The Roman Hat Mystery

“You were right, El,” he said. “Field had an amazingly small personal account. All his accounts balance to less than six thousand dollars. And this despite the fact that he frequently made deposits of ten and fifteen thousand dollars. Lewin himself was surprised. He hadn’t known, he said, how Field’s personal finances stood until I asked him to look the matter up... I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts Field played the stock market or the horses!”

“I’m not particularly overwhelmed by the news,” remarked Ellery. “It points to the probable reason for the ‘50,000’ on the program. That number not only represents dollars, but more than that — it indicates a business deal in which the stakes were fifty thousand! Not a bad night’s work, if he had come out of it alive.”

“How about the other two numbers?” asked Queen.

“I’m going to mull over them a bit,” replied Ellery, subsiding in his chair. “I would like to know what the business deal was that involved such a large financial consideration,” he added, absently polishing his pince-nez.

“Whatever the business deal was,” said the Inspector sententiously, “you may be sure, my son, it was an evil one.”

“An evil one?” inquired Ellery in a serious tone.

“Money’s the root of all evil,” retorted the Inspector with a grin.

Ellery’s tone did not change. “Not only the root, Dad — but the fruit, too.”

“Another quotation?” mocked the old man.

“Fielding,” said Ellery imperturbably.

11 In Which the Past Casts a Shadow

The telephone bell tinkled.

“Q? Sampson speaking,” came the District Attorney’s voice over the wire.

“Good morning, Henry,” said Queen. “Where are you and how do you feel this morning?”

“I’m at the office and I feel rotten,” returned Sampson, chuckling. “The doctor insists I’ll be a corpse if I keep this up and the office insists the City will go under unless I attend to business. So what’s a feller to do?... I say, Q.”

The Inspector winked at Ellery across the table, as if to say, “I know what’s coming!”

“Yes, Henry?”

“There’s a gentleman in my private office whom I think it would be greatly to your advantage to meet,” continued Sampson in a subdued tone. “He wants to see you and I’m afraid you’ll have to chuck whatever you’re doing and hotfoot it up here. He” — Sampson’s voice became a whisper — “he’s a man I can’t afford to antagonize unnecessarily, Q, old boy.”

The Inspector frowned. “I suppose you’re referring to Ives-Pope,” he said. “Riled, is he, because we questioned the apple of his eye last night?”

“Not exactly,” said Sampson. “He’s really a decent old chap. Just — er — just be nice to him, Q, won’t you?”

“I’ll handle him with silk gloves,” chuckled the old man. “If it will ease your mind any I’ll drag my son along. He generally attends to our social obligations.”

“That will be fine,” said Sampson gratefully.

The Inspector turned to Ellery as he hung up. “Poor Henry’s in something of a mess,” he said quizzically, “and I can’t say I blame him for trying to please. Sick as a dog and the politicians hopping on him, this Crœsus howling in his front office... Come along, son, we’re going to meet the celebrated Franklin Ives-Pope!”

Ellery groaned, stretching his arms. “You’ll have another sick man on your hands if this continues.” Nevertheless he jumped up and clamped his hat on his head. “Let’s look over this captain of industry.”

Queen grinned at Velie. “Before I forget, Thomas... I want you to do a bit of sleuthing today. Your job is to find out why Monte Field, who did a rushing legal business and lived in princely style, had only six thousand dollars in his personal account. It’s probably Wall Street and the racetrack but I want you to make sure. You might learn something from the cancelled vouchers — Lewin down at Field’s office could help you there... And while you’re at it — this might be extremely important, Thomas — get a complete line-up on Field’s movements all day yesterday.”

The two Queens departed for Sampson’s headquarters.

The office of the District Attorney was a busy place and even an Inspector of Detectives was treated with scant ceremony in the sacred chambers. Ellery was wroth, and his father smiled, and finally the District Attorney himself came rushing out of his sanctum with a word of displeasure to the clerk who had allowed his friends to cool their heels on a hard bench.

“Watch your throat, young man,” warned Queen, as Sampson led the way to his office, muttering maledictions on the head of the offender. “Are you sure I look all right to meet the money-mogul?”

Sampson held the door open. The two Queens on the threshold saw a man, hands clasped behind his back, looking through the window on the uninteresting vista outside. As the District Attorney closed the door the occupant of the room wheeled about with astonishing agility for a man of his weight.