In the extreme left aisle Inspector Queen reached into his topcoat pocket, carefully extracted a brown carved snuffbox and took a pinch with every evidence of enjoyment.
“That’s more like it, Thomas,” he chuckled. “You know how fussy I am about noises. … Who is the poor chap on the floor—do you know?”
Velie shook his head. “I haven’t even touched the body, Inspector,” he said. “I got here just a few minutes before you did. A man on the 47th Street beat called me up from his box and reported Doyle’s whistle. Doyle seems to have been doing things, sir. … His lieutenant reports favorably on his record.”
“Ah,” said the Inspector, “ah, yes. Doyle. Come here, Doyle.”
The policeman stepped forward and saluted.
“Just what,” went on the little grey man, leaning comfortably against a seat-back, “just what happened here, Doyle?”
“All I know about it, Inspector,” began Doyle, “is that a couple of minutes before the end of the second act this man”—he pointed to Pusak, who stood wretchedly in a corner—“came running up to me where I was standin’ in the back, watchin’ the show, and he says, ‘A man’s been murdered, officer! … A man’s murdered!’ He was blubberin’ like a baby and I thought he was pie-eyed. But I stepped mighty quick and came over here—the place was dark and there was a lot of shootin’ and screamin’ on the stage—and I took a look at the feller on the floor. I didn’t move him, but I felt his heart and there wasn’t anything to feel. To make sure he was croaked I asked for a doctor and a gent by the name of Stuttgard answered my call. …”
Inspector Queen stood pertly, his head cocked on a side like a parrot’s. “That’s excellent,” he said. “Excellent, Doyle. I’ll question Dr. Stuttgard later. Then what happened?” he went on.
“Then,” continued the policeman, “then I got the usherette on this aisle to beat it back to the manager’s office for Panzer. Louis Panzer—that’s the manager right over there. …”
Queen regarded Panzer, who was standing a few feet to the rear talking to Neilson, and nodded. “That’s Panzer, you say. All right, all right. … Ellery! You got my message?”
He darted forward, brushing aside Panzer, who fell back apologetically, and clapped the shoulder of a tall young man who had slipped through the main door and was slowly looking about the scene. The old man passed his arm through the younger man’s.
“Haven’t inconvenienced you any, son? What bookstore did you haunt tonight? Ellery, I’m mighty glad you’re here!”
He dipped into his pocket, again extracted the snuffbox, sniffed deeply—so deeply that he sneezed—and looked up into his son’s face.
“As a matter of fact,” said Ellery Queen, his eyes restlessly roving, “I can’t return the compliment. You just lured me away from a perfect booklover’s paradise. I was at the point of getting the dealer to let me have a priceless Falconer first-edition, intending to borrow the money from you at headquarters. I telephoned—and here I am. A Falconer—Oh, well. Tomorrow will do, I suppose.”
The Inspector chuckled. “Now if you told me you were picking up an old snuffbox I might be interested. As it is—trot along. Looks as if we have some work tonight.”
They walked toward the little knot of men on the left, the old man’s hand grasping his son’s coat-sleeve. Ellery Queen towered six inches above his father’s head. There was a square cut to his shoulders and an agreeable swing to his body as he walked. He was dressed in oxford grey and carried a light stick. On his nose perched what seemed an incongruous note in so athletic a man—a rimless pince-nez. But the brow above, the long delicate lines of the face, the bright eyes were those of a man of thought rather than action.
They joined the group at the body. Ellery was greeted respectfully by Velie. He bent over the seat, glanced earnestly at the dead man, and stepped back.
“Go on, Doyle,” said the Inspector briskly. “You looked at the body, detained the man who found it, got the manager. … Then what?”
“Panzer at my orders closed all the doors at once and saw that no one either came in or went out,” answered Doyle. “There was a lot of fuss here with the audience, but nothing else happened.”
“Right, right!” said the Inspector, feeling for his snuffbox. “You did a mighty good job. Now—That gentleman there.”
He gestured in the direction of the trembling little man in the corner, who stepped forward hesitantly, licked his lips, looked about him with a helpless expression, and then stood silent.
“What’s your name?” asked the Inspector, in a kindly tone.
“Pusak—William Pusak,” said the man. “I’m a bookkeeper, sir. I was just—”
“One at a time, Pusak. Where were you sitting?”
Pusak pointed eagerly to the sixth seat from the aisle, in the last row. A frightened young girl in the fifth seat sat staring in their direction.
“I see,” said the Inspector. “Is that young lady with you?”
“Yes, sir—yes, sir. That’s my fiancée, sir. Her name is Esther—Esther Jablow. …”
A little to the rear a detective was scribbling in a notebook. Ellery stood behind his father, glancing from one exit to another. He began to draw a diagram on the flyleaf of a small book he had taken from his topcoat pocket.
The Inspector scrutinized the girl, who immediately averted her eyes. “Now, Pusak, I want you to tell me just what happened.”
“I—I didn’t do a thing out of the way, sir.”
Inspector Queen patted his arm. “Nobody is accusing you of anything,
