The Roman Hat Mystery (37 page)

They attacked the living room. Their first port-of-call was the wall, searching for signs of tampered woodwork. And still the big clothes closet inside the room directly off the foyer. Again the Inspector and Ellery went through the topcoats, overcoats and capes hanging on the rack. Nothing. On the shelf above were the four hats they had examined on Tuesday morning: the old Panama, the derby and the two fedoras. Still nothing. Cronin bumped down on his knees to peer savagely into the darker recesses of the closet, tapping the wall, searching for signs of tampered woodwork. And still nothing. With the aid of a chair the Inspector poked into the corners of the area above the shelf. He climbed down, shaking his head.

“
Forget the closet, boys,
”
he muttered. They descended upon the room proper.

The large carved desk which Hagstrom and Piggott had rifled three days before invited their scrutiny. Inside was the pile of papers, canceled bills and letters they had offered for the old man
’
s inspection. Old Queen actually peered through these torn and ragged sheets as if they might conceal messages in invisible ink. He shrugged his shoulders and threw them down.

“
Darned if I
’
m not growing romantic in my old age,
”
he growled.
“
The influence of a fiction-writing rascal of a son.
”

He picked up the miscellaneous articles he himself had found on Tuesday in the pockets of the closet coats. Ellery was scowling now; Cronin was beginning to wear a forlorn, philosophical expression; the old man shuffled abstractedly among the keys, old letters, wallets, and then turned away.

“
Nothing in the desk,
”
he announced wearily.
“
I doubt if that clever limb of Satan would have selected anything as obvious as a desk for a hiding place.
”

“
He would if he
’
d read Edgar Allen Poe,
”
murmured Ellery.
“
Let
’
s get on. Sure there is no secret drawer here?
”
he asked Cronin. The red head was shaken sadly but emphatically.

They probed and poked about in the furniture, under the carpets and lamps, in bookends, curtain rods. With each successive failure the apparent hopelessness of the search was reflected in their faces. When they had finished with the living room it looked as if it had innocently fallen in the path of a hurricane
―
a bare and comfortless satisfaction.

“
Nothing left but the bedroom, kitchenette and lavatory,
”
said the Inspector to Cronin; and the three men went into the room which Mrs. Angela Russo had occupied Monday night.

Field
’
s bedroom was distinctly feminine in its accoutrements
―
a characteristic which Ellery ascribed to the influence of the charming Greenwich Villager. Again they scoured the premises, not an inch of space eluding their vigilant eyes and questing hands; and again there seemed nothing to do but admit failure. They took apart the bedding and examined the spring of the bed; they put it together again and attacked the clothes closet. Every suit was mauled and crushed by their insistent fingers
―
bathrobes, dressing gowns, shoes, cravats. Cronin halfheartedly repeated his examination of the walls and moldings. They lifted rugs and picked up chairs; shook out the pages of the telephone book in the bedside telephone table. The Inspector even lifted the metal disk which fitted around the steampipe at the floor, because it was loose and seemed to present possibilities.

From the bedroom they went into the kitchenette. It was so crowded with kitchen furnishings that they could barely move about. A large cabinet was rifled; Cronin
’
s exasperated fingers dipped angrily into the flour and sugar bins. The stove, the dish closet, the pan closet
―
even the single marble washtub in a corner
―
was methodically gone over. On the floor to one side stood the half empty case of liquor bottles. Cronin cast longing glances in this direction, only to look guiltily away as the Inspector glared at him.

“
And now
―
the bathroom,
”
murmured Ellery. In an ominous silence they trooped into the tiled lavatory. Three minutes later they came out, still silently, and went into the living room where they disposed themselves in chairs. The Inspector drew out his snuffbox and took a vicious pinch; Cronin and Ellery lit cigarettes.

“
I should say, my son,
”
said the Inspector in sepulchral tones after a painful interval broken only by the snores of the policeman in the foyer,
“
I should say that the deductive method which has brought fame and fortune to Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his legions has gone awry. Mind you, I
’
m not scolding . . . .
”
But he slouched into the fastnesses of the chair.

Ellery stroked his smooth jaw with nervous fingers.
“
I seem to have made something of an ass of myself,
”
he confessed.
“
And yet those papers are here somewhere. Isn
’
t that a silly notion to have? But logic bears me out. When ten is the whole and two plus three plus four are discarded, only one is left . . . . Pardon me for being old-fashioned. I insist the papers are here.
”

Cronin grunted and expelled a huge mouthful of smoke.

