Classic American Crime Fiction of the 1920s

by Leslie S. Klinger

  Velie returned with Ritter and Hesse at his heels. The Inspector said sharply, “Ritter, go to this man’s apartment. His name is Monte Field, he was an attorney, and he lived at 113 West 75th Street.27 Stick around until you’re relieved. If any one shows up, nab him.”

  Ritter, touching his hat, mumbled, “Yes, Inspector,” and turned away.

  “Now Hesse, my lad,” continued the Inspector to the other detective, “hurry down to 51 Chambers Street,28 this man’s office, and wait there until you hear from me. Get inside if you can, otherwise park outside the door all night.”

  “Right, Inspector.” Hesse disappeared.

  Queen turned about and chuckled as he saw Ellery, broad shoulders bent over, examining the dead man.

  “Don’t trust your father, eh, Ellery?” the Inspector chided. “What are you snooping for?”

  Ellery smiled, straightening up. “I’m merely curious, that’s all,” he said. “There are certain things about this unsavory corpse that interest me hugely. For example, have you taken the man’s head measurement?” He held up a piece of string, which he had slipped from a wrapped book in his coat pocket, and offered it for his father’s inspection.29

  The Inspector took it, scowled and summoned a policeman from the rear of the theatre. He issued a low-voiced order, the string exchanged hands and the policeman departed.

  “Inspector.”

  Queen looked up. Hagstrom stood by his elbow, eyes gleaming.

  “I found this pushed way back under Field’s seat when I picked up the papers. It was against the back wall.”

  He held up a dark-green bottle, of the kind used by ginger ale manufacturers. A gaudy label read, “Paley’s Extra Dry Ginger Ale.” The bottle was half-empty.

  “Well, Hagstrom, you’ve got something up your sleeve. Out with it!” the Inspector said curtly.

  “Yes, sir! When I found this bottle under the dead man’s seat, I knew that he had probably used it to-night. There was no matinee to-day and the cleaning women go over the place every twenty-four hours. It wouldn’t have been there unless this man, or somebody connected with him, had used it and put it there to-night. I thought, ‘Maybe this is a clue,’ so I dug up the refreshment boy who had this section of the theatre and I asked him to sell me a bottle of ginger ale. He said”—Hagstrom smiled—“he said they don’t sell ginger ale in this theatre!”

  “You used your head that time, Hagstrom,” said the Inspector approvingly. “Get hold of the boy and bring him here.”

  As Hagstrom left, a stout little man in slightly disarranged evening clothes bustled up, a policeman doggedly holding his arm. The Inspector sighed.

  “Are you in charge of this affair, sir?” stormed the little man, drawing himself up to five feet two inches of perspiring flesh.

  “I am,” said Queen gravely.

  “Then I want you to know,” burst out the newcomer—“here, you, let go of my arm, do you hear?—I want you to know, sir . . .”

  “Detach yourself from the gentleman’s arm, officer,” said the Inspector, with deepening gravity.

  “. . . that I consider this entire affair the most vicious outrage! I have been sitting here with my wife and daughter since the interruption to the play for almost an hour, and your officers refuse to allow us even to stand up. It’s a damnable outrage, sir! Do you think you can keep this entire audience waiting at your leisure? I’ve been watching you—don’t think I haven’t. You’ve been dawdling around while we sat and suffered. I want you to know, sir—I want you to know!—that unless you permit my party to leave at once, I shall get in touch with my very good friend District Attorney Sampson and lodge a personal complaint against you!”

  Inspector Queen gazed distastefully into the empurpled face of the stout little man. He sighed and said with a note of sternness, “My dear man, has it occurred to you that at this moment, while you stand beefing about a little thing like being detained an hour or so, a person who has committed murder may be in this very audience—perhaps sitting next to your wife and daughter? He is just as anxious as you to get away. If you wish to make a complaint to the District Attorney, your very good friend, you may do so after you leave this theatre. Meanwhile, I’ll trouble you to return to your seat and be patient until you are permitted to go . . . I hope I make myself clear.”

  A titter arose from some spectators nearby, who seemed to be enjoying the little man’s discomfiture. He flounced away, with the policeman stolidly following. The Inspector, muttering “Jackass!” turned to Velie.

