“Get Mr. Panzer, the manager, for me, Johnson,” said Queen. “And if the publicity man—chap by the name of Bealson, or Pealson, or something—is around, have him step in here, too.” He turned to the lawyer after Johnson left. “Let me trouble you for your gloves a moment, Mr. Morgan,” he said lightly. With a puzzled stare, Morgan dropped them on the desk in front of Queen, who picked them up curiously. They were of white silk—the conventional gloves for evening-wear. The Inspector pretended to be very busy examining them. He turned them inside out, minutely scrutinized a speck on the tip of one finger, and even went so far as to try them on his own hands, with a jesting remark to Morgan. His examination concluded, he gravely handed the gloves back to the lawyer. “And—oh, yes, Mr. Morgan—that’s a mighty spruce-looking tophat you’ve got there. May I see it a moment?” Still silently, the lawyer placed his hat on the desk. Queen picked it up with a carefree air, whistling in a slightly flat key, “The Sidewalks of New York.” He turned the hat over in his hand. It was a glistening affair of extremely fine quality. The lining was of shimmering white silk, with the name of the maker, “James Chauncey Co.,” stamped in gold. Two initials, “B.M.,” were similarly inlaid on the band. Queen grinned as he placed the hat on his own head. It was a close fit. He doffed it almost immediately and returned it to Morgan. “Very kind of you to allow me these liberties, Mr. Morgan,” he said as he hastily scribbled a note on a pad which he took from his pocket. The door opened to admit Johnson, Panzer and Harry Neilson. Panzer stepped forward hesitantly and Neilson dropped into an armchair. “What can we do for you, Inspector?” quavered Panzer, making a valiant attempt to disregard the presence of the grizzled aristocrat slumped in his chair. “Mr. Panzer,” said Queen slowly, “how many kinds of stationery are used in the Roman Theatre?” The manager’s eyes opened wide. “Just one, Inspector. There’s a sheet of it on the desk in front of you.” “Ummmm.” Queen handed Panzer the slip of paper which he had received from Morgan. “I want you to examine that sheet very carefully, Mr. Panzer. To your knowledge, are there any samples of it in the Roman?” The manager looked it over with an unfamiliar stare. “No, I don’t think so. In fact, I’m sure of it. What’s this?” he exclaimed, as his eye caught the first few typewritten lines. “Neilson!” he cried, whirling on the publicity man. “What’s this—your latest publicity stunt?” He waved the sheet in Neilson’s face.