“It’s a tricky question, dad,” remarked Ellery seriously, “because if she was lying about these things, we are losing a mine of information. If she was lying—good Lord!—she might be in a position at this moment either to describe, or identify, or possibly name the murderer! However, her nervousness and peculiar attitude might be ascribed to her knowledge that Parson Johnny was in the theatre, with a pack of policemen just aching to get their fingers on him.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” grumbled Queen. “Well, what about Parson Johnny? How does he fit into this—or does he fit into it at all? We must always remember that, according to Morgan’s statement, Cazzanelli was actively associated with Field. Field had been his lawyer, and perhaps had even bought the Parson’s services for this shady business Cronin is nosing around about. If the Parson was not there by accident, was he there through Field or through Madge O’Connell, as she and he both say? I think, my son,” he added with a fierce tug at his mustache, “that I’m going to give Parson Johnny a taste of the lash—it won’t hurt his thick hide! And that snippy little O’Connell chit—won’t do any harm to scare the wits out of her either. …”
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 has 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
