The Roman Hat Mystery

ARRIVED SAFELY [it ran] CHAUVIN WILD WITH DELIGHT FISHING PROSPECT EXCEPTIONAL Stop THINK I HAVE SOLVED YOUR LITTLE PROBLEM Stop JOIN DISTINGUISHED COMPANY OF RABELAIS CHAUCER SHAKESPEARE DRYDEN WHO SAID MAKE A VIRTUE OF NECESSITY Stop WHY NOT GO INTO BLACKMAILING BUSINESS YOURSELF Stop DON’T GROWL DJUNA TO DEATH AFFECTIONATELY ELLERY

The Inspector stared down at the harmless yellow slip, a startled comprehension transmuting the harsh lines of his face.

He whirled on Djuna, clapped that young gentleman’s cap on his tousled head and pulled his arm purposefully.

“Djuna, old son,” he said gleefully, “let’s go around the corner and celebrate with a couple of ice-cream sodas!”

20 In Which Mr. Michaels Writes a Lecture

For the first time in a week Inspector Queen was genuinely himself as he strode cheerfully into his tiny office at the headquarters building and shied his coat at a chair.

It was Monday morning. He rubbed his hands, hummed “The Sidewalks of New York,” as he plumped down at his desk and briskly ran through his voluminous mail and reports. He spent a half-hour issuing instructions by word of mouth and telephone to subordinates in various offices of the Detective Bureau, studied briefly a number of reports which a stenographer placed before him and finally pressed one of a row of buttons on his desk.

Velie appeared at once.

“Howdy, Thomas,” said the Inspector heartily. “How are you this fine Fall morning?”

Velie permitted himself a smile. “Well enough, Inspector,” he said. “And you? You seemed a little under the weather Saturday night.”

The Inspector chuckled. “Let bygones be bygones, Thomas, my lad. Djuna and I visited the Bronx Zoo yesterday and spent a delightful four hours among our brethren, the animals.”

“That imp of yours was in his element, I’ll bet,” growled Velie, “among the monkeys especially.”

“Now, now, Thomas,” chided the Inspector. “Don’t be mistaken about Djuna. He’s a smart little whippersnapper. Going to be a great man some day, mark my words!”

“Djuna?” Velie nodded gravely. “Guess you’re right, Inspector. I’d give my right paw for that kid... What’s the program today, sir?”

“There’s a lot on the program today, Thomas,” Queen said mysteriously. “Did you get hold of Michaels after I telephoned you yesterday morning?”

“Sure thing, Inspector. He’s been waiting outside for an hour. Came in early, with Piggott hanging on his heels. Piggott’s been tailing him all over creation and he’s pretty disgusted.”

“Well, I always said a man’s a fool to become a policeman,” chuckled Queen. “Bring in the lamb.”

Velie went out, to reappear a moment later with the tall, portly Michaels. Field’s valet was dressed sombrely. He seemed nervous and ill at ease.

“Now, Thomas, my lad,” said the Inspector after he had motioned Michaels to the chair beside his desk, “you go out and lock that door and don’t let the Commissioner himself disturb me. Get that?”

Velie repressed a curious glance, grunted and departed. A few moments later a bulky figure was dimly discernible in silhouette through the frosted glass of the door.

At the expiration of a half-hour Velie was summoned by telephone to his superior’s office. He unlocked the door. On the desk before the Inspector reposed a cheap square envelope unsealed, a sheet of notepaper partly visible as it lay inside. Michaels was on his feet, pale and trembling, his hat crushed in two beefy hands. Velie’s sharp eyes noticed a generous ink stain on the fingers of the man’s left hand.

“You are going to take very good care of Mr. Michaels, Thomas,” said the Inspector genially. “Today, for instance, I want you to entertain him. I have no doubt you’ll find something to do — go to a movie — there’s an idea! In any event be friendly with the gentleman until you hear from me... No communication with anybody, Michaels, do you hear?” he added brusquely, turning to the big man. “Just you tag along with Sergeant Velie and play nicely.”

“You know I’m on the square, Inspector,” mumbled Michaels sullenly. “You don’t have to—”

“Just a precaution, Michaels — just an elementary precaution,” interrupted the Inspector, smiling. “Have a nice time, boys!”

The two men left. Seated at his desk, Queen tilted his swivel chair, picked up the envelope before him reflectively, took out the slip of cheap white paper and read it over with a little smile.

The note bore neither date nor salutation. The message began abruptly.

“The writer is Chas. Michaels, I think you know me. I have been Monte Field’s right-hand man for over two years.”