Classic American Crime Fiction of the 1920s

by Leslie S. Klinger

  He took an enormous pinch of snuff, sneezing to the tune of Ellery’s sympathetic chuckles.

  “And dear old Benjamin Morgan,” continued the Inspector, “was he telling the truth about the anonymous letter which so conveniently gave him a mysterious source for his theatre ticket?

  “And that most interesting lady, Mrs. Angela Russo . . . Ah, the ladies, bless ’em! They always muddle a man’s logic so. What did she say—that she came to Field’s apartment at 9:30? Is her alibi perfectly sound? Of course, the doorman at the apartment house confirmed her statement. But it’s easy to ‘fix’ doormen. . . . Does she know more than she had indicated about Field’s business—particularly his private business? Was she lying when she said that Field told her he would be back at ten o’clock? Remember, we know that Field had an appointment in the Roman Theatre beginning at 9:30—did he really expect to keep it and be back at his rooms by ten o’clock? By cab it would be a fifteen or twenty-minute drive, through traffic, which would leave only ten minutes for the transaction—possible, of course. Couldn’t do it much sooner by subway, either. We mustn’t forget, too, that this woman was not in the theatre at any time during the evening.”

  “You’ll have your hands full with that fair flower of Eve,” remarked Ellery. “It’s so beautifully evident that she’s keeping back a story of some sort. Did you notice that brazen defiance? Wasn’t mere bravado. She knows something, dad. I would certainly keep my eye on her—sooner or later she’ll give herself away.”

  “Hagstrom will take care of her,” said Queen abstractedly. “Now, how about Michaels? He has no supported alibi for Monday evening. But then it might not make any difference. He wasn’t in the theatre. . . . There’s something fishy about that fellow. Was he really looking for something when he came to Field’s apartment Tuesday morning? We’ve made a thorough search of the premises—is it possible we’ve overlooked something? It’s quite evident that he was lying when he spilled that story about the check, and not knowing that Field was dead. And consider this—he must have realized that he was running into danger in coming to Field’s rooms. He’d read about the murder and couldn’t have hoped that the police would delay going to the place. So he was taking a desperate chance—for what reason? Answer that one!”

  “It might have had something to do with his imprisonment—by George, he looked surprised when I accused him, didn’t he?” chuckled Ellery.

  “Might at that,” returned the Inspector. “By the way, I’ve heard from Velie about Michaels’ term up in Elmira. Thomas reports that it was a hushed-up case—much more serious than the light sentence in the Reformatory indicates. Michaels was suspected of forgery—and it looked mighty black for him. Then Lawyer Field nicely got Mr. Michaels off on an entirely different count—something to do with petty larceny—and nothing was ever heard about the forgery business again. This boy Michaels looks like the real thing—have to step on his heels a bit.”

  “I have a little idea of my own about Michaels,” said Ellery thoughtfully. “But let it go for the present.”

  Queen seemed not to hear. He stared into the fire roaring in the stone fireplace. “There’s Lewin, too,” he said. “Seems incredible that a man of Lewin’s stamp should have been so confidentially associated with his employer without knowing a good deal more than he professes. Is he keeping something back? If he is, heaven help him—because Cronin will just about pulverize him!”

  “I rather like that chap Cronin,” sighed Ellery. “How on earth can a fellow be so set on one idea? . . . Has this occurred to you? I wonder if Morgan knows Angela Russo? Despite the fact that both of them deny a mutual acquaintance. Would be deucedly interesting if they did, wouldn’t it?”

  “My son,” groaned Queen, “don’t go looking for trouble. We’ve a peck of it now without going out of our way for more. . . . By jingo!”

  There was a comfortable silence as the Inspector sprawled in the light of the leaping flames. Ellery munched contentedly on a succulent piece of pastry. Djuna’s bright eyes gleamed from the far corner of the room, where he had stolen noiselessly and squatted on his thin haunches on the floor, listening to the conversation.

  Suddenly the old man’s eyes met Ellery’s in a spasmodic transference of thought.

  “The hat . . .” muttered Queen. “We always come back to the hat.”

  Ellery’s glance was troubled. “And not a bad thing to come back to, dad. Hat—hat—hat! Where does it fit in? Just what do we know about it?”

