, took a pinch, inhaled deeply and leaned back in his chair. Ellery suddenly poured a glass of water for Morgan, who took it and drained it.
“Thank you, Morgan,” said Queen. “And since you have been so frank in your story, please be honest and tell me whether you threatened Field’s life Sunday night during your quarrel. It is only fair to let you know that Mrs. Russo flatly accused you of Field’s murder because of something you said in the heat of the moment.”
Morgan grew pale. His brows twitched and his eyes, glazed and worried, stared pitifully at the Inspector.
“She was lying!” he cried hoarsely. Several diners nearby looked around curiously, and Inspector Queen tapped Morgan’s arm. He bit his lip and lowered his voice. “I did nothing of the sort, Inspector. I was honest with you a moment ago when I said that I had thought savagely from time to time of killing Field. It was a crippled, silly, pointless thought. I—I wouldn’t have the courage to kill a man. Even at the Webster Club when I lost my temper completely and shouted that threat I didn’t mean it. Certainly Sunday night—please believe me rather than that unscrupulous, money-grubbing harlot. Inspector—you must!”
“I merely want you to explain what you said. Because,” said the Inspector quietly, “strange as it may seem, I do believe that you made the statement she attributes to you.”
“What statement?” Morgan was in a sweat of fear; his eyes started from his head.
“‘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!’” repeated the Inspector. “Did you say that, Mr. Morgan?”
The lawyer stared incredulously at the Queens, then threw back his head and laughed. “Good heavens!” he gasped, at last. “Is that the ‘threat’ I made? Why, Inspector, what I meant was that if he published those documents, in the event that I couldn’t meet his blackguard demands, that I’d make a clean breast of it to the police and drag him down with me. That’s what I meant! And she thought I was threatening his life—” He wiped his eyes hysterically.
Ellery smiled, his finger summoning the waiter. He paid the check and lit a cigarette, looking sidewise at his father, who was regarding Morgan with a mixture of abstraction and sympathy.
“Very well, Mr. Morgan.” The Inspector rose, pushed back his chair. “That’s all we wanted to know.” He stood aside courteously to allow the dazed, still trembling lawyer to precede them toward the cloak-room.
The sidewalk fronting the Roman Theatre was jammed when the two Queens strolled up 47th Street from Broadway. The crowd was so huge that police lines had been established. Traffic was at a complete standstill along the entire length of the narrow thoroughfare. The electric lights of the marquee blared forth the title “Gunplay” in vigorous dashes of light and in smaller lights the legend, “Starring James Peale and Eve Ellis, Supported by an All-Star Cast.” Women and men wielded frenzied elbows to push through the milling mob; policemen shouted hoarsely, demanding tickets for the evening’s performance before they would allow any one to pass through the lines.
The Inspector showed his badge and he and Ellery were hurled with the jostling crowd into the small lobby of the theatre. Beside the box-office, his Latin face wreathed in smiles, stood Manager Panzer, courteous, firm and authoritative, helping to speed the long line of cash customers from the box-office window to the ticket-taker. The venerable doorman, perspiring mightily, was standing to one side, a bewildered expression on his face. The cashiers worked madly. Harry Neilson was huddled in a corner of the lobby, talking earnestly to three young men who were obviously reporters.
Panzer caught sight of the two Queens and hurried forward to greet them. At an imperious gesture from the Inspector he hesitated, then with an understanding nod turned back to the cashier’s window. Ellery stood meekly in line and procured two reserved tickets from the box-office. They entered the orchestra in the midst of a pushing throng.
A startled Madge O’Connell fell back as Ellery presented two tickets plainly marked LL32 Left and LL30 Left. The Inspector smiled as she fumbled with the pasteboards and threw him a half-fearful glance. She led them across the thick carpet to the extreme left aisle, silently indicated the last two seats of the last row and fled. The two men sat down, placed their hats in the wire holders below the seats and leaned back comfortably, for all the world like two pleasure-seekers contemplating an evening’s gory entertainment.
The auditorium was packed. Droves of people being ushered down the aisles were rapidly consuming the empty seats. Heads twisted expectantly in the direction of the Queens, who became unwittingly the center of a most unwelcome scrutiny.
“Heck!” grumbled the old man. “We should have come in after the curtain went up.”
“You’re much too sensitive to public acclaim, mon père,” laughed Ellery. “I don’t mind the limelight.” He consulted his wrist-watch and their glances met significantly. It was exactly 8:25. They wriggled in their seats and settled down.
The lights were blotted out, one by one. The chatter of the audience died in a responsive sympathy. In total darkness the curtain rose on a weirdly dim stage. A shot exploded the silence; a man’s gurgling shout raised gasps in the theatre. “Gunplay” was off in its widely publicized and theatrical manner.