  “Take Panzer with you to the box-office and see if you can find complete tickets for these numbers.” He bent over the last row and the row before it, scribbling the numbers LL30 Left, LL28 Left, LL2tl Left, KK32 Left, KK30 Left, KK28 Left, and KK26 Left on the back of an old envelope. He handed the memorandum to Velie, who went away.

  Ellery, who had been leaning idly against the rear wall of the last row, watching his father, the audience, and occasionally restudying the geography of the theatre, murmured in the Inspector’s ear: “I was just reflecting on the unusual fact that with such a popular bit of dramatic trash as ‘Gunplay,’ seven seats in the direct vicinity of the murdered man’s seat should remain empty during the performance.”

  “When did you begin to wonder, my son?” said Queen, and while Ellery absently tapped the floor with his stick, barked, “Piggott!”

  The detective stepped forward.

  “Get the usherette who was on this aisle and the outside doorman—that middle-aged fellow on the sidewalk—and bring ’em here.”

  As Piggott walked off, a disheveled young man appeared by Queen’s side, wiping his face with a handkerchief.

  “Well, Flint?” asked Queen instantly.

  “I’ve been over this floor like a scrub-woman, Inspector. If you’re looking for a hat in this section of the theatre, it’s mighty well hidden.”

  “All right, Flint, stand by.”

  The detective trudged off. Ellery said slowly, “Didn’t really think your young Diogenes30 would find the tophat, did you, dad?”

  The Inspector grunted. He walked down the aisle and proceeded to lean over person after person, questioning each in low tones. All heads turned in his direction as he went from row to row, interrogating the occupants of the two aisle seats successively. As he walked back in Ellery’s direction, his face expressionless, the policeman whom he had sent out with the piece of string saluted him.

  “What size, officer?” asked the Inspector.

  “The clerk in the hat store said it was exactly 71/8,” answered the bluecoat. Inspector Queen nodded, dismissing him. Velie strode up, with Panzer trailing worriedly behind. Ellery leaned forward with an air of keen absorption to catch Velie’s words. Queen grew tense, the light of a great interest on his face.

  “Well, Thomas,” he said, “what did you find in the box-office?”

  “Just this, Inspector,” reported Velie unemotionally. “The seven tickets for which you gave me the numbers are not in the ticket-rack. They were sold from the box-office window, at what date Mr. Panzer has no way of knowing.”

  “The tickets might have been turned over to an agency, you know, Velie,” remarked Ellery.

  “I verified that, Mr. Queen,” answered Velie. “Those tickets were not assigned to any agency. There are definite records to prove it.”

  Inspector Queen stood very still, his grey eyes gleaming. Then he said, “In other words, gentlemen, it would seem that at a drama which has been playing to capacity business ever since its opening, seven tickets in a group were bought—and then the purchasers conveniently forgot to attend the performance!”

  19.Intoxicated.

  20.This likely refers to a work by William Falconer (1732–1769), the Scottish epic poet best remembered for his poem “The Shipwreck.” The first edition of the book version of “The Shipwreck” was published in 1762. However, the book seems a bit far afield for a man known for his collection of books on violence, and there is another tantalizing possibilit
y: A rare book dealer recently offered a significant, original manuscript journal, untitled, circa 1880–90s through 1900s, compiled and created by one “Wm. A. Falconer Fort Smith and Fayetteville Ark.” According to the dealer’s research, this is the work of Judge William A. Falconer, who was born in Charleston, Arkansas, in 1869.

  Early edition of The Shipwreck, by W. E. Falconer

  There Falconer received his early education, studied law at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, then practiced law in Fort Smith, Arkansas, beginning in 1895. In 1902 Falconer became a Sebastian County judge. Although his published papers focus on the American Civil War, the manuscript offered by the dealer appears to be a compilation of nearly everything written about the notorious Mountain Meadows Massacre, the most famous mass killing of the era and one of the most controversial episodes in the history of the Mormon church. There is no evidence of actual publication of this book, but clearly the true first edition would have been a highlight of Ellery’s collection.

  21.Eyeglasses without earpieces. They were popular in the nineteenth century and in the twentieth century were a bit of an affectation. Sherlock Holmes solved “The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez.” Note that pince-nez are mentioned also in The Benson Murder Case.

  22.The prim Mr. Pusak undoubtedly told Inspector Queen that he needed to use the lavatory.

  23.Wood alcohol or methanol, used in industry, can cause blindness and is a potent toxin. Bootleggers often acquired industrial alcohol and re-distilled it to remove the methanol. Queen’s suspicion was that either wood alcohol was deliberately substituted for grain alcohol or Fields somehow got ahold of a bad batch. However, in 1926, in order to discourage the rising amount of alcohol being consumed, the U.S. government actually ordered the addition of methanol to ethanol. A number of deaths by alcohol poisoning resulted and were publicized by the government. In a public statement, New York City medical examiner Charles V. Norris accused the U.S. government of this heinous action. “The government knows it is not stopping drinking by putting poison in alcohol, yet it continues its poisoning processes, heedless of the fact that people determined to drink are daily absorbing that poison. Knowing this to be true, the U.S. government must be charged with the moral responsibility for the deaths that poisoned liquor causes, although it cannot be held legally responsible.” See Deborah Blum’s The Poisoner’s Handbook: Murder and the Birth of Forensic Medicine in Jazz Age New York (New York: Penguin Press, 2010).

  24.Inspector Queen was looking for so-called patent fingerprints, those visible with the unaided eye. Such prints usually occur because the surface is highly reflective and retains oils from the skin or the person touching the object had something on his or her fingers (for example, blood). Apparently no prints were immediately visible, notwithstanding the “silver” of the flask; therefore, Queen would have taken the flask back to the crime laboratory for dusting for latent (invisible) fingerprints.

  In 1923, the D. C. Circuit laid down the standard for admitting scientific evidence: “Just when a scientific principle or discovery crosses the line between the experimental and demonstrable stages is difficult to define. Somewhere in this twilight zone the evidential force of the principle must be recognized, and while courts will go a long way in admitting expert testimony deduced from a well-recognized scientific principle or discovery, the thing from which the deduction is made must be sufficiently established to have gained general acceptance in the particular field to which it belongs” (Frye v. U.S., 293 F. 1030 [1923]). Frye involved testimony regarding a polygraph test; fingerprint evidence had long before been accepted. However, recent cases have established that errors do occasionally occur in matching fingerprints.

  25.There is no indication of whether the Pantheon Club was a speakeasy—there were hundreds in Manhattan alone in the 1920s—or a gentleman’s club, though the lofty-sounding name suggests the latter rather than the former. According to Trow’s General Directory of New York City for 1922–23, the Pantheon Society had a location at 220 W. 118th St.

  26.There is no recognizable author or publisher with the name “Stendhause,” and it is unclear what a private edition means here. In the Victorian era, volumes of pornography were often printed in limited editions by subscription and sold only to subscribers—perhaps this is what Ellery is carrying around!

  27.Then as now, a fashionable residential neighborhood on the Upper West Side, about two blocks west of Central Park and just a few short blocks from the American Museum of Natural History.

  28.In lower Manhattan, just a block from City Hall.

  29.As will be seen, Inspector Queen sends the string to a hatter to check the hat size. However, one would expect that the Inspector (or Ellery) would know that hat sizes follow a definite formula: a 21¼-inch head circumference takes a 6¾-size hat (commonly, the smallest); for every additional ⅜ inch of head circumference, the hat size increases by ⅛. So, for example, a 22¾-inch head circumference is four additional ⅜-inch segments larger than 21¼ inches and produces a hat size of 7¼. The formula is Hat size = 6¾ + ((X – 21¼) ÷ 3), where X is the head circumference, rounded to the nearest ⅜ inch.

  30.Diogenes was a Greek philosopher who died about 320 B.C.E. He is said to have wandered the streets of Athens carrying a lantern in daylight, looking for an honest man, and it is this searching aspect of his character to which Ellery refers.

  CHAPTER III

  In Which a “Parson” Comes to Grief

  There was a silence as the four men regarded each other with a dawning conviction. Panzer shuffled his feet and coughed nervously; Velie’s face was a study in concentrated thought; Ellery stepped backward and fell into a rapt contemplation of his father’s grey-and-blue necktie.

  Inspector Queen stood biting his mustache. He shook his shoulders suddenly and turned on Velie.

