Black Maria, M. A.: A Classic Crime Novel

by John Russell Fearn

  Alice got up slowly. “Maria, do you mind if I say something? Something by no means pleasant?”

  “Well?”

  “I am just beginning to wonder if Pat was not right yesterday when she as good as accused you of poking your nose into our affairs. To be frank, I don’t like these dark suggestions about my own chil­dren! Pat may be headstrong and outspoken, but at heart she is a good girl. She would never stoop to helping young Salter. After all he was proven a criminal.”

  Maria smiled, unmoved.

  “Alice, a girl in love—and particularly a girl with Patricia’s defiant spirit—will risk a great deal. I believe Patricia has taken that risk and so far it has come off— But she’s playing a dangerous game. Ultimately the law is bound to catch up with her and then.... Well!”

  Alice began to pace the terrace