“
Your objection sustained,
”
murmured Ellery, leaning back.
“
Let
’
s go over the ground again. No, no!
”
he explained hastily, as Cronin
’
s face lengthened in dismay
―”
I mean orally . . . . Mr. Field
’
s apartment consists of a foyer, a living room, a kitchenette, a bedroom and a lavatory. We have fruitlessly examined a foyer, a living room, a kitchenette, a bedroom and a lavatory. Euclid would regretfully force a conclusion here . . . .
”
He mused,
“
How have we examined these rooms?
”
he asked suddenly.
“
We have gone over the obvious things, pulled the obvious things to pieces. Furniture, lamps, carpets
―
I repeat, the obvious things. And we have tapped floors, walls and moldings. It would seem that nothing has escaped the search . . . .
”

He stopped, his eyes brightening. The Inspector threw off his look of fatigue at once. From experience he was aware that Ellery rarely grew excited over inconsequential things.

“
And yet,
”
said Ellery slowly, gazing in fascination at his father
’
s face,
“
by the Golden Roofs of Seneca, we
’
ve overlooked something
―
actually overlooked something!
”

“
What!
”
growled Cronin.
“
You
’
re kidding.
”

“
Oh, but I
’
m not,
”
chuckled Ellery, lounging to his feet.
“
We have examined floors and we have examined walls, but have we examined
―
ceilings?
”

He shot the word forth theatrically while the two men stared at him in amazement.

“
Here, what are you driving at, Ellery?
”
asked his father, frowning.

Ellery briskly crushed his cigarette in an ashtray.
“
Just this,
”
he said.
“
Pure reasoning has it that when you have exhausted every possibility but one in a given equation that one, no matter how impossible, no matter how ridiculous it may seem in the postulation
―
must be the correct one . . . .
A theorem analogous to the one by which I concluded that the papers were in this apartment.
”

“
But, Mr. Queen, for the love of Pete
―
ceilings!
”
exploded Cronin, while the Inspector looked guiltily at the living room ceiling. Ellery caught the look and laughed, shaking his head.

“
I
’
m not suggesting that we call in a plasterer to maul these lovely middle-class ceilings,
”
he said.
“
Because I have the answer already. What is it in these rooms somewhere that is on the ceiling?
”

“
The chandeliers,
”
muttered Cronin doubtfully, gazing upward at the heavily bronzed fixture above their heads.

“
By jinks
―
the canopy over the bed!
”
shouted the Inspector. He jumped to his feet and ran into the bedroom. Cronin pounded hard after him, Ellery sauntering interestedly behind.

They stopped at the foot of the bed and stared up at the canopy. Unlike the conventional canopies of American style, this florid ornament was not merely a large square of cloth erected on four posts, an integral part of the bed only. The bed was so constructed that the four posts, beginning at the four corners, stretched from floor to ceiling. The heavy maroon-colored damask of the canopy also reached from floor to ceiling, connected at the top by a ringed rod from which the folds of the damask hung gracefully.

“
Well, if it
’
s anywhere,
”
grunted the Inspector, dragging one of the damask-covered bedroom chairs to the bed,
“
it
’
s up here. Here, boys, lend a hand.
”

He stood on the chair with a fine disregard for the havoc his shoes were wreaking on the silken material. Finding upon stretching his arms above his head that he was still many feet short of touching the ceiling, he stepped down.

“
Doesn
’
t look as if you could make it either, Ellery,
”
he muttered.
“
And Field was no taller than you. There must be a ladder handy somewhere by which Field himself got up here!
”

Cronin dashed into the kitchenette at Ellery
’
s nod in that direction. He was back in a moment with a six-foot stepladder. The Inspector, mounting to the highest rung, found that his fingers were still short of touching the rod. Ellery solved the difficulty by ordering his father down and climbing to the top himself. Standing on the ladder he was in a position to explore the top of the canopy.

He grasped the damask firmly and pulled. The entire fabric gave way and fell to the sides, revealing a wooden panel about twelve inches deep
―
a framework which the hangings had concealed. Ellery
’
s fingers swept swiftly over the wooden reliefwork of this panel. Cronin and the Inspector were staring with varying expressions up at him. Finding nothing that at the moment presented a possibility of entrance, Ellery leaned forward and explored the damask directly beneath the floor of the panel.

“
Rip it down!
”
growled the Inspector.

Ellery jerked violently at the material and the entire canopy of damask fell to the bed. The bare unornamented floor of the panel was revealed.

“
It
’
s hollow,
”
announced Ellery, rapping his knuckles on the underside paneling.

