Activities since Monday night normal. No letters sent, no money withdrawn from bank, hours fairly regular. No suspicious movements of any kind.
Girl, Esther Jablow, seems Pusak’s “steadiest.” Has seen E. J. twice since Monday—Tuesday at lunch, Wednesday evening. Went to movies and Chinese restaurant Wednesday evening.
The Inspector grunted as he threw the sheet aside. The third report was headed:
Report on Madge O’Connell
To Friday, Sept. 28, ’2‒
O’Connell, lives at 1436—10th Avenue. Tenement, 4th floor. No father. Idle since Monday night, due to shutting down of Roman Theatre. Left theatre Monday night at general release of public. Went home, but stopped in drugstore corner 8th Avenue and 48th Street to telephone. Unable to trace call. Overheard reference to Parson Johnny in phone conversation. Seemed excited.
Tuesday did not leave house until 1 o’clock. No attempt get in touch with Parson Johnny at Tombs. Went around theatre employment agencies looking for usherette position after finding out Roman Theatre was closed indefinitely.
Nothing new Wednesday all day or Thursday. Returned to work at Roman Thursday night after call from manager. No attempt see or communicate with Parson Johnny. No incoming calls, no visitors, no mail. Seemed suspicious—think she is “wise” to tailing.
“Hmph!” muttered the Inspector as he picked up the next sheet of paper. “Let’s see what this one says. …”
Report on Frances Ives-Pope
September 28, 192‒
F. I.-P. left Roman Theatre Monday night directly after release from Manager’s Office by Inspector Queen. Examined with other departing members of audience at main door. Left in company of Eve Ellis, Stephen Barry, Hilda Orange, of the cast.
Took taxi to Ives-Pope house on Riverside Drive. Taken out in half-unconscious condition. Three actors left house soon after.
Tuesday she did not leave house. Learned from a gardener she was laid up in bed all day. Learned she received many calls during day.
Did not appear formally until Wednesday morning at interview in house with Inspector Queen. After interview, left house in company of Stephen Barry, Eve Ellis, James Peale, her brother Stanford. Ives-Pope limousine drove party out into Westchester. Outing revived F. Evening stayed at home with Stephen Barry. Bridge-party on.
Thursday went shopping on Fifth Avenue. Met Stephen Barry for luncheon. He took her to Central Park; spent afternoon in open. S. B. escorted her home before five. S. B. stayed to dinner, leaving after dinner for work at Roman Theatre on call from stage manager. F. I.-P. spent evening at home with family.
No report Friday morning. No suspicious actions all week. At no time accosted by strange persons. No communication from or to Benjamin Morgan.
“And that’s that,” murmured the Inspector. The next report he selected was extremely short.
Report on Oscar Lewin
September 28, 192‒
Lewin spent all day Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday morning at office of Monte Field working with Messrs. Stoates and Cronin. Three men lunched together on each day.
Lewin married, lives in Bronx, 211 E. 156th Street. Spent every evening at home. No suspicious mail, no suspicious calls. No evil habits. Leads sober, modest life. Has good reputation.
The Inspector sighed as he deposited the five sheets of paper on his plate, rose, doffed his hat and coat, flung them into Djuna’s waiting arms and sat down again. Then he picked up the last report from the contents of the envelope—a larger sheet to which was pinned a small slip marked: Memorandum to R. Q.
This slip read:
Dr. Prouty left the attached report with me this morning for transmission to you. He is sorry he could not report in person, but the Burbridge poison-case is taking all his time.
It was signed with Velie’s familiar scrawling initials.
The attached sheet was a hastily typewritten message on the letterhead of the Chief Medical Examiner’s office.
Dear Q. [the message ran]: Here’s the dope on the tetra ethyl lead. Jones and I have been superintending an exhaustive probe of all possible sources of dissemination. No success, and I think you can resign yourself to your fate in this respect. You’ll never trace the poison that killed Monte Field. This is the opinion not merely of your humble servant but of the Chief and of Jones. We all agree that the most logical explanation is the gasoline theory. Try to trace that, Sherlocko!
A postscript in Dr. Prouty’s handwriting ran:
“Of course, if anything turns up, I’ll let you know immediately. Keep sober.”
“Fat lot of good that is!” mumbled the Inspector, as Ellery without a word attacked the aromatic and tempting meal that the priceless Djuna had prepared. The Inspector dug viciously into the fruit salad. He looked far from happy. He grumbled beneath his breath, cast baleful glances at the sheaf of reports by his plate, peered up at Ellery’s tired face and heartily munching jaws and finally threw down his spoon altogether.
“Of all the useless, exasperating, empty bunch of reports I ever saw—!” he growled.
Ellery smiled. “You remember Periander, of course. … Eh? You might be polite, sir. … Periander of Corinth, who said in a moment of sobriety, ‘To industry nothing is impossible!’ ”
With the fire roaring, Djuna curled up on the floor in a corner, his favorite attitude. Ellery smoked a cigarette and stared comfortably into the flames while old Queen crammed his nose vengefully with the contents of his snuffbox. The two Queens settled down to a serious discussion. To be more exact—Inspector Queen settled down and lent the tone of seriousness to the conversation, since Ellery seemed in a sublimely dreamy mood far removed from the sordid details of crime and punishment.
The old man brought his hand down on the arm of his chair with a sharp slap. “Ellery, did you ever in your born days see
