“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 snuffbox. “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.”
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 layout 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 shortsighted 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.”
The two men retired to Panzer’s office. Five minutes later they reentered the auditorium. Panzer held a sealed envelope in his hand and hurried out into the street. Queen watched him go, then turned with a sigh to Ellery, who had perched himself on the arm of the seat in which Field had been murdered and was still consulting the penciled map.
The Inspector whispered a few words to his son. Ellery smiled and clapped the old man vigorously on the back.
“What do you say we get a move on, son?” said Queen. “I forgot to ask Panzer if he had succeeded in reaching this Mrs. Phillips. I
