The Roman Hat Mystery

Dear Q [the message ran]: Here’s the dope on the tetra ethyl lead. Jones and I have been superintending an exhaustive probe of all possible sources of dissemination. No success, and I think you can resign yourself to your fate in this respect. You’ll never trace the poison that killed Monte Field. This is the opinion not merely of your humble servant but of the Chief and of Jones. We all agree that the most logical explanation is the gasoline theory. Try to trace that, Sherlocko!

A postscript in Dr. Prouty’s handwriting ran:

Of course, if anything turns up, I’ll let you know immediately. Keep sober.

“Fat lot of good that is!” mumbled the Inspector, as Ellery without a word attacked the aromatic and tempting meal that the priceless Djuna had prepared. The Inspector dug viciously into the fruit salad. He looked far from happy. He grumbled beneath his breath, cast baleful glances at the sheaf of reports by his plate, peered up at Ellery’s tired face and heartily munching jaws and finally threw down his spoon altogether.

“Of all the useless, exasperating, empty bunch of reports I ever saw—!” he growled.

Ellery smiled. “You remember Periander, of course... Eh? You might be polite, sir... Periander of Corinth, who said in a moment of sobriety, ‘To industry nothing is impossible!’”

With the fire roaring, Djuna curled up on the floor in a corner, his favorite attitude. Ellery smoked a cigarette and stared comfortably into the flames while old Queen crammed his nose vengefully with the contents of his snuffbox. The two Queens settled down to a serious discussion. To be more exact — Inspector Queen settled down and lent the tone of seriousness to the conversation, since Ellery seemed in a sublimely dreamy mood far removed from the sordid details of crime and punishment.

The old man brought his hand down on the arm of his chair with a sharp slap. “Ellery, did you ever in your born days see a case so positively nerve-racking?”

“On the contrary,” commented Ellery, staring with half-closed eyes into the fire. “You are developing a natural case of nerves. You allow little things like apprehending a murderer to upset you unduly. Pardon the hedonistic philosophy... If you will recall, in my story entitled ‘The Affair of the Black Widow,’ my good sleuths had no difficulty at all in laying their hands on the criminal. And why? Because they kept their heads. Conclusion: Always keep your head... I’m thinking of tomorrow. Glorious vacation!”

“For an educated man, my son,” growled the Inspector petulantly, “you show a surprising lack of coherence. You say things that mean nothing and mean things when you say nothing. No — I’m all mixed up—”

Ellery burst into laughter. “The Maine woods — the russet — the good Chauvin’s cabin by the lake — a rod — air — Oh, Lord, won’t tomorrow ever come?”

Inspector Queen regarded his son with a pitiful eagerness. “I–I sort of wish... Well, never mind.” He sighed. “All I do say, El, is that if my little burglar fails — it’s all up with us.”

“To the blessed Gehenna with burglars!” cried Ellery. “What has Pan to do with human tribulation? My next book is as good as written, Dad.”

“Stealing another idea from real life, you rascal,” muttered the old man. “If you’re borrowing the Field case for your plot, I’d be extremely interested to read your last few chapters!”

“Poor Dad!” chuckled Ellery. “Don’t take life so seriously. If you fail, you fail. Monte Field wasn’t worth a hill of legumes, anyway.”

“That’s not the point,” said the old man. “I hate to admit defeat... What a queer mess of motives and schemes this case is, Ellery. This is the first time in my entire experience that I have had such a hard nut to crack. It’s enough to give a man apoplexy! I know WHO committed the murder — I know WHY the murder was committed — I even know HOW the murder was committed! And where am I?...”He paused and savagely took a pinch of snuff. “A million miles from nowhere, that’s where!” he growled, and subsided.

“Certainly a most unusual situation,” murmured Ellery. “Yet — more difficult things have been accomplished... Heigh-ho! I can’t wait to bathe myself in that Arcadian stream!”

“And get pneumonia, probably,” said the Inspector anxiously. “You promise me now, young man, that you don’t do any back-to-Nature stunts out there. I don’t want a funeral on my hands — I...”