The Roman Hat Mystery

Panzer wrung his hands, looking furtively at Sampson. But the District Attorney was standing with his back to them, examining a print on the wall.

“This is terrible, Inspector!” wailed Panzer. “I’ll never hear the end of it from Gordon Davis, the producer... But of course — if you say so, it will be done.”

“Heck, man, don’t look so blue,” said Queen, more kindly. “You’ll be getting so much publicity out of this that when the show reopens you’ll have to enlarge the theatre. I don’t expect to have the theatre shut down more than a few days, anyway. I’ll give the necessary orders to my men outside. After you’ve transacted your routine business here tonight, just tip off the men I’ve left and go home. I’ll let you know in a few days when you can reopen.”

Panzer waggled his head sadly, shook hands all around and left. Sampson immediately whirled on Queen and said, “By the Lord Harry, Q, that’s going some! Why do you want the theatre closed? You’ve milked it dry, haven’t you?”

“Well, Henry,” said Queen slowly, “the hat hasn’t been found. All those people filed out of the theatre and were searched — and each one had just one hat. Doesn’t that indicate that the hat we’re looking for is still here somewhere? And if it’s still here, I’m not giving anybody a chance to come in and take it away. If there’s any taking to be done, I’ll do it.”

Sampson nodded. Ellery was still wearing a worried frown as the three men walked out of the office into the almost deserted orchestra. Here and there a busy figure was stooping over a seat, examining the floor. A few men could be seen darting in and out of the boxes up front. Sergeant Velie stood by the main door, talking in low tones to Piggott and Hagstrom. Detective Flint, superintending a squad of men, was working far to the front of the orchestra. A small group of cleaning women operated vacuum cleaners tiredly here and there. In one corner, to the rear, a buxom police matron was talking with an elderly woman — the woman Panzer had called Mrs. Phillips.

The three men walked to the main door. While Ellery and Sampson were silently surveying the always depressing scene of an untenanted auditorium, Queen spoke rapidly to Velie, giving orders in an undertone. Finally he turned and said, “Well, gentlemen, that’s all for tonight. Let’s be going.”

On the sidewalk a number of policemen had roped off a large space, behind which a straggling crowd of curiosity-seekers was gaping.

“Even at two o’clock in the morning these night-birds patrol Broadway,” grunted Sampson. With a wave of the hand he entered his automobile after the Queens politely refused his offer of a “lift.” A crowd of businesslike reporters pushed through the lines and surrounded the two Queens.

“Here, here! What’s this, gentlemen?” asked the old man, frowning.

“How about the lowdown on tonight’s job, Inspector?” asked one of them urgently.

“You’ll get all the information you want, boys, from Detective-Sergeant Velie — inside.” He smiled as they charged in a body through the glass doors.

Ellery and Richard Queen stood silently on the curb, watching the policemen herd back the crowd. Then the old man said with a sudden wave of weariness, “Come on, son, let’s walk part of the way home.”

Part two

“... To illustrate: Once young Jean C. --- came to me after a month of diligent investigation on a difficult assignment. He wore a forlorn expression. Without a word he handed me a slip of official paper. I read it in surprise. It was his resignation.”

“‘Here, Jeant’ I cried. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

“‘I have failed, M. Brillon,’ he muttered. ‘A month’s work gone to the devil. I have been on the wrong track. It is a disgrace.’

“‘Jean, my friend,’ said I solemnly, ‘this for your resignation.’ Wherewith I tore it to bits before his astonished eyes. ‘Go now,’ I admonished him, ‘and begin from the beginning. For remember always the maxim: He who would know right must first know wrong!’”

— From REMINISCENCES OF A PREFECT

by Auguste Brillon

8 In Which the Queens Meet Mr. Field’s Very Best Friend