The Roman Hat Mystery (39 page)

“
The perfect criminal is a superman. He must be meticulous in his techniques: unseen, unseeable, a Lone Wolf. He must have neither friends nor dependents. He must be careful to a fault, quick of brain, hand and foot . . . . But these are nothing. There have been such men . . . . On the other hand, he must be a favored child of Fate
―
for circumstances over which he cannot have the remotest control must never contrive his downfall. This, I think, is more difficult to achieve . . . . But the last is most difficult of all. He must never repeat his crime, his weapon or his motive!
. . . In all my twoscore years as an official of the American police I have not once encountered the perfect criminal nor investigated the perfect crime.
”

―
From American Crime and Methods Of Detection by Richard Queen

It was notable, particularly to District Attorney Sampson, that on Saturday evening Inspector Richard Queen was far from being himself. The old man was irritable, snappish and utterly uncongenial. He paced fretfully across the carpet of Manager Louis Panzer
’
s office, biting his lips and muttering beneath his breath. He seemed oblivious to the presence of Sampson, Panzer and a third person who had never been in that theatrical sanctum before and was seated, mouselike, in one of Panzer
’
s big chairs, his eyes like saucers. This was bright-eyed Djuna, granted the unprecedented privilege of accompanying his gray patron on this last incursion into the Roman Theatre.

In truth, Queen was singularly depressed. He had many times in his official life been confronted by apparently insoluble problems; he had as many times brought triumph out of failure. The Inspector
’
s strange manner therefore was doubly inexplicable to Sampson, who had been associated with the old man for years and had never seen him so completely unstrung.

The old man
’
s moodiness was not due to the progress of the Field investigation, as Sampson worriedly thought. Wiry little Djuna, sitting open-mouthed in his corner, was the only spectator to the Inspector
’
s mad pacing who could have put his finger on the truth. Djuna, wise by virtue of
gamin
perspicacity, observant by nature, familiar with Queen
’
s temperament through a loving association, knew that his patron
’
s manner was due solely to Ellery
’
s absence from the scene. Ellery had left New York on the 7:45 express that morning, having been gloomily accompanied to the station by his father. At the last moment the younger man had changed his mind, announcing his decision to forego the trip to Maine and abide in New York by his father
’
s side until the case was concluded. The old man would have none of it. With his shrewd insight into Ellery
’
s nature, he realized how keenly his highly strung son had been looking forward to this first vacation in over a year. It was not in his heart, impatient as he was for the constant presence of his son, to deprive him of this long contemplated pleasure trip.

Accordingly, he had swept aside Ellery
’
s proposal and pushed him up the steps of the train, with a parting clap and a wan smile. Ellery
’
s last words, shouted from the platform as the train glided out of the station, were:
“
I
’
m not forgetting you, Dad. You
’
ll hear from me sooner than you expect!
”

Now, torturing the nap of Manager Panzer
’
s rug, the Inspector was feeling the full impact of their separation. His brain was addled, his constitution flabby, his stomach weak, his eyes dim. He felt completely out of tune with the world and its denizens, and he made no attempt to conceal his irritation.

“
Should be about time now, Panzer,
”
he growled to the stout little manager.
“
How long does this infernal audience take to clear out, anyway?
”

“
In a moment, Inspector, in a moment,
”
replied Panzer. The District Attorney sniffed away the remnants of his cold. Djuna stared in fascination at his god.

A rap on the door twisted their heads about. Tow-headed Harry Neilson, the publicity man, poked his rugged face into the room.
“
Mind if I join the little party, Inspector?
”
he inquired cheerfully.
“
I was in at the birth, and if there
’
s going to be a death
―
why, I
’
m aiming to stick around, with your permission!
”

The Inspector shot him a dour glance from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. He stood in a Napoleonic attitude, his every hair and muscle bristling with ill-nature. Sampson regarded him in surprise. Inspector Queen was showing an unexpected side to his temper.

“
Might
’
s well,
”
he barked.
“
One more won
’
t hurt. There
’
s an army here as it is.
”

Neilson reddened slightly and made a move as if to withdraw. The Inspector
’
s eye twinkled with a partial return to good spirits.

“
Here
―
sit down, Neilson,
”
he said, not unkindly.
“
Mustn
’
t mind an old fogey like me. I
’
m just frazzled a bit. Might need you tonight at that.
”

“
Glad to be let in on it, Inspector,
”
grinned Neilson.
“
What
’
s the idea
―
sort of Spanish Inquisition?
”

“
Just about.
”
The old man bent his brows.
“
But
―
we
’
ll see.
”

At this moment the door opened and the tall, broad figure of Sergeant Velie stepped quickly into the room. He was carrying a sheet of paper which he handed to the Inspector.

“
All present, sir,
”
he said.

“
Everybody out?
”
snapped Queen.

“
Yes, sir. I
’
ve told the cleaning women to go down into the lounge and hang around until we
’
re through. Cashiers have gone home, so have the ushers and usherettes. Cast is backstage, I guess, getting dressed.
”

“
Right. Let
’
s go, gentlemen.
”
The Inspector stalked out of the room followed closely by Djuna, who had not opened his mouth all evening except to emit noiseless gasps of admiration, for no reason that the amused District Attorney could see. Panzer, Sampson and Neilson also followed, Velie bringing up the rear.