Despite the preoccupation of his father, Ellery, relaxed in the chair which three nights before had held the dead body of Monte Field, was able to sit still and enjoy the exceedingly mellow melodrama. The fine rich voice of James Peale, ushered onto the stage by a series of climactic incidents, rang out and thrilled him with its commanding art. Eve Ellis’s utter absorption in her rôle was apparent—at the moment she was conversing in low throbbing tones with Stephen Barry, whose handsome face and pleasant voice were evoking admiring comment from a young girl seated directly to the Inspector’s right. Hilda Orange was huddled in a corner, dressed flamboyantly as befitted her stage-character. The old “character-man” pottered aimlessly about the stage. Ellery leaned toward his father.
“It’s a well cast production,” he whispered. “Watch that Orange woman!”
The play stuttered and crackled on. With a crashing symphony of words and noise the first act came to an end. The Inspector consulted his watch as the lights snapped on. It was 9:05.
He rose and Ellery followed him lazily. Madge O’Connell, pretending not to notice them, pushed open the heavy iron doors across the aisle and the audience began to file out into the dimly lit alleyway. The two Queens sauntered out among the others.
A uniformed boy standing behind a neat stand covered with paper cups was crying his wares in a subdued, “refined” voice. It was Jess Lynch, the boy who had testified in the matter of Monte Field’s request for ginger ale.
Ellery strolled behind the iron door—there was a cramped space between the door and the brick wall. He noticed that the wall of the building flanking the other side of the alley was easily six stories high and unbroken. The Inspector bought an orange-drink from the boy. Jess Lynch recognized him with a start and Inspector Queen greeted the boy pleasantly.
People were standing in small groups, their attitudes betokening a strange interest in their surroundings. The Inspector heard a woman remark, in a fearful, fascinated voice, “They say he was standing right out here Monday night, buying an orange-drink!”
The warning-bell soon clanged inside the theatre, and those who had come outside for a breath of air hurried back into the orchestra. Before he sat down, the Inspector glanced over across the rear of the auditorium to the foot of the staircase leading to the balcony. A stalwart, uniformed young man stood alertly on the first step.
The second act exploded into being. The audience swayed and gasped in the approved fashion while the dramatic fireworks were shot off on the stage. The Queens seemed suddenly to have become absorbed in the action. Father and son leaned forward, bodies taut, eyes intent. Ellery consulted his watch at 9:30—and the two Queens settled back again while the play rumbled on.
At 9:50 exactly they rose, took their hats and coats and slipped out of the LL row into the clear space behind the orchestra. A number of people were standing—at which the Inspector smiled and blessed the power of the press beneath his breath. The white-faced usherette, Madge O’Connell, was leaning stiffly against a pillar, staring unseeingly ahead.
The Queens, espying Manager Panzer in the doorway of his office beaming delightedly at the crowded auditorium, made their way towards him. The Inspector motioned him inside and rapidly stepped into the little anteroom, Ellery close behind. The smile faded from Panzer’s face.
“I hope you’ve had a profitable evening?” he asked nervously.
“Profitable evening? Well—it depends upon what you mean by the word.” The old man gestured briefly and led the way through the second door into Panzer’s private office.
“Look here, Panzer,” he said, pacing up and down in some excitement, “have you a plan of the orchestra handy which shows each seat, numbered, and all the exits?”
Panzer stared. “I think so. Just a moment.” He fumbled in a filing-cabinet, rummaged among some folders and finally brought out a large map of the theatre separated into two sections—one for the orchestra and the other for the balcony.
The Inspector brushed the second away impatiently as he and Ellery bent over the orchestra-plan. They studied it for a moment. Queen looked up at Panzer, who was shifting from one foot to another on the rug, evidently at a loss to know what would be required of him next.
The plan illustrated in the frontispiece and drawn by Ellery Queen was designed from Manager Panzer’s map.—The Editor.
“May I have this map, Panzer?” asked the Inspector shortly. “I’ll return it unharmed in a few days.”
“Certainly, certainly!” said Panzer. “Is there anything else I can do for you now, Inspector?... I want to thank you for your consideration in the matter of publicity, sir—Gordon Davis is extremely pleased at the ‘house’ to-night. He asked me to relay his thanks.”
“Not at all—not at all,” grumbled the Inspector, folding the map and putting it in his breast-pocket. “It was coming to you—what’s right is right.... And now, Ellery—if you’ll come along.... Good night, Panzer. Not a word about this, remember!”
The two Queens slipped out of Panzer’s office while he was babbling his reassurances of silence.
They crossed the rear of the orchestra once more, in the direction of the extreme left aisle. The Inspector beckoned curtly to Madge O’Connell.
“Yes,” she breathed, her face chalky.
“Just open those doors wide enough to let us through, O’Connell, and forget all about it afterward. Understand?” said the Inspector grimly.
She mumbled under her breath as she pushed open one of the big iron doors opposite the LL row. With a last warning shake of the head the Inspector slipped through, Ellery following—and the door came softly back into place again.
At 11 o’clock, as the wide exits were disgorging their first flocks of theatregoers after the final curtain, Richard and Ellery Queen re-entered the Roman Theatre through the main door.
