The Roman Hat Mystery (6 page)

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 gray-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 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 gray 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 tonight 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 tonight, 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 bellboy perched on his blond 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 leftside alley, sir,
”
stuttered the boy.

“
Ah!
”
said the Inspector, knitting his brows ferociously.
“
And were you selling drinks in the left alley tonight, 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
―”