The Roman Hat Mystery

He jumped to his feet and espied Djuna squatting on his hams in the corner. “Djuna! Get the old bed ready,” he roared. Djuna slipped through the room and disappeared with a silent grin. Queen wheeled on Ellery, who had already taken off his coat and was fumbling with his tie.

“The first thing we do tomorrow morning is go down to the Roman Theatre and start all over again!” the old man said decisively. “And let me tell you, son — I’m through fooling around! Somebody’d better watch out!”

Ellery affectionately encircled his father’s shoulders with one great arm. “Come on to bed, you old fraud!” he laughed.

Part three

“A good detective is born, not made. Like all genius, he springs not from a carefully nurtured polizei but from all mankind. The most amazing detective I ever knew was a dirty old witch doctor who had never been out of the bush... It is the peculiar gift of the truly great detective that he can apply to the inexorable rules of logic three catalyzers: an abnormal observation of events, a knowledge of the human mind and an insight into the human heart.”

— From THE MANHUNTER’S MANUAL

by James Redix (the Younger)

14 In Which the Hat Grows

On Thursday, September 27th, the third morning after the events of the crime in the Roman Theatre, Inspector Queen and Ellery rose at an early hour and dressed hastily. They repaired to a makeshift breakfast under the protesting eye of Djuna, who had been pulled bodily from his bed and thrust into the sober habiliments which he affected as major-domo of the Queen ménage.

While they were munching at anæmic pancakes, the old man asked Djuna to get Louis Panzer on the telephone. In a few moments the Inspector was speaking genially into the mouthpiece. “Good morning, Panzer. Please forgive me for hauling you out of bed at this ungodly time of the morning... There’s something important in the wind and we need your help.”

Panzer murmured a sleepy reassurance.

“Can you come down to the Roman Theatre right away and open it for us?” went on the old man. “I told you that you wouldn’t be shut down very long and now it looks as if you’ll be able to cash in on the publicity the affair has been getting. I’m not sure when we can reopen, you understand, but it’s barely possible that you’ll be able to put your show on tonight. Can I count on you?”

“This is excellent!” Panzer’s voice came over the wire in a tremulous eagerness. “Do you want me to come down to the theatre at once? I’ll be there in a half-hour — I’m not dressed.”

“That will be fine,” returned Queen. “Of course, Panzer — no one is to be allowed inside yet. Wait for us on the sidewalk before you use your keys and don’t notify anyone, either. We’ll talk it all over at the theatre... Just a moment.”

He clamped the mouthpiece against his chest and looked up inquiringly at Ellery, who was gesturing frantically. Ellery formed his lips around the syllables of a name and the old man nodded approvingly. He spoke into the telephone again.

“There’s one other thing you can do for me at present, Panzer,” he continued. “Can you get hold of that nice old lady, Mrs. Phillips? I’d like to have her meet us at the theatre as soon as she can.”

“Certainly, Inspector. If it’s at all possible,” said Panzer. Queen replaced the receiver on its hook.

“Well, that’s that,” he remarked, rubbing his hands together and delving into his pocket for the snuffbox. “Ah-h-h! Bless Sir Walter and all those hardy pioneers who championed the cause of the filthy weed!” He sneezed joyously. “One minute, Ellery, than we’ll go.”

He picked up the telephone once more and called detective headquarters. He gave a few cheery orders, banged the instrument back on the table and hustled Ellery into his coat. Djuna watched them leave with a mournful expression: he had often pleaded with the Inspector to be allowed to accompany the Queens on their sporadic excursions into the byways of New York. The Inspector, who had his own ideas on the subject of rearing adolescents, invariably refused. And Djuna, who regarded his patron much as the Stone Age man regarded his amulets, accepted the inevitable and hoped for a more auspicious future.

It was a raw, wet day. Ellery and his father turned up their coat collars as they walked towards Broadway and the subway. Both were extraordinarily taciturn, but the keen anticipatory looks on their faces — so curiously alike and yet so different — portended an exciting and revealing day.