The Roman Hat Mystery

A look of consternation spread over Velie’s face. “Why — why, Inspector,” he said ruefully, “I guess I slipped up there. I never even thought of asking, and you hadn’t told me last night—”

“Heck! We’re none of us perfect,” growled Queen. “Get that clerk on the wire for me, Thomas.”

Velie picked up one of the telephones on the desk and a few moments later handed the instrument to his superior.

“This is Inspector Queen speaking,” said the old man rapidly. “I understand that you served Monte Field for a good many years?... Well, I want to check up on a little detail. Did Field ever purchase canes or walking sticks from you people?... What? Oh, I see... Yes. Now, another thing. Did he ever give special orders about the manufacture of his clothes — extra pockets, or things like that?... You don’t think so. All right... What? Oh, I see. Thank you very much.”

He hung up the receiver and turned about.

“Our lamented friend,” he said disgustedly, “seems to have had as great an aversion to sticks as he had a love for hats. This clerk said he tried many times to interest Field in canes, and Field invariably refused to buy. Didn’t like ’em, he said. And the clerk just confirmed his own impression about the special pockets — nothing doing. So that leaves us up a blank alley.”

“On the contrary,” said Ellery coolly, “it does nothing of the kind. It proves fairly conclusively that the only article of apparel taken away by the murderer last night was the hat. It seems to me that simplifies matters.”

“I must have a moron’s intelligence,” grunted his father. “It doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

“By the way, Inspector,” put in Velie, scowling, “Jimmy reported about the fingerprints on Field’s flask. There are a few, but there’s no question, he says, that they’re all Field’s. Jimmy got a print from the Morgue, of course, to check up.”

“Well,” said the Inspector, “maybe the flask has nothing to do with the crime at all. We’ll have to wait, anyway, for Prouty’s report on its contents.”

“There’s something else, Inspector,” added Velie. “That junk — the sweepings of the theatre — that you told Panzer to send over to you this morning came a couple of minutes ago. Want to see it?”

“Sure thing, Thomas,” said Queen. “And while you’re out bring me the list you made last night containing the names of the people who had no stubs. The seat numbers are attached to each name, aren’t they?”

Velie nodded and disappeared. Queen was looking morosely at the top of his son’s head when the Sergeant returned with an unwieldy package and a typewritten list.

They spread the contents of the package carefully on the desk. For the most part the collected material consisted of crumpled programs, stray scraps of paper, chiefly from candy boxes, and many ticket stubs — those which had not been found by Flint and his searchers. Two women’s gloves of different design; a small brown button, probably from a man’s coat; the cap of a fountain pen; a woman’s handkerchief and a few other scattered articles of the kind usually lost or thrown away in theatres came to light.

“Doesn’t look as if there’s much here, does it?” commented the Inspector. “Well, at least we’ll be able to check up on the ticket-stub business.”

Velie heaped the lost stubs in a small pile and began to read off their numbers and letters to Queen, who checked them off on the list Velie had brought him. There were not many of these and the checking-off process was completed in a few moments.

“That’s all, Thomas?” inquired the Inspector, looking up.

“That’s all, Chief.”

“Well, there are about fifty people still unaccounted for according to this list. Where’s Flint?”

“He’s in the building somewhere, Inspector.”

Queen picked up his telephone and gave a rapid order. Flint appeared almost at once.

“What did you find last night?” asked Queen abruptly.

“Well, Inspector,” answered Flint sheepishly, “we practically dry-cleaned that place. We found quite a bit of stuff, but most of it was programs and things like that, and we left those for the cleaning women, who were working along with us. But we did pick up a raft of ticket stubs, especially out in the alleys.” He brought forth from his pocket a package of pasteboards neatly bound with a rubber band. Velie took them and continued the process of reading off numbers and letters. When he was finished Queen slapped the typewritten list down on the desk before him.

“No fruit in the loom?” murmured Ellery, looking up from the book.

“Ding it, every one of those people who had no stubs is accounted for!” growled the Inspector. “There isn’t a stub or a name left unchecked... Well, there’s one thing I can do.” He searched through the pile of stubs, referring to the lists, until he found the stub which had belonged to Frances Ives-Pope. He fished from his pocket the four stubs he had collected Monday night and carefully tested the girl’s stub with the one for Field’s seat. The torn edges did not coincide.