The Roman hat mystery 4Part 1 · In Which a “Parson” Comes to Grief
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Roman hat mystery 4
Part 1 · In Which a “Parson” Comes to Grief
QueenEnglish
There was a silence as the four men regarded each other with a dawning conviction. Panzer shuffled his feet and coughed nervously; Velie’s face was a study in concentrated thought; Ellery stepped backward and fell into a rapt contemplation of his father’s grey-and-blue necktie.
Inspector Queen stood biting his mustache. He shook his shoulders suddenly and turned on Velie.
“Thomas, I’m going to give you a dirty job,” he said. “I want you to marshal a half-dozen or so of the uniformed men and set ’em to a personal examination of every soul in this place. All they have to do is get the name and address of each person in the audience. It’s quite a job, and it will take time, but I’m afraid it’s absolutely necessary. By the way, Thomas, in your scouting around, did you question any of the ushers who take care of the balcony?”
“I got hold of the very man to give me information,” said Velie. “He’s the lad who stands at the foot of the stairs in the orchestra, directing holders of balcony tickets to the upper floor. Chap by the name of Miller.”
“A very conscientious boy,” interposed Panzer, rubbing his hands.
“Miller is ready to swear that not a person in this theatre either went upstairs from the orchestra or came downstairs from the balcony from the moment the curtain went up on the second act.”
“That sort of cuts down your work, Thomas,” remarked the Inspector, who had been listening intently. “Have your men go through the orchestra-boxes and orchestra only. Remember—I want the name and address of every person here—every single one. And Thomas—”
“Yes, Inspector?” said Velie, turning back.
“While they’re at it, have ’em ask these people to show the ticket-stubs belonging to the seats in which they are sitting. Every case of loss of stub should be noted beside the name of the loser; and in cases—it is a bare possibility—where a person holds a stub which does not agree with the seat-number of the chair in which he’s sitting, a notation is also to be made. Think you can get all that done, my boy?”
“Sure thing!” Velie grunted as he strode away.
The Inspector smoothed his grey mustache and took a pinch of snuff, inhaling deeply.
“Ellery,” he said, “there’s something worrying you. Out with it, son!”
“Eh?” Ellery started, blinking his eyes. He removed his pince-nez, and said slowly, “My very revered father, I am beginning to think that—Well! There’s little peace in this world for a quiet book-loving man.” He sat down on the arm of the dead man’s seat, his eyes troubled. Suddenly he smiled. “Take care that you don’t repeat the unfortunate error of that ancient butcher who, with his twoscore apprentices, sought high and low for his most treasured knife when all the time it reposed quietly in his mouth.”
“You’re very informative these days, my son,” said the Inspector petulantly. “Flint!”
The detective came forward.
“Flint,” said Queen, “you’ve had one pleasant job to-night and I’ve another for you. Think your back could stand a little more bending? Seems to me I remember you took a weight-lifting contest in the Police Games when you were pounding a beat.”
“Yes, sir,” said Flint, grinning broadly. “I guess I can stand the strain.”
“Well, then,” continued the Inspector, jamming his hands into his pockets, “here’s your job. Get a squad of men together—good Lord, I should have brought the Reserves along with me!—and make an exhaustive search of every square foot of the theatre-property, inside and out. You’ll be looking for ticket-stubs, do you understand? Anything resembling half a ticket has to be in my possession when you’re through. Search the theatre-floor particularly, but don’t neglect the rear, the steps leading up to the balcony, the lobby outside, the sidewalk in front of the theatre, the alleyways at both sides, the lounge downstairs, the men’s room, the ladies’ room—Here, here! That’ll never do. Call up the nearest precinct for a matron and have her do that. Thoroughly clear?”
Flint was off with a cheerful nod.
“Now, then.” Queen stood rubbing his hands. “Mr. Panzer, would you step this way a minute? Very kind of you, sir. I’m afraid we’re making unholy nuisances of ourselves to-night, but it can’t be helped. I see the audience is on the verge of rebellion. I’d be obliged if you would trot up to the stage and announce that they will be held here just a little while longer, to have patience, and all that sort of thing. Thank you!”
As Panzer hurried down the center aisle, people clutching at his coat to detain him, Detective Hagstrom, standing a few feet away, caught the Inspector’s eye. By his side was a small slim youth of nineteen, chewing gum with vehement motions of his jaw, and obviously quite nervous at the ordeal he was facing. He was clad in a black-and-gold uniform, very ornate and resplendent, and incongruously fitted out with a starched shirt-front and a wing collar and bow tie. A cap resembling the headgear of a bell-boy perched on his blonde head. He coughed deprecatingly as the Inspector motioned him forward.
“Here is the boy who says they don’t sell ginger ale in this theatre,” said Hagstrom severely, grasping the lad’s arm in a suggestive grip.
“You don’t, eh, son?” asked Queen affably. “How is that?”
The boy was plainly in a funk. His eyes rolled alarmingly as they sought the broad face of Doyle. The policeman patted him encouragingly on the shoulder and said to the Inspector, “He’s a little scared, sir—but he’s a good boy. I’ve known him since he was a shaver. Grew up on my beat.—Answer the Inspector, Jessie....”
“Well, I—I don’t know, sir,” stammered the boy, shuffling his feet. “The only drinks we’re allowed to sell during the intermissions is orangeade. We got a contract with the ——”—he mentioned the name of a well-known manufacturer of the concoction—“people and they give us a big discount if we sell their stuff and nobody else’s. So—”
“I see,” said the Inspector. “Are drinks sold only during intermissions?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the boy, more naturally. “As soon as the curtain goes down the doors to the alleys on both sides are opened, and there we are—my partner and me, with our stands set up, and the cups filled ready to serve.”
“Oh, so there are two of you, eh?”
