The Roman Hat Mystery

“I see,” said Queen gravely. “Mrs. Angela Russo and you are engaged to Mr. Field. Very good! And what were you doing in these rooms last night, Mrs. Angela Russo?”

“None of your business!” she said coolly. “You’d better let me go now — I haven’t done a thing out of the way. You’ve got no right to jabber at me, old boy!”

Ellery, in a corner peering out of the window, smiled. The Inspector leaned over and took the woman’s hand gently.

“My dear Mrs. Russo,” he said, “believe me — there is every reason in the world why we should be anxious to know what you were doing here last night. Come now — tell me.”

“I won’t open my mouth till I know what you’ve done with Monte!” she cried, shaking off his hand. “If you’ve got him, why are you pestering me! I don’t know anything.”

“Mr. Field is in a very safe place at the moment,” snapped the Inspector, rising, “I’ve given you plenty of rope, madam. Monte Field is dead.”

“Monte — Field — is—” The woman’s lips moved mechanically. She leaped to her feet, clutching the negligee to her plump figure, staring at Queen’s impassive face.

She laughed shortly and threw herself back on the bed. “Go on — you’re taking me for a ride,” she jeered.

“I’m not accustomed to joking about death,” returned the old man with a little smile. “I assure you that you may take my word for it — Monte Field is dead.” She was staring up at him, her lips moving soundlessly. “And what is more, Mrs. Russo, he has been murdered. Perhaps now you’ll deign to answer my questions. Where were you at a quarter to ten last night?” he whispered in her ear, his face close to hers.

Mrs. Russo relaxed limply on the bed, a dawning fright in her large eyes. She gaped at the Inspector, found little comfort in his face and with a cry whirled to sob into the rumpled pillow. Queen stepped back and spoke in a low tone to Piggott, who had come into the room a moment before. The woman’s heaving sobs subsided suddenly. She sat up, dabbing her face with a lace handkerchief. Her eyes were strangely bright.

“I get you now,” she said in a quiet voice. “I was right here in this apartment at a quarter to ten last night.”

“Can you prove that, Mrs. Russo?” asked Queen fingering his snuffbox.

“I can’t prove anything and I don’t have to,” she returned dully. “But if you’re looking for an alibi, the doorman downstairs must have seen me come into the building at about nine-thirty.”

“We can easily check that up,” admitted Queen. “Tell me — why did you come here last night at all?”

“I had an appointment with Monte,” she explained lifelessly. “He called me up at my own place yesterday afternoon and we made a date for last night. He told me he’d be out on business until about ten o’clock, and I was to wait here for him. I come up” — she paused and continued brazenly — “I come up quite often like that. We generally have a little ‘time’ and spend the evening together. Being engaged — you know.”

“Ummm. I see, I see.” The Inspector cleared his throat in some embarrassment. “And then, when he didn’t come on time—?”

“I thought he might’ve been detained longer than he’d figured. So I — well, I felt tired and took a little nap.”

“Very good,” said Queen quickly. “Did he tell you where he was going, or the nature of his business?”

“No.”

“I should be greatly obliged to you, Mrs. Russo,” said the Inspector carefully, “if you would tell me what Mr. Field’s attitude was toward theatre-going.”

The woman looked at him curiously. She seemed to be recovering her spirits. “Didn’t go very often,” she snapped. “Why?”

The Inspector beamed. “Now, that’s a question, isn’t it?” he asked. He motioned to Hagstrom, who pulled a notebook out of his pocket.

“Could you give me a list of Mr. Field’s personal friends?” resumed Queen. “And any business acquaintances you might know of?”

Mrs. Russo put her hands behind her head, coquettishly. “To tell the truth,” she said sweetly, “I don’t know any. I met Monte about six months ago at a masque ball in the Village. We’ve kept our engagement sort of quiet, you see. In fact, I’ve never met his friends at all... I don’t think,” she confided, “I don’t think Monte had many friends. And of course I don’t know a thing about his business associates.”

“What was Field’s financial condition, Mrs. Russo?”

“Trust a woman to know those things!” she retorted, completely restored to her flippant manner. “Monte was always a good spender. Never seemed to run out of cash. He’s spent five hundred a night on me many a time. That was Monte — a damned good sport. Tough luck for him! — poor darling.” She wiped a tear from her eye, sniffling hastily.

“But — his bank account?” pursued the Inspector firmly.

Mrs. Russo smiled. She seemed to possess an inexhaustible fund of shifting emotions. “Never got nosey,” she said. “As long as Monte was treating me square it wasn’t any of my business. At least,” she added, “he wouldn’t tell me, so what did I care?”

“Where were you, Mrs. Russo,” came Ellery’s indifferent tones, “before nine-thirty last night?”