When the conversation had died away the Inspector cleared his throat and turned toward Frances, who after a startled flutter of the eyelids returned his glance steadily.
“First of all, Miss Frances—I hope I may call you that,” began Queen in a fatherly tone, “allow me to explain my tactics of Monday night and to apologize for what must have seemed to you a totally unwarranted severity. From what Mr. Ives-Pope has told me, you can explain your actions on the night of the murder of Monte Field. I take it, therefore, that as far as you are concerned our little chat this morning will effectually remove you from the investigation. Before we have that chat, please believe me when I say that Monday night you were to me merely one of a number of suspicious characters. I acted in accordance with my habits in such cases. I see now how, to a woman of your breeding and social position, a grilling by a policeman under such tense circumstances would cause sufficient shock to bring on your present condition.”
Frances smiled wearily. “You’re forgiven, Inspector,” she said in a clear, low voice. “It was my fault for being so foolish. I’m ready to answer any questions you may care to ask me.”
“In just a moment, my dear.” The Inspector shifted a bit to include the entire silent company in his next remark. “I should like to make one point, ladies and gentlemen,” he said gravely. “We are assembled here for a definite purpose, which is to discover a possible connection, and there must be one, between the fact that Miss Ives-Pope’s bag was found in the dead man’s pocket, and the fact that Miss Ives-Pope apparently was unable to explain this circumstance. Now, whether this morning’s work bears fruit or not, I must ask you all to keep whatever is said a profound secret. As District Attorney Sampson knows very well, I do not generally conduct an investigation with such a large audience. But I am making this exception because I believe you are all deeply concerned in the unfortunate young lady who has been drawn into this crime. You cannot, however, expect any consideration at my hands if one word of today’s conversation reaches outside ears. Do we understand each other?”
“I say, Inspector,” protested young Ives-Pope, “that’s putting it a bit strong, don’t you think? We all of us know the story, anyway.”
“Perhaps, Mr. Ives-Pope,” retorted the Inspector with a grim smile, “that is the reason I have consented to have all of you here.”
There was a little rustle and Mrs. Ives-Pope opened her mouth as if to burst into wrathful speech. A sharp look from her husband made her lips droop together, with the protest unuttered. She transferred her glare to the actress sitting by Frances’ side. Eve Ellis blushed. The nurse stood by Mrs. Ives-Pope with the smelling salts, like a setter-dog about to point.
“Now, Miss Frances,” resumed Queen kindly, “this is where we stand. I examine the body of a dead man named Monte Field, prominent lawyer, who was apparently enjoying an interesting play before he was so unceremoniously done away with, and find, in the rear coattail pocket of his full-dress suit, an evening bag. I identify this as yours by a few calling cards and some personal papers inside. I say to myself, ‘Aha! A lady enters the problem!’—naturally enough. And I send one of my men to summon you, with the idea of allowing you to explain a most suspicious circumstance. You come—and you faint on being confronted with your property and the news of its place of discovery. At the time, I say to myself, ‘This young lady knows something!’—a not unnatural conclusion. Now, in what way can you convince me that you know nothing—and that your fainting was caused only by the shock of the thing? Remember, Miss Frances—I am putting the problem not as Richard Queen but as a policeman looking for the truth.”
“My story is not as illuminating, perhaps, as you might like it to be, Inspector,” answered Frances quietly, in the deep hush that followed Queen’s peroration. “I don’t see how it is going to help you at all. But some facts which I think unimportant may be significant to your trained mind. … Roughly, this is what happened.
“I came to be in the Roman Theatre Monday night in a natural way. Since my engagement to Mr. Barry, although it has been a very quiet affair”—Mrs. Ives-Pope sniffed; her husband looked steadfastly at a point beyond his daughter’s dark hair—“I have often dropped into the theatre, following a habit of meeting my fiancé after the performance. At such times he would either escort me home or take me to some place in the neighborhood for supper. Generally we make arrangements beforehand for these theatre-meetings; but sometimes I drop in unexpectedly if the opportunity presents itself. Monday night was one of those times. …
“I got to the Roman a few minutes before the end of the first act, since I have of course seen Gunplay any number of times. I had my regular seat—arranged for me many weeks ago by Mr. Barry through Mr. Panzer—and had no more than settled myself to watch the performance when the curtain came down for the first intermission. I was feeling a little warm; the air was none too good. … I went first to the ladies’ restroom, downstairs off the general lounge. Then I came up again and went out into the alley through the open door. There was quite a crowd of people there, enjoying the air.”
She paused for a moment and Ellery, leaning against the bookcase, sharply surveyed the faces of the little audience. Mrs. Ives-Pope was looking about in her leviathan manner; Ives-Pope was still staring at the wall above Frances’ head; Stanford was biting his fingernails; Peale and Barry were both watching Frances with nervous sympathy, looking furtively at Queen as if to gauge the effect of her