  The Inspector shifted in his chair. He crossed his legs, took another pinch of snuff and proceeded with a fresh vigor. “All right. We can’t afford to be lazy in the matter of that blamed silk-topper,” he said briskly. “What do we know so far? First, that the hat did not leave the theatre. It seems funny, doesn’t it? Doesn’t seem possible that we would find no trace at all after such a thorough search. . . . Nothing was left in the cloak-room after everybody was gone; nothing was found in the sweepings that might indicate a hat torn to small pieces or bunched; in fact, not a trace, not a thing for us to go on. Therefore, Ellery, the only sensible conclusion we can make at this point is that we haven’t looked for the hat in the right place! And further, wherever it is, it’s still there, due to our precaution of closing the theatre down since Monday night. Ellery, we’ve got to go back to-morrow morning and turn that place upside down. I won’t sleep until we see light somewhere in this matter.”

  Ellery was silent. “I’m not at all satisfied with things as you’ve stated them, dad,” he muttered at last. “Hat—hat—there’s something wrong somewhere!” He fell silent once more. “No! The hat is the focal point of this investigation—I cannot see any other way out of it. Solve the mystery of Field’s hat and you will find the one essential clue that will point to the murderer. I’m so convinced of this that I’ll be satisfied we’re on the right track only when we’re making progress in the explanation of the hat.”

  The old man nodded his head vigorously. “Ever since yesterday morning, when I had time to think over the hat business, I’ve felt that we had gone astray somewhere. And here it is Wednesday night—still no light. We’ve done necessary things—they’ve led nowhere. . . .” He stared into the fire. “Everything is so badly muddled. I’ve got all the loose ends at my fingertips, but for some blasted reason I can’t seem to make them cohere—fit together—explain anything. . . . Undoubtedly, son, what is missing is the story of the top-piece.”

  The telephone bell rang. The Inspector sprang for the instrument. He listened attentively to a man’s unhurried tones, made a brisk comment and finally hung up.

  “Who’s the latest midnight babbler, O recipient of many confidences?” asked Ellery, grinning.

  “That was Edmund Crewe,” said Queen. “You remember I asked him yesterday morning to go over the Roman. He spent all of yesterday and to-day at it. And he reports positively that there is no secret hiding-place anywhere on the premises of the theatre. If Eddie Crewe, who is about the last word in architectural matters of this kind, says there’s no hiding-place there, you may rest assured it’s so.”

  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 to-morrow 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.

  70.Paracelsus, whose real name was Theophrastus von Hohenheim (1493 or 1494–1541), was a medieval scholar and physician, regarded as the father of toxicology.

  71.According to legend, Æsculapius was a son of Apollo and a god of medicine; his healing staff, the “rod of Æsculapius,” is a common symbo
l of the healing arts.

  72.Mercury bichloride was a popular poison of the day, readily available at pharmacies. It was routinely used for topical treatment of syphilis and, in highly diluted form, for tonsillitis. The poisonous aspects were well known: Mercury bichloride was implicated in the 1920 death of silent film star Olive Thomas, wife of leading man Jack Pickford, brother of Mary Pickford, who died from an “accidental” dose of mercury bichloride. The poison also featured in the 1925 death of Madge Oberholtzer, who had been kidnapped, tortured, and raped by the head of Indiana’s powerful Ku Klux Klan. After writing a detailed accusation, Oberholtzer took her own life by swallowing mercury bichloride tablets to avoid further torture.

  73.In fact, the Chief Medical Examiner of the City of New York from 1918 to 1935 was Charles V. Norris. The Poisoner’s Handbook, note 23, is largely about Norris’s campaign to advance the use of toxicology in criminal investigations.

  74.Tetraethyl lead (TEL), for much of the twentieth century, was the chief antiknock agent for automotive gasoline. Beginning in the 1970s, as scientists learned that leaded gasoline interfered with catalytic converters, used to reduce smog, it was phased out. From its inception, TEL was recognized as a common source of lead poisoning, but it was not until a spate of deaths occurred in manufacturing plants of General Motors, Standard Oil, and Dupont in 1923–25 that strict safety procedures for the handling of TEL were introduced. The investigation was instigated by the New York City medical examiner Charles Norris and his toxicologist Alexander Gettler, the real “Dr. Thaddeus Jones.” See The Poisoner’s Handbook, note 23. Remaining concerns about the introduction of lead into the atmosphere have led to a nearly-universal ban on the use of leaded fuels in road vehicles, though they are still used in aviation.