The auditorium was again a vast and deserted place, the empty rows of seats stark and cold. The lights of the theatre had been switched on in full and their cold radiance lit up every corner of the orchestra.

As the five men and Djuna swung toward the extreme left aisle, there was a concerted bobbing of heads from the left section of seats. It was apparent now that a small group of people were awaiting the arrival of the Inspector, who walked heavily down the aisle and took up a position in front of the left boxes, so that all the seated people faced him. Panzer, Neilson and Sampson stood at the head of the aisle with Djuna at one side, a feverish spectator.

The assembled party was placed peculiarly. From the row nearest the Inspector, who stood about halfway down the orchestra, and proceeding towards the rear the only seats occupied were those directly on the left aisle. The end two seats of the dozen rows were filled by a motley aggregation
―
men and women, old and young. They were the same people who had occupied these chairs on the night of the fatal performance and whom Inspector Queen had personally examined after the discovery of the body. In the section of eight seats
―
Monte Field
’
s and the empty ones which had surrounded it
―
were grouped William Pusak, Esther Jablow, Madge O
’
Connell, Jess Lynch and Parson Johnny
―
the Parson furtive-eyed, uneasy and whispering to the usherette behind nicotined fingers.

At the Inspector
’
s sudden gesture all became silent as the grave. Sampson, looking about him at the bright chandeliers and lights, the deserted theatre, the lowered curtain, could not help feeling that the stage was being set for dramatic revelations. He leaned forward interestedly. Panzer and Neilson were quiet and watchful. Djuna kept his eyes fixed on the old man.

“
Ladies and gentlemen,
”
Queen announced curtly, staring at the assembled company,
“
I
’
ve brought you here for a definite purpose. I will not keep you any longer than is absolutely necessary, but what is necessary and what is not necessary is entirely up to me. If I find that I do not receive what I consider truthful answers to my questions, everybody will stay here until I am satisfied. I want that thoroughly understood before we proceed.
”

He paused and glared about. There was a ripple of apprehension, a sudden crackle of conversation which died as quickly as it was born.

“
On Monday night,
”
continued the Inspector frostily,
“
you people attended the performance at this theatre and, with the exception of certain employees and others now seated at the rear, occupied the seats in which you now find yourselves.
”
Sampson grinned as he noticed the stiffening of backs at these words, as if each individual felt his seat grow suddenly warm and uncomfortable beneath him.

“
I want you to imagine that this is Monday night. I want you to think back to that night and try to remember everything that happened. By everything I mean any occurrence, no matter how trivial or apparently unimportant, that might have left an impression on your memory . . . .
”

As the Inspector warmed to his words, a number of people drifted into the orchestra at the rear. Sampson greeted them in whispers. The little party was composed of Eve Ellis, Hilda Orange, Stephen Barry, James Peale and three or four other members of the cast of
“
Gunplay.
”
They were dressed in their street clothes. Peale whispered to Sampson that they had just come from their dressing rooms and had dropped into the auditorium on hearing voices.

“
Queen
’
s holding a little powwow,
”
whispered Sampson in return.

“
Do you think the Inspector has any objections to our staying a while and listening?
”
asked Barry in a low tone, with an apprehensive glance toward the Inspector, who had stopped and was staring icily in their direction.

“
Don
’
t see why
―”
began Sampson worriedly, when Eve Ellis murmured,
“
Shhh!
”
and they all became silent.

“
Now
―”
said the Inspector venomously, when the flurry had subsided,
“
this is the situation. Remember, you are now back in Monday evening. The curtain has gone up on the second act and the theatre is dark. There is a lot of noise from the stage and you are intent on the exciting sequences of the play . . . . Did any of you, especially those sitting in the aisle seats, notice anything peculiar, unusual or disturbing around or near you at that time?
”

He paused expectantly. There were puzzled, fearful shakings of the head. No one answered.

“
Think hard,
”
growled the Inspector.
“
You remember on Monday night I went down this aisle and questioned all of you in the same vein. Naturally I don
’
t want lies, and I can
’
t reasonably expect that you will tell me something startling now when you could remember nothing Monday night. But this is a desperate situation. A man was murdered here and we are frankly up against it. One of the most difficult cases we have ever encountered! In the light of such a condition, when we find ourselves against a blank wall with not the slightest idea where to turn
―
I am being honest with you as I expect you to be with me
―
I
must
turn to you as the only members of the audience five nights ago who were in a position to see something important, if anything important occurred . . . . It has been my experience that often, under stress of nervousness and excitement, a man or woman will forget a little detail that returns to memory after a few hours, days, weeks of normalcy. It is my hope that something of the sort has taken place with you . . . .
”

As Inspector Queen spoke, the words dropping acidly from his lips, the company lost its nervousness in its fascinated interest. When he paused, people put their heads together and whispered excitedly, shaking their heads at times, arguing in fierce, low tones at others. The Inspector waited in a resigned patience.

“
Raise your hands if you have something to tell me . . .
“
he said.