Queen stood silent for a moment, then waved Doyle back with the low remark to Velie, “In a crowded house, too.... Remember that.” Velie raised his eyebrows gravely. “I’m cold on this whole business,” continued the Inspector genially. “All I can see right now are a dead man and a lot of perspiring people making noise. Have Hesse and Piggott direct traffic for a while, eh, son?” Velie spoke sharply to two of the plainclothes men who had entered the theatre with the Inspector. They wriggled their way toward the rear and the people who had been crowding around found themselves pushed aside. Policemen joined the two detectives. The group of actors and actresses were ordered to move back. A section was roped off behind the central tier of seats and some fifty men and women packed into the small space. Quiet men circulated among them, instructing them to show their tickets and return to their seats one by one. Within five minutes not a member of the audience was left standing. The actors were cautioned to remain within the roped enclosure for the time being. In the extreme left aisle Inspector Queen reached into his topcoat pocket, carefully extracted a brown carved snuff-box 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.