“
That doesn
’
t help much,
”
said Cronin.
“
It wouldn
’
t be a solid chunk, anyway. Why don
’
t you try the other side of the bed, Mr. Queen?
”

But Ellery, who had drawn back and was again examining the side of the panel, exclaimed triumphantly. He had been seeking a complicated, Machiavellian
“
secret door
”―
he found now that the secret door was nothing more subtle than a sliding panel. It was cleverly concealed
―
the juncture of sliding and stationary panels was covered by a row of wooden rosettes and clumsy decorations
―
but it was nothing that a student of mystery lore would have hailed as a triumph of concealment.

“
It begins to appear as if I were being vindicated,
”
Ellery chuckled as he peered into the black recesses of the hole he had uncovered. He thrust a long arm into the aperture. The Inspector and Cronin were staring at him with bated breath.

“
By all the pagan gods,
”
shouted Ellery suddenly, his lean body quivering with excitement.
“
Do you remember what I told you, Dad? Where would those papers be except in
―
hats!
”

His sleeve coated with dust, he withdrew his arm and the two men below saw in his hand a musty silk tophat!

Cronin executed an intricate jig as Ellery dropped the hat on the bed and dipped his arm once more into the yawning hole. In a moment he had brought out another hat
―
and another
―
and still another! There they lay on the bed
―
two silk hats and two derbies.

“
Take this flashlight, son,
”
commanded the Inspector.
“
See if there
’
s anything else up there.
”

Ellery took the proffered electric torch and flashed its beam into the aperture. After a moment he clambered down, shaking his head.

“
That
’
s all,
”
he announced, dusting his sleeve,
“
but I should think it would be enough.
”

The Inspector picked up the four hats and carried them into the living room, where he deposited them on a sofa. The three men sat down gravely and regarded each other.

“
I
’
m sort of itching to see what
’
s what,
”
said Cronin finally, in a hushed voice.

“
I
’
m rather afraid to look,
”
retorted the Inspector.

“
Mene mene tekel upharsin,
”
laughed Ellery.
“
In this case it might be interpreted as
‘
the handwriting on the panel.
’
Examine on, Macduff!
”

The Inspector picked up one of the silk hats. It bore on the rich satiny lining the chaste trademark of Browne Bros. Ripping out the lining and finding nothing beneath, he tried to tear out the leather sweatband. It resisted his mightiest efforts. He borrowed Cronin
’
s pocket knife and with difficulty slashed away the band. Then he looked up.

“
This hat, Romans and countrymen,
”
he said pleasantly,
“
contains nothing but the familiar ingredients of hat-wear. Would you care to examine it?
”

Cronin uttered a savage cry and snatched it from the Inspector
’
s hand. He literally tore the hat to pieces in his rage.

“
Heck!
”
he said disgustedly, throwing the remnants on the floor.
“
Explain that to my undeveloped brain, will you, Inspector?
”

Queen smiled, taking up the second silk hat and regarding it curiously.

“
You
’
re at a disadvantage, Tim,
”
he said.
“
We know why one of these hats is a blank. Don
’
t we, Ellery?
”

“
Michaels,
”
murmured Ellery.

“
Exactly
―
Michaels,
”
returned the Inspector.

“
Charley Michaels!
”
exclaimed Cronin.
“
Field
’
s strong-arm guy, by all that
’
s holy! Where does he come into this?
”

“
Can
’
t tell yet. Know anything about him?
”

“
Nothing except that he hung onto Field
’
s coattails pretty closely. He
’
s an ex-jailbird, did you know that?
”

“
Yes,
”
replied the Inspector dreamily.
“
We
’
ll have a talk about that phase of Mr. Michaels some other time . . . . But let me explain that hat: Michaels on the evening of the murder laid out, according to his statement, Field
’
s evening clothes, including a silk hat. Michaels swore that as far as he knew Field possessed only
one
topper. Now if we suppose that Field used hats for concealing papers, and was going to the Roman Theatre that night wearing a
‘
loaded
’
one he must necessarily have substituted the loaded hat for the empty one which Michaels prepared. Since he was so careful to keep only one silk hat in the closet, he realized that Michaels, should he find a topper, would be suspicious. So, in switching hats, he had to conceal the empty one. What more natural than that he should put it in the place from which he had taken the loaded hat
―
the panel above the bed?
”

“
Well, I
’
ll be switched!
”
exclaimed Cronin.

“
Finally,
”
resumed the Inspector,
“
We can take it as gospel that Field, who was devilishly careful in the matter of his headgear, intended to restore the theatre hat to its hideaway when he got home from the Roman. Then he would have taken out this one which you
’
ve just torn up and put it back in the clothes closet . . . . But let
’
s get on.
”

He pulled down the leather innerband of the second silk hat, which also bore the imprint of Browne Bros.
“
Look at this, will you!
”
he exclaimed. The two men bent over and saw on the inner surface of the band, lettered with painful clarity in a purplish ink, the words benjamin morgan.