The Roman Hat Mystery

“Another point in corroboration. Even if the murderer didn’t desire, for some dark reason of his own, to leave a replacement hat, he certainly would have arranged to secure what was in the hat by cutting it out. All he had to do was to provide himself in advance with a sharp instrument — a pocket knife, for example. The empty hat, though cut, would not have presented the problem of disposal that the missing hat would. Surely the murderer would have preferred this procedure, had he foreknowledge of the hat’s contents. But he did not do even this. This, it seems to me, is strong corroborative evidence that he did not know before he came to the Roman Theatre that he would have to take away a hat or its contents. Quod erat demonstrandum.”

The District Attorney gazed at Ellery with puckered lips. Inspector Queen seemed sunk in a lethargy. His hand hovered midway between his snuffbox and his nose.

“Just what’s the point, Ellery?” inquired Sampson. “Why is it important for you to know that the murderer had no foreknowledge of the hat’s significance?”

Ellery smiled. “Merely this. The crime was committed after the beginning of the second act. I want to be sure in my own mind that the murderer, by not knowing in advance of the hat’s significance, could not have used the first intermission in any manner whatsoever as an essential element of his plan... Of course, Field’s hat may turn up somewhere on the premises, and its discovery would invalidate all these speculations. But — I don’t think it will...”

“That analysis of yours might be elementary, boy, but it sounds quite logical to me,” said Sampson approvingly. “You should have been a lawyer.”

“You can’t beat the Queen brains,” chuckled the old man suddenly, his face wreathed in a wide smile. “But I’m going to get busy on another tack that ought to jibe somewhere with this puzzle of the hat. You noticed, Ellery, the name of the clothier sewed into Field’s coat?”

“No sooner said than done,” grinned Ellery. Producing one of the small volumes which he carried in his topcoat pocket, he opened it and pointed to a notation on the flyleaf. “Browne Bros., gentlemen — no less.”

“That’s right; and I’ll have Velie down there in the morning to check up,” said the Inspector. “You must have realized that Field’s clothing is of exceptional quality. That evening-suit cost three hundred dollars, if it cost a penny. And Browne Bros. are the artists to charge such fashionable prices. But there’s another point in this connection: every stitch of clothing on the dead man’s body had the same manufacturer’s mark. That’s not uncommon with wealthy men; and Browne’s made a specialty of outfitting their customers from head to foot. What more probable to assume—”

“Than that Field bought his hats there, tool” exclaimed Sampson, with an air of discovery.

“Exactly, Tacitus,” said Queen, grinning. “Velie’s job is to check up on this clothing business and if possible secure an exact duplicate of the hat Field wore tonight. I’m mighty anxious to look it over.”

Sampson rose with a cough. “I suppose I really ought to get back to bed,” he said. “The only reason I came down here was to see that you didn’t arrest the Mayor. Boy, that friend of mine was sore! I’ll never hear the end of it!”

Queen looked up at him with a quizzical smile. “Before you go, Henry, suppose you tell me just where I stand on this thing. I know that I used a pretty high hand tonight, but you must realize how necessary it was. Are you going to put one of your own men on the case?”

Sampson glared at him. “When did you get the idea I wasn’t satisfied with your conduct of the investigation, you old canary bird!” he growled. “I’ve never checked you up yet, and I’m not going to start now. If you can’t bring this thing to a successful conclusion, I certainly don’t think any of my men can. My dear Q, go ahead and detain half of New York if you think it’s necessary. I’ll back you up.”

“Thanks, Henry,” said Queen. “I just wanted to be sure. Add now, since you’re so nice about it, watch my smoke!”

He ambled across the room into the anteroom, stuck his head past the doorway into the theatre, and shouted, “Mr. Panzer, will you come here a moment?”

He came back smiling grimly to himself, the swarthy theatre manager close on his heels.

“Mr. Panzer, meet District Attorney Sampson,” said Queen. The two men shook hands. “Now, Mr. Panzer, you’ve got one more job and you can go home and go to sleep. I want this theatre shut down so tight a mouse couldn’t get into it!”

Panzer grew pale. Sampson shrugged his shoulders, as if to indicate that he washed his hands of the entire affair. Ellery nodded sagely in approval.

“But — but Inspector, just when we’re playing to capacity!” groaned the little manager. “Is it absolutely necessary?”

“So necessary, my dear man,” answered the Inspector coolly, “that I’m going to have two men here patrolling the premises all the time.”