The Roman Hat Mystery Read Free Page B

toward the stagestairs. Like the audience they peered toward the nucleus of the trouble in bewilderment.
    A buxom old lady, in garish clothes ― the very fine imported actress billed in the character of Madame Murphy, “ keeper of the public house ”― her name was Hilda Orange; the slight, graceful figure of “ the street waif, Nanette ”― Eve Ellis, leading-lady of the piece; the tall robust hero of “ Gunplay, ” James Peale, attired in a rough tweed suit and cap; the juvenile, smart in evening clothes, portraying the society lad who had fallen into the clutches of the “ gang ”― Stephen Barry; Lucille Horton, whose characterization of the “ lady of the streets ” had brought down a shower of adjectives from the dramatic critics, who had little enough to rant about that unfortunate season; a vandyked old man whose faultless evening clothes attested to the tailoring genius of M. Le Brun, costumer extraordinary to the entire cast of “ Gunplay ” ; the heavy-set villain, whose stage scowl was dissolved in a foggy docility as he surveyed the frantic auditorium; in fact, the entire personnel of the play, bewigged and powdered, rouged and painted ― some wielding towels as they hastily removed their make-up ― scampered in a body under the lowering curtain and trooped down the stage steps into the orchestra, where they elbowed their way up the aisle toward the scene of the commotion.
    Another flurry, at the main entrance, caused many people despite Doyle ’ s vigorous orders to rise in their seats for a clearer view. A group of bluecoats were hustling their way inside, their night sticks ready. Doyle heaved a gargantuan sigh of relief as he saluted the tall man in plainclothes at their head.
    “ What ’ s up, Doyle? ” asked the newcomer, frowning at the pandemonium raging about them. The bluecoats who had entered with him were herding the crowd to the rear of the orchestra, behind the seat section. People who had been standing tried to slip back to their seats; they were apprehended and made to join the angry cluster jammed behind the last row.
    “ Looks like this man ’ s been murdered, Sergeant, ” said Doyle.
    “ Uh-huh. ” The plainclothes man looked incuriously down at the one still figure in the theatre ― lying at their feet, a black-sleeved arm flung over his face, his legs sprawled gawkily under the seats in the row before.
    “ What is it ― gat? ” asked the newcomer of Doyle, his eyes roving.
    “ No, sir ― don ’ t seem to be, ” said the policeman. “ Had a doctor from the audience look him over the very first thing ― thinks it ’ s poison. ”
    The Sergeant grunted. “ Who ’ s this? ” he rapped, indicating the trembling figure of Pusak by Doyle ’ s side.
    “ Chap who found the body, ” returned Doyle. “ He hasn ’ t moved from the spot since. ”
    “ Good enough. ” The detective turned toward a compact group huddled a few feet behind them and asked, generally: “ Who ’ s the manager here? ”
    Panzer stepped forward.
    “ I ’ m Velie, detective-sergeant from headquarters, ” said the plainclothes man abruptly. “ Haven ’ t you done anything to keep this yelling pack of idiots quiet? ”
    “ I ’ ve done my best, Sergeant, ” mumbled the manager, wringing his hands. “ But they all seem incensed at the way this officer ”― he indicated Doyle apologetically ―” has been storming at them. I don ’ t know how I can reasonably expect them to keep sitting in their seats as if nothing had happened. ”
    “ Well, we ’ ll take care of that, ” snapped Velie. He gave a rapid order to a uniformed man nearby. “ Now ”― he turned back to Doyle ―” how about the doors, the exits? Done anything yet in that direction? ”
    “ Sure thing, Sergeant, ” grinned the policeman. “ I had Mr. Panzer here station ushers at every door. They ’ ve been there all night, anyway. But I just wanted to make sure. ”
    “ You were right. Nobody try to