“Oh, don’t worry about that, Panzer,” said the Inspector casually. “Their wait is almost over. In fact, I am ordering my men to get them out of here in a few minutes. Before they leave, however, they’ll have one thing more to complain about,” he added with a grim smile.
“Yes, Inspector?”
“Oh, yes,” said Queen. “They’re going to submit to a search. No doubt they’ll protest, and you’ll hear threats of lawsuits and personal violence, but don’t worry about it. I’m responsible for everything done here tonight, and I’ll see that you’re kept out of trouble. … Now, we’ll need a woman-searcher to help our men. We have a police-matron here, but she’s busy downstairs. Do you think you could get me a dependable woman—middle-aged preferably—who won’t object to a thankless job and will know how to keep her mouth shut?”
The manager pondered for a moment. “I think I can get you the woman you want. She’s a Mrs. Phillips, our wardrobe-mistress. She’s well on in years and as pleasant as anyone you could get for such a task.”
“Just the person,” said Queen briskly. “Get her at once and station her at the main exit. Detective-Sergeant Velie will give her the necessary instructions.”
Velie had come up in time to hear the last remark. Panzer bustled down the aisle toward the boxes.
“Morgan set?” asked Queen.
“Yes, Inspector.”
“Well, then, you have one more job and you’ll be through for the night, Thomas. I want you to superintend the departure of the people seated in the orchestra and boxes. Have them leave one by one, and overhaul them as they go out. No one is to leave by any exit except the main door, and just to make sure tell the men at the side exits to keep ’em moving toward the rear.” Velie nodded. “Now, about the search. Piggott!” The detective came on the run. “Piggott, you accompany Mr. Queen and Sergeant Velie and help search every man who goes out the main door. There’ll be a matron there to search the women. Examine every parcel. Go over their pockets for anything suspicious; collect all the ticket-stubs; and watch especially for an extra hat. The hat I want is a silk topper. But if you find any other kind of extra hat, nab the owner and be sure he’s nabbed properly. Now, boys, get to work!”
Ellery, who had been lounging against a pillar, straightened up and followed Piggott. As Velie stalked behind Queen called, “Don’t release the people in the balcony until the orchestra is empty. Send somebody up there to keep them quiet.”
With his last important instruction given the Inspector turned to Doyle, who was standing guard nearby, and said quietly, “Shoot downstairs to the cloakroom, Doyle, my lad, and keep your eyes open while the people are getting their wraps. When they’re all gone, search the place with a fine-comb. If there is anything left in the racks, bring it to me.”
Queen leaned back against the pillar which loomed, a marble sentinel, over the seat in which murder had been done. As he stood there, eyes blank, hands clutching his lapels, the broad-shouldered Flint hurried up with a gleam of excitement in his eyes. Inspector Queen regarded him critically.
“Found something, Flint?” he asked, fumbling for his snuffbox.
The detective silently offered him a half-ticket, colored blue, and marked “LL30 Left.”
“Well, well!” exclaimed Queen. “Wherever did you find that?”
“Right inside the main door,” said Flint. “Looked as if it was dropped just as the owner came into the theatre.”
Queen did not answer. With a swooping dip of his fingers he extracted from his vest pocket the blue-colored stub he had found on the dead man’s person. He regarded them in silence—two identically colored and marked stubs, one with the inscription LL32 Left, the other LL30 Left.
His eyes narrowed as he studied the innocent-appearing pasteboards. He bent closer, slowly turning the stubs back to back. Then, with a puzzled light in his grey eyes, he turned them front to front. Still unsatisfied, he turned them back to front.
In none of the three positions did the torn edges of the tickets coincide!
V
In Which Inspector Queen Conducts Some Legal Conversations
Queen made his way across the broad red carpet covering the rear of the orchestra, his hat pulled down over his eyes. He was searching the recesses of his pocket for the inevitable snuffbox. The Inspector was evidently engaged in a weighty mental process, for his hand closed tightly upon the two blue ticket-stubs and he grimaced, as if he were not at all satisfied with his thoughts.
Before opening the green-speckled door marked “Manager’s Office,” he turned to survey the scene behind him. The stir in the audience was businesslike. A great chattering filled the air; policemen and detectives circulated among the rows, giving orders, answering questions, hustling people out of their seats, lining them up in the main aisles to be searched at the huge outer door. The Inspector noticed absently that there was little protest from the audience at the ordeal they were facing. They seemed too tired to resent the indignity of a search. A long queue of half-angry, half-amused women was lined up at one side being examined rapidly, one by one, by a motherly woman dressed in black. Queen glanced briefly at the detectives blocking the door. Piggott with the experience of long practice was making rapid passes over the clothing of the men. Velie, at his side, was studying the reactions of the various people undergoing examination. Occasionally he searched a man himself. Ellery stood a little apart, hands in his capacious topcoat pockets, smoking a cigarette and seeming to be thinking of nothing more important than the first edition he had missed buying.
Queen sighed, and went in.
The anteroom to the main office was a tiny place, fitted out in bronze and oak. On one of the chairs against the wall, burrowed into the deep leather cushions, sat Parson Johnny, puffing at
