The Roman Hat Mystery · XIV · Chapter 17 (3/3)

“Yes,” replied the Inspector dreamily. “We’ll have a talk about that phase of Mr. Michaels some other time.⁠ ⁠… But let me explain that hat: Michaels on the evening of the murder laid out, according to his statement, Field’s evening clothes, including a silk hat. Michaels swore that as far as he knew Field possessed only one topper. Now if we suppose that Field used hats for concealing papers, and was going to the Roman Theatre that night wearing a ‘loaded’ one he must necessarily have substituted the loaded hat for the empty one which Michaels prepared. Since he was so careful to keep only one silk hat in the closet, he realized that Michaels, should he find a topper, would be suspicious. So, in switching hats, he had to conceal the empty one. What more natural than that he should put it in the place from which he had taken the loaded hat⁠—the panel above the bed?”

“Well, I’ll be switched!” exclaimed Cronin.

“Finally,” resumed the Inspector, “we can take it as gospel that Field, who was devilishly careful in the matter of his headgear, intended to restore the theatre hat to its hideaway when he got home from the Roman. Then he would have taken out this one which you’ve just torn up and put it back in the clothes-closet.⁠ ⁠… But let’s get on.”

He pulled down the leather inner-band of the second silk hat, which also bore the imprint of Browne Bros. “Look at this, will you!” he exclaimed. The two men bent over and saw on the inner surface of the band, lettered with painful clarity in a purplish ink, the words Benjamin Morgan.

“I’ve got to pledge you to secrecy, Tim,” said the Inspector immediately, turning to the red-haired man. “Never let on that you were a witness to the finding of papers in any way implicating Benjamin Morgan in this affair.”

“What do you think I am, Inspector?” growled Cronin. “I’m as dumb as an oyster, believe me!”

“All right, then.” Queen felt the lining of the hat. There was a distinct crackle.

“Now,” remarked Ellery calmly, “we know for the first time definitely why the murderer had to take away the hat Field wore Monday night. In all likelihood the murderer’s name was lettered in the same way⁠—that’s indelible ink, you know⁠—and the murderer couldn’t leave a hat with his own name in it at the scene of the crime.”

“By gosh, if you only had that hat, now,” cried Cronin, “you’d know who the murderer is!”

“I’m afraid, Tim,” replied the Inspector dryly, “that hat is gone forever.”

He indicated a row of careful stitches at the base of the inner band, where the lining was attached to the fabric. He ripped these stitches swiftly and inserted his fingers between the lining and the crown. Silently he drew out a sheaf of papers held together by a thin rubber band.

“If I were as nasty as some people think I am,” mused Ellery, leaning back, “I might with perfect justice say, ‘I told you so.’ ”

“We know when we’re licked, my son⁠—don’t rub it in,” chortled the Inspector. He snapped off the rubber band, glanced hastily through the papers and with a satisfied grin deposited them in his breast pocket.

“Morgan’s, all right,” he said briefly, and attacked one of the derbies.

The inner side of the band was marked cryptically with an X. The Inspector found a row of stitches exactly as in the silk hat. The papers he drew out⁠—a thicker bundle than Morgan’s⁠—he examined cursorily. Then he handed them to Cronin, whose fingers were trembling.

“A stroke of luck, Tim,” he said slowly. “The man you were angling for is dead, but there are a lot of big names in this. I think you’ll find yourself a hero one of these days.”

Cronin grasped the bundle and feverishly unfolded the papers, one by one. “They’re here⁠—they’re here!” he shouted. He jumped to his feet, stuffing the sheaf into his pocket.

“I’ve got to beat it. Inspector,” he said rapidly. “There’s a load of work to do at last⁠—and besides, what you find in that fourth hat is none of my business. I can’t thank you and Mr. Queen enough! So long!”

He dashed from the room, and a moment later the snores of the policeman in the foyer came to an abrupt end. The outer door banged shut.

Ellery and the Inspector looked at each other.

“I don’t know what good this stuff is going to do us,” grumbled the old man, fumbling with the inner band of the last hat, a derby. “We’ve found things and deduced things and run rings around our imaginations⁠—well.⁠ ⁠…” He sighed as he held the band up to the light.

It was marked: Misc.