The Roman Hat Mystery · XIV · Chapter 16 (2/2)

A startled Madge O’Connell fell back as Ellery presented two tickets plainly marked LL32 Left and LL30 Left. The Inspector smiled as she fumbled with the pasteboards and threw him a half-fearful glance. She led them across the thick carpet to the extreme left aisle, silently indicated the last two seats of the last row and fled. The two men sat down, placed their hats in the wire holders below the seats and leaned back comfortably, for all the world like two pleasure-seekers contemplating an evening’s gory entertainment.

The auditorium was packed. Droves of people being ushered down the aisles were rapidly consuming the empty seats. Heads twisted expectantly in the direction of the Queens, who became unwittingly the center of a most unwelcome scrutiny.

“Heck!” grumbled the old man. “We should have come in after the curtain went up.”

“You’re much too sensitive to public acclaim, mon père,” laughed Ellery. “I don’t mind the limelight.” He consulted his wristwatch and their glances met significantly. It was exactly 8:25. They wriggled in their seats and settled down.

The lights were blotted out, one by one. The chatter of the audience died in a responsive sympathy. In total darkness the curtain rose on a weirdly dim stage. A shot exploded the silence; a man’s gurgling shout raised gasps in the theatre. Gunplay was off in its widely publicized and theatrical manner.

Despite the preoccupation of his father, Ellery, relaxed in the chair which three nights before had held the dead body of Monte Field, was able to sit still and enjoy the exceedingly mellow melodrama. The fine rich voice of James Peale, ushered onto the stage by a series of climactic incidents, rang out and thrilled him with its commanding art. Eve Ellis’s utter absorption in her role was apparent⁠—at the moment she was conversing in low throbbing tones with Stephen Barry, whose handsome face and pleasant voice were evoking admiring comment from a young girl seated directly to the Inspector’s right. Hilda Orange was huddled in a corner, dressed flamboyantly as befitted her stage-character. The old “character-man” pottered aimlessly about the stage. Ellery leaned toward his father.

“It’s a well cast production,” he whispered. “Watch that Orange woman!”

The play stuttered and crackled on. With a crashing symphony of words and noise the first act came to an end. The Inspector consulted his watch as the lights snapped on. It was 9:05.

He rose and Ellery followed him lazily. Madge O’Connell, pretending not to notice them, pushed open the heavy iron doors across the aisle and the audience began to file out into the dimly lit alleyway. The two Queens sauntered out among the others.

A uniformed boy standing behind a neat stand covered with paper cups was crying his wares in a subdued, “refined” voice. It was Jess Lynch, the boy who had testified in the matter of Monte Field’s request for ginger ale.

Ellery strolled behind the iron door⁠—there was a cramped space between the door and the brick wall. He noticed that the wall of the building flanking the other side of the alley was easily six stories high and unbroken. The Inspector bought an orange-drink from the boy. Jess Lynch recognized him with a start and Inspector Queen greeted the boy pleasantly.

People were standing in small groups, their attitudes betokening a strange interest in their surroundings. The Inspector heard a woman remark, in a fearful, fascinated voice, “They say he was standing right out here Monday night, buying an orange-drink!”

The warning-bell soon clanged inside the theatre, and those who had come outside for a breath of air hurried back into the orchestra. Before he sat down, the Inspector glanced over across the rear of the auditorium to the foot of the staircase leading to the balcony. A stalwart, uniformed young man stood alertly on the first step.

The second act exploded into being. The audience swayed and gasped in the approved fashion while the dramatic fireworks were shot off on the stage. The Queens seemed suddenly to have become absorbed in the action. Father and son leaned forward, bodies taut, eyes intent. Ellery consulted his watch at 9:30⁠—and the two Queens settled back again while the play rumbled on.

At 9:50 exactly they rose, took their hats and coats and slipped out of the LL row into the clear space behind the orchestra. A number of people were standing⁠—at which the Inspector smiled and blessed the power of the press beneath his breath. The white-faced usherette, Madge O’Connell, was leaning stiffly against a pillar, staring unseeingly ahead.

The Queens, espying Manager Panzer in the doorway of his office beaming delightedly at the crowded auditorium, made their way towards him. The Inspector motioned him inside and rapidly stepped into the little anteroom, Ellery close behind. The smile faded from Panzer’s face.

“I hope you’ve had a profitable evening?” he asked nervously.

“Profitable evening? Well⁠—it depends upon what you mean by the word.” The old man gestured briefly and led the way through the second door into Panzer’s private office.

“Look here, Panzer,” he said, pacing up and down in some excitement, “have you a plan of the orchestra handy which shows each seat, numbered, and all the exits?”

Panzer stared. “I think so. Just a moment.” He fumbled in a filing-cabinet, rummaged among some folders and finally brought out a large map of the theatre separated into two sections⁠—one for the orchestra and the other for the balcony.

The Inspector brushed the second away impatiently as he and Ellery bent over the orchestra-plan.5 They studied it for a moment. Queen looked up at Panzer, who was shifting from one foot to another on the rug, evidently at a loss to know what would be required of him next.

“May I have this map, Panzer?” asked the Inspector shortly. “I’ll return it unharmed in a few days.”

“Certainly, certainly!” said Panzer. “Is there anything else I can do for you now, Inspector?⁠ ⁠… I want to thank you for your consideration in the matter of publicity, sir⁠—Gordon Davis is extremely pleased at the ‘house’ tonight. He asked me to relay his thanks.”

“Not at all⁠—not at all,” grumbled the Inspector, folding the map and putting it in his breast-pocket. “It was coming to you⁠—what’s right is right.⁠ ⁠… And now, Ellery⁠—if you’ll come along.⁠ ⁠… Good night, Panzer. Not a word about this, remember!”

The two Queens slipped out of Panzer’s office while he was babbling his reassurances of silence.

They crossed the rear of the orchestra once more, in the direction of the extreme left aisle. The Inspector beckoned curtly to Madge O’Connell.

“Yes,” she breathed, her face chalky.

“Just open those doors wide enough to let us through, O’Connell, and forget all about it afterward. Understand?” said the Inspector grimly.

She mumbled under her breath as she pushed open one of the big iron doors opposite the LL row. With a last warning shake of the head the Inspector slipped through, Ellery following⁠—and the door came softly back into place again.

At 11 o’clock, as the wide exits were disgorging their first flocks of theatregoers after the final curtain, Richard and Ellery Queen reentered the Roman Theatre through the main door.