The Roman Hat Mystery

The young man smiled. “Sorry, Inspector, but I’m not a reporter. I’m Arthur Stoates, new man at District Attorney Sampson’s office. The Chief couldn’t reach me until this morning and I was busy on something else — that’s why I’m a little late. Too bad about Field, isn’t it?” He grinned as he threw his coat and hat on a chair.

“It’s all in the point of view,” grumbled Queen. “He’s certainly causing a heap of trouble. Just what were Sampson’s instructions?”

“Well, I’m not as familiar with Field’s career as I might be, naturally, but I’m pinch-hitting for Tim Cronin, who’s tied up this morning on something else. I’m to make a start until Tim gets untangled, which will be some time this afternoon. Cronin, you know, was the man after Field a couple of years ago. He’s aching to get busy with these files.”

“Fair enough. From what Sampson told me about Cronin — if there’s anything incriminating in these records and files, he’ll ferret it out. Hesse, take Mr. Stoates outside and introduce him to Lewin — that’s the office manager, Stoates. Keep your eye on him — he looks like a wily bird. And, Stoates — remember you’re looking not for legitimate business and clientele in these records, but for something crooked... See you later.”

Stoates gave him a cheery smile and followed Hesse out. Ellery and his father faced each other across the room.

“What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” asked the old man sharply.

“A copy of ‘What Handwriting Tells,’ which I picked up in this bookcase,” replied Ellery lazily. “Why?”

“Come to think of it now, El,” declared the Inspector slowly, “there’s something fishy about this handwriting business.” He shook his head in despair and rose. “Come along, son, there isn’t a blamed thing here.”

On their way through the main office, now empty except for Hesse, Lewin and Stoates, Queen beckoned to the detective. “Go home, Hesse,” he said kindly. “Can’t have you coming down with the grippe.” Hesse grinned and sped through the door.

In a few minutes Inspector Queen was sitting in his private office at Center Street. Ellery termed it “the star chamber.” It was small and cozy and homelike. Ellery draped himself over a chair and began to con the books on handwriting which he had filched from Field’s apartment and office. The Inspector pressed a buzzer and the solid figure of Thomas Velie loomed in the doorway.

“Morning, Thomas,” said Queen. “What is this remarkable news you have for me from Browne Bros.?”

“I don’t know how remarkable it is, Inspector,” said Velie coolly, seating himself in one of the straight-backed chairs which lined the wall, “but it sounded like the real thing to me. You told me last night to find out about Field’s tophat. Well, I’ve an exact duplicate of it on my desk. Like to see it?”

“Don’t be silly, Thomas,” said Queen. “On the run!” Velie departed and was back in a moment carrying a hatbox. He tore the string and uncovered a shining tophat, of such fine quality that Queen blinked. The Inspector picked it up curiously. On the inside was marked the size: 7⅛.

“I spoke to the clerk, an old-timer, down at Browne’s. Been waiting on Field for years,” resumed Velie. “It seems that Field bought every stitch of his clothing there — for a long time. And it happens that he preferred one clerk. Naturally the old buzzard knows quite a bit about Field’s tastes and purchases.

“He says, for one thing, that Field was a fussy dresser. His clothes were always made to order by Browne’s special tailoring department. He went in for fancy suits and cuts and the latest in underclothes and neckwear...”

“What about his taste in hats?” interposed Ellery, without looking up from the book he was reading.

“I was coming to that, sir,” continued Velie. “This clerk made a particular point of the hat business. For instance, when I questioned him about the tophat, he said: ‘Mr. Field was almost a fanatic on the subject. Why, in the last six months he has bought no less than three of them!’ I caught that up, of course — made him check back with the sales records. Sure enough, Field bought three silk toppers in the last half-year!”

Ellery and his father found themselves staring at each other, the same question on their lips.

“Three—” began the old man.

“Now... isn’t that an extraordinary circumstance?” asked Ellery slowly, reaching for his pince-nez.

“Where in heaven’s name are the other two?” continued Queen, in a bewildered manner.

Ellery was silent.

Queen turned impatiently toward Velie. “What else did you find out, Thomas?”

“Nothing much of value, except for this point” — answered Velie — “that Field was an absolute fiend when it came to clothes. So much so that last year he bought fifteen suits and no less than a dozen hats, including the toppers!”

“Hats, hats, hats!” groaned the Inspector. “The man must have been a lunatic. Look here — did you find out whether Field ever bought walking sticks at Browne’s?”