The Roman Hat Mystery

“Michaels, dear man,” said Ellery with severity, “I detest raking up old coals, but why haven’t you told the Inspector about the time you were in jail?”

As if he had stepped on an exposed live-wire Michaels’ body stiffened and grew still. The ruddy color drained out of his face. He stared open-mouthed, aplomb swept away, into Ellery’s smiling eyes.

“Why — why — how did you find that out?” gasped the valet, his speech less soft and polished. Queen appraised his son with approval. Piggott and Johnson moved closer to the trembling man.

Ellery lit a cigarette. “I didn’t know it at all,” he said cheerfully. “That is, not until you told me. It would pay you to cultivate the Delphic oracles, Michaels.”

Michaels’ face was the color of dead ashes. He turned, shaking, toward Queen. “You — you didn’t ask me about that, sir,” he said weakly. Nevertheless his tone had again become taut and blank. “Besides, a man doesn’t like to tell things like that to the police...”

“Where did you do time, Michaels?” asked the Inspector in a kindly voice.

“Elmira Reformatory, sir,” muttered Michaels. “It was my first offense — I was up against it, starving, stole some money... I got a short stretch, sir.”

Queen rose. “Well, Michaels, of course you understand that you are not exactly a free agent at present. You may go home and look for another job if you want to, but stay at your present lodgings and be ready for a call at any time... Just a moment, before you go.” He strode over to the black suitcase and snapped it open. A jumbled mass of clothing — a dark suit, shirts, ties, socks — some clean, some dirty — was revealed. Queen rummaged swiftly through the bag, closed it and handed it to Michaels, who was standing to one side with an expression of sorrowful patience.

“Seems to me you were taking mighty few duds with you, Michaels,” remarked Queen, smiling. “It’s too bad that you’ve been done out of your vacation. Well! That’s the way life is!” Michaels murmured a low good-by, picked up the bag and departed. A moment later Piggott strolled out of the apartment.

Ellery threw back his head and laughed delightedly. “What a mannerly beggar! Lying in his teeth, Pater... And what did he want here, do you think?”

“He came to get something, of course,” mused the Inspector. “And that means there’s something here of importance that we have apparently overlooked...”

He grew thoughtful. The telephone bell rang.

“Inspector?” Sergeant Velie’s voice boomed over the wire. “I called headquarters but you weren’t there, so I guessed you were still at Field’s place... I’ve some interesting news for you from Browne Bros. Do you want me to come up to Field’s?”

“No,” returned Queen. “We’re through here. I’ll be at my office just as soon as I’ve paid a visit to Field’s on Chambers Street. I’ll be there if anything important comes up in the interim. Where are you now?”

“Fifth Avenue — I’ve just come out of Browne’s.”

“Then go back to headquarters and wait for me. And, Thomas — send a uniformed man up here right away.”

Queen hung up and turned to Johnson.

“Stay here until a cop shows up — it won’t be long,” he grunted. “Have him keep a watch in the apartment and arrange for a relief. Then report back to the main office... Come along, Ellery. This is going to be a busy day!”

Ellery’s protests were in vain. His father fussily hustled him out of the building and into the street, where the roar of a taxicab’s exhaust effectually drowned out his voice.

10 In Which Mr. Field’s Tophats Begin to Assume Proportions

It was exactly ten o’clock in the morning when Inspector Queen and his son opened the frosted glass door marked:

MONTE FIELD

ATTORNEY-AT-LAW

The large waiting room they entered was decorated in just such a fashion as might have been expected from a man of Field’s taste in clothes. It was deserted, and with a puzzled glance Inspector Queen pushed through the door, Ellery strolling behind, and went into the General Office. This was a long room filled with desks. It resembled a newspaper “city room” except for its rows of bookcases filled with ponderous legal tomes.

The office was in a state of violent upheaval. Stenographers chattered excitedly in small groups. A number of male clerks whispered in a corner; and in the center of the room stood Detective Hesse, talking earnestly to a lean saturnine man with grayed temples. It was evident that the demise of the lawyer had created something of a stir in his place of business.

At the entrance of the Queens the employees looked at each other in a startled way and began to slip back to their desks. An embarrassed silence fell. Hesse hurried forward. His eyes were red and strained.

“Good morning, Hesse,” said the Inspector abruptly. “Where’s Field’s private office?”

The detective led them across the room to still another door, a large PRIVATE lettered on its panels. The three men went into a small office which was overwhelmingly luxurious.