  “Thomas, I’m going to give you a dirty job,” he said. “I want you to marshal a half-dozen or so of the uniformed men and set ’em to a personal examination of every soul in this place. All they have to do is get the name and address of each person in the audience. It’s quite a job, and it will take time, but I’m afraid it’s absolutely necessary. By the way, Thomas, in your scouting around, did you question any of the ushers who take care of the balcony?”

  “I got hold of the very man to give me information,” said Velie. “He’s the lad who stands at the foot of the stairs in the orchestra, directing holders of balcony tickets to the upper ftoor. Chap by the name of Miller.”

  “A very conscientious boy,” interposed Panzer, rubbing his hands.

  “Miller is ready to swear that not a person in this theatre either went upstairs from the orchestra or came downstairs from the balcony from the moment the curtain went up on the second act.”

  “That sort of cuts down your work, Thomas,” remarked the Inspector, who had been listening intently. “Have your men go through the orchestra boxes and orchestra only. Remember—I want the name and address of every person here—every single one. And Thomas—”

  “Yes, Inspector?” said Velie, turning back.

  “While they’re at it, have ’em ask these people to show the ticket-stubs belonging to the seats in which they are sitting. Every case of loss of stub should be noted beside the name of the loser; and in cases—it is a bare possibility—where a person holds a stub which does not agree with the seat-number of the chair in which he’s sitting, a notation is also to be made. Think you can get all that done, my boy?”

  “Sure thing!” Velie grunted as he strode away.

  The Inspector smoothed his grey mustache and took a pinch of snuff, inhaling deeply.

  “Ellery,” he said, “there’s something worrying you. Out with it, son!”

  “Eh?” Ellery started, blinking his eyes. He removed his pince-nez, and said slowly, “My very revered father, I am beginning to think that—Well! There’s little peace in this world for a quiet book-loving man.” He sat down on the arm of the dead man’s seat, his eyes troubled. Suddenly he smiled.
“Take care that you don’t repeat the unfortunate error of that ancient butcher who, with his twoscore apprentices, sought high and low for his most treasured knife when all the time it reposed quietly in his mouth.”31

  “You’re very informative these days, my son,” said the Inspector petulantly. “Flint!”

  The detective came forward.

  “Flint,” said Queen, “you’ve had one pleasant job to-night and I’ve another for you. Think your back could stand a little more bending? Seems to me I remember you took a weight-lifting contest in the Police Games when you were pounding a beat.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Flint, grinning broadly. “I guess I can stand the strain.”

  “Well, then,” continued the Inspector, jamming his hands into his pockets, “here’s your job. Get a squad of men together—good Lord, I should have brought the Reserves along with me!—and make an exhaustive search of every square foot of the theatre-property, inside and out. You’ll be looking for ticket-stubs, do you understand? Anything resembling half a ticket has to be in my possession when you’re through. Search the theatre floor particularly; but don’t neglect the rear, the steps leading up to the balcony, the lobby outside, the sidewalk in front of the theatre, the alleyways at both sides, the lounge downstairs, the men’s room, the ladies’ room—Here, here! That’ll never do. Call up the nearest precinct for a matron and have her do that. Thoroughly clear?”

  Flint was off with a cheerful nod.

  “Now, then.” Queen stood rubbing his hands. “Mr. Panzer, would you step this way a minute? Very kind of you, sir. I’m afraid we’re making unholy nuisances of ourselves tonight, but it can’t be helped. I see the audience is on the verge of rebellion. I’d be obliged if you would trot up to the stage and announce that they will be held here just a little while longer, to have patience, and all that sort of thing. Thank you!”

  As Panzer hurried down the center aisle, people clutching at his coat to detain him, Detective Hagstrom, standing a few feet away, caught the Inspector’s eye. By his side was a small slim youth of nineteen, chewing gum with vehement motions of his jaw, and obviously quite nervous at the ordeal he was facing. He was clad in a black-and-gold uniform, very ornate and resplendent, and incongruously fitted out with a starched shirt-front and a wing collar and bow tie. A cap resembling the headgear of a bell-boy perched on his blond head. He coughed deprecatingly as the Inspector motioned him forward. “Here is the boy who says they don’t sell ginger ale in this theatre,” said Hagstrom severely, grasping the lad’s arm in a suggestive grip.