  75.W. Francis H. King’s Classical and Foreign Quotations (1889) explains the Latin motto drawn from Pliny, Ne supra crepidam sutor judicaret (literally, “do not judge above the sandal”): “When a cobbler, not content with pointing out defects in a shoe of Apelles’ painting, presumed to criticise the drawing of the leg, the artist checked him with the rebuke here quoted. It is often said of those who offer opinions on subjects with which they are not professionally acquainted.” Ellery here reminds himself to write only what he knows.

  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 Man-Hunter’s Manual

  by James Redix (the Younger).

  CHAPTER XIV

  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 majordomo of the Queen menage.

  While they were munching at anemic 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 to-night. 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 any one, 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 snuff-box. “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, then 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.

  Broadway and its threaded canyons were deserted in the chill wind of the morning as the two men walked briskly down 47th Street towards the Roman Theatre. A drab-coated man lounged on the sidewalk before the closed glass doors of the lobby; another leaned comfortably against the high iron fence which cut off the left alley from the street. The dumpy form of Louis Panzer was visible standing before the central door of the theatre, in conversation with Flint.

  Panzer shook hands excitedly. “Well, well!” he cried. “So the ban is to be lifted at last! . . . Exceedingly happy to hear that, Inspector.”

  “Oh, it isn’t exactly lifted, Panzer,” smiled the old man. “Have you the keys? Morning, Flint. Rest up any since Monday night?”

  Panzer produced a heavy bunch of keys and unlocked the central door of the lobby. The four men filed in. The swarthy manager fumbled with the lock of the inside door and finally managed to swing it open. The dark interior of the orchestra yawned in their faces.

  Ellery shivered. “With the possible exceptions of the Metropolitan Opera House and Titus’ Tomb, this is the most dismal theatorium I’ve ever entered. It’s a fitting mausoleum for the dear departed. . . .”

  The more prosaic Inspector grunted as he pushed his son into the maw of the dark orchestra. “Get along with you! You’ll be giving us all the ‘willies.’”76

  Panzer, who had hurried ahead, turned on the main electric switch. The auditorium leaped into more familiar outlines by the light of the big arcs and chandeliers. Ellery’s fanciful comparison was not so fantastic as his father had made it appear. The long rows of seats were draped with dirty tarpaulin; murky shadows streaked across the carpets, already dusty; the bare whitewashed wall at the rear of the empty stage made an ugly splotch in the sea of red plush.

  “Sorry to see that tarpaulin there,” grumbled the Inspector to Panzer. “Because it will have to be rolled up. We’re going to conduct a little personal search of
the orchestra. Flint, get those two men outside, please. They may as well do something to earn the city’s money.”

  Flint sped away and returned shortly with the two detectives who had been on guard outside the theatre. Under the Inspector’s direction they began to haul the huge sheets of rubberized seat-covers to the sides, disclosing rows of cushioned chairs. Ellery, standing to one side near the extreme left aisle, withdrew from his pocket the little book in which he had scribbled notes and drawn a rough map of the theatre on Monday night. He was studying this and biting his underlip. Occasionally he looked up as if to verify the lay-out of the theatre.

  Queen bustled back to where Panzer was nervously pacing the rear. “Panzer, we’re going to be mighty busy here for a couple of hours and I was too short-sighted to bring extra men with me. I wonder if I may impose upon you. . . . I have something in mind that requires immediate attention—it would take only a small part of your time and it would help me considerably.”

  “Of course, Inspector!” returned the little manager. “I’m only too glad to be of assistance.”

  The Inspector coughed. “Please don’t feel that I’m using you as an errand-boy or anything like that, old man,” he explained apologetically. “But I need these fellows, who are trained in searches of this kind—and at the same time I must have some vital data from a couple of the District Attorney’s men who are working downtown on another aspect of the case. Would you mind taking a note for me to one of them—name of Cronin—and bring back the parcel he gives you? I hate to ask you to do this, Panzer,” he muttered. “But it’s too important to trust to an ordinary messenger, and—ding it all! I’m in a hole.”

  Panzer smiled in his quick birdlike fashion. “Not another word, Inspector. I’m entirely at your service. I’ve the materials in my office if you care to write the note now.”