“No, sir, three all together. I forgot to tell you—one feller is downstairs in the main lounge, too.”
“Ummmm.” The Inspector fixed him with a large and kindly eye. “Now, son, if the Roman Theatre sells nothing but orangeade, do you think you could explain how this ginger-ale bottle got here?”
His hand dove down and reappeared brandishing the dark-green bottle discovered by Hagstrom. The boy paled and began to bite his lips. His eyes roved from side to side as if they sought a quick avenue of escape. He inserted a large and dirty finger between his neck and collar and coughed.
“Why—why ...” He had some difficulty in speaking.
Inspector Queen put down the bottle and rested his wiry length against the arm of a seat. He folded his arms sternly.
“What’s your name?” he demanded.
The boy’s color changed from blue-white to a pasty yellow. He furtively eyed Hagstrom, who had with a flourish taken a notebook and pencil from his pocket and was waiting forbiddingly.
The boy moistened his lips. “Lynch—Jess Lynch,” he said hoarsely.
“And where is your station between acts, Lynch?” said the Inspector balefully.
“I’m—I’m right here, in the left-side alley, sir,” stuttered the boy.
“Ah!” said the Inspector, knitting his brows ferociously. “And were you selling drinks in the left alley to-night, Lynch?”
“Why, why—yes, sir.”
“Then you know something about this ginger-ale bottle?”
The boy peered about, saw the stout small form of Louis Panzer on the stage, about to make an announcement, and leaning forward, whispered, “Yes, sir—I do know about that bottle. I—I didn’t want to tell before because Mr. Panzer’s a strict guy when it comes to breaking rules, and he’d fire me in a minute if he knew what I did. You won’t tell, sir?”
The Inspector started, then smiled. “Shoot, son. You’ve got something on your conscience—might as well get it off.” He relaxed and at a flick of a finger Hagstrom unconcernedly walked away.
“This is how it happened, sir,” began Jess Lynch eagerly. “I’d set my stand up in the alley here about five minutes before the end of the first act, like we’re supposed to. When the girl on this aisle opened the doors after the first act, I began to give the people comin’ out a nice refined selling chatter. We all do. A lot of people bought drinks, and I was so busy I didn’t have time to notice anything going on around me. In a little while I had a breathing spell, and then a man came up to me and said, ‘Let me have a bottle of ginger ale, boy.’ I looked up and saw he was a ritzy feller in evening dress, actin’ kind of tipsy. He was laughing to himself and he looked pretty happy. I says to myself, ‘I bet I know what he wants ginger ale for!’ and sure enough he taps his back pocket and winks. Well—”
“Just a minute, son,” interrupted Queen. “Ever see a dead man before?”
“Why—why, no sir, but I guess I could stand it once,” said the boy nervously.
“Fine! Is this the man who asked you for the ginger ale?” The Inspector took the boy by the arm and made him bend over the dead body.
Jess Lynch regarded it with awed fascination. He bobbed his head vigorously.
“Yes, sir. That’s the gentleman.”
“You’re sure of that now, Jess?” The boy nodded. “By the way, is that the outfit he was wearing when he accosted you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything missing, Jess?” Ellery, who had been nestling in a dark corner, leaned forward a little.
The boy regarded the Inspector with puzzlement on his face, looking from Queen to the body and back again. He was silent for a full minute, while the Queens hung on his words. Then his face lit up suddenly and he cried, “Why—yes, sir! He was wearin’ a hat—a shiny topper—when he spoke to me!”
Inspector Queen looked pleased. “Go on, Jess—Doc Prouty! It’s taken you a whale of a long time getting here. What held you up?”
A tall lanky man had come striding across the carpet, a black bag in his hand. He was smoking a vicious-looking cigar with no apparent concern for local fire rules, and appeared in something of a hurry.
“You said something there, Inspector,” he said, setting down the bag and shaking hands with both Ellery and Queen. “You know we just moved and I haven’t got my new phone yet. I had a hard day to-day and I was in bed anyway. They couldn’t get hold of me—had to send a man around to my new place. I rushed down here as fast as I could. Where’s the casualty?”
He dropped to his knees in the aisle as the Inspector indicated the body on the floor. A policeman was summoned to hold a flashlight as the Assistant Medical Examiner worked.
Queen took Jess Lynch by the arm and walked him off to one side. “What happened after he asked you for the ginger ale, Jess?”
The boy, who had been staring at the proceedings, gulped and continued. “Well, sir, of course I told him that we didn’t sell ginger ale, only orangeade. He leaned a little closer, and then I could smell the booze on his breath. He says confidentially, ‘There’s a half a dollar in it for you if you get me a bottle, kid! But I want it right away!’ Well—you know how it is—they don’t give tips nowadays.... Anyway, I said I couldn’t get it that minute but that I’d duck out and buy a bottle for him right after the second act started. He walked away—after tellin’ me where he was sitting—I saw him go back into the theatre. As soon as the intermission ended and the usherette closed the doors, I left my stand in the alleyway and hopped across the street to Libby’s ice-cream parlor. I—”
“Do you usually leave your stand in the alley, Jess?”
“No, sir. I always hop inside the doors with the stand just before she locks the doors, and then take it downstairs to the lounge. But the man said he wanted the ginger ale right away, so I figured I’d save time by getting the bottle for him first. Then I thought I’d go back into the alley, get my stand, and bring it into the theatre through the front door. Nobody’d say anything.... Anyway, I left the stand in the alley and ran over to Libby’s. I bought a bottle of Paley’s ginger ale, sneaked it inside to this man, and he gave me a buck. Pretty nice of him, I thought, seeing as how he’d only promised me four bits.”
“You told that very nicely, Jess,” said the Inspector with approval. “Now, a few things more. Was he sitting in this seat—was this the seat he told you to come to?”
“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!”
