“I see what you’re driving at,” muttered the Inspector. “Go on.”
“If he was the murderer, we have definitely established the sex and also the fact that our man was wearing evening-clothes that night—perhaps not a very illuminating point, since there were scores of such men in the theatre. If he was only an accomplice, we must conclude that the murderer was one of two possibilities: either a man dressed in ordinary clothes, whose possession of a tophat as he left would be patently suspicious; or else a woman, who of course could not sport a tophat at all!”
The Inspector sank back into the leather cushions. “Talk about your logic!” he chortled. “My son, I’m almost proud of you—that is, I would be if you weren’t so disgustingly conceited. … Things standing where they do, therefore, the reason you pulled your little drama in Panzer’s office. …”
His voice lowered as Ellery leaned forward. They continued to converse in inaudible tones until the taxicab drew up before the headquarters building.
No sooner had Inspector Queen, who had proceeded blithely through the sombre corridors with Ellery striding at his side, entered his tiny office than Sergeant Velie lumbered to his feet.
“Thought you were lost, Inspector!” he exclaimed. “That Stoates kid was in here not long ago with a suffering look on his face. Said that Cronin was tearing his hair at Field’s office—that they still hadn’t found a thing in the files of an incriminating nature.”
“Go away, go away, Thomas my lad,” gurgled the Inspector softly. “I can’t bother myself with petty problems like putting a dead man behind bars. Ellery and I—”
The telephone bell rang. Queen sprang forward and snatched the instrument from the desk. As he listened the glow left his thin cheeks and a frown settled once more on his forehead. Ellery watched him with a strange absorption.
“Inspector?” came the hurried voice of a man. “This is Hagstrom reporting. Just got a minute—can’t say much. Been tailing Angela Russo all morning and had a tough time. … Seems to be wise that I’m following her. … A half hour ago she thought she’d given me the slip—she hopped into a cab and beat it downtown. … And say, Inspector—just three minutes ago I saw her enter Benjamin Morgan’s office!”
Queen barked, “Nail her the instant she comes out!” and slammed the receiver down. He turned slowly to Ellery and Velie and repeated Hagstrom’s report. Ellery’s face became a study in frowning astonishment. Velie appeared unmistakably pleased.
But the old man’s voice was strained as he sat down weakly in his swivel-chair. Finally he groaned, “What do you know about that!”
XV
In Which an Accusation Is Made
Detective Hagstrom was a phlegmatic man. He traced his ancestry to the mountains of Norway, where stolidity was a virtue and stoicism the ultimate cult. Nevertheless, as he leaned against a gleaming marble wall on the twentieth floor of the Maddern Building, thirty feet to the side of the bronze-and-glass door marked:
Benjamin Morgan
Attorney-at-Law
his heart beat a trifle faster than usual. He shuffled his feet nervously as his jaw masticated a wad of chewing-tobacco. If the truth were told Detective Hagstrom, a man of varied experience in the service of the police department, had never clamped his hand on the shoulder of a female with intent to arrest. He faced his coming assignment therefore in some trepidation, remembering with appalling clarity the fiery temperament of the lady for whom he was waiting.
His apprehension was well founded. When he had been lounging in the corridor some twenty minutes, and wondering whether his quarry had not slipped away through another exit, Benjamin Morgan’s office-door suddenly swung open and the large, curved figure of Mrs. Angela Russo, garbed in a modish tweed ensemble, appeared. An unbecoming snarl distorted her carefully made-up features; she swung her purse menacingly as she strode toward the line of elevators. Hagstrom glanced quickly at his wristwatch. It was ten minutes to twelve. In a short time the offices would be disgorging their occupants for the lunch hour, and he was most desirous of making his arrest in the quiet of the deserted hall.
Accordingly he straightened up, adjusted his orange-and-blue necktie and stepped with a fair assumption of coolness into full view of the approaching woman. As she caught sight of him she slackened her stride perceptibly. Hagstrom hurried toward her, anticipating flight. But Mrs. Angela Russo was made of sterner stuff. She tossed her head and came on brazenly.
Hagstrom fixed his large red hand on her arm. “I guess you know what I want you for,” he said fiercely. “Come along now, and don’t make a fuss or I’ll put the nippers on you!”
Mrs. Russo shook off his hand. “My, my—aren’t you the big rough cop?” she murmured. “Just what do you think you’re doing, anyway?”
Hagstrom glared. “None o’ your lip, now!” His finger pressed savagely on the “Down” signal for the elevators. “You just shut up and come along!”
She faced him sweetly. “Are you trying to arrest me, by any chance?” she cooed. “Because you know, my big he-man, you’ve got to have a warrant to do that!”
“Aw, stow it!” he growled. “I’m not arresting you—I’m just inviting you to step down to headquarters for a little gab with Inspector Queen. You coming, or do I have to call the wagon?”
An elevator flashed to a stop. The elevator-man snapped, “Going down!” The woman glanced with momentary uncertainty at the car, peered slyly at Hagstrom and finally stepped into the elevator, the detective’s hand firmly clasped on her elbow. They descended in silence under the curious scrutiny of several passengers.
Hagstrom, uneasy but determined, sensing somehow a storm brewing in the breast of the woman who strode so calmly by his side, was taking no chances. He did not relax his grasp until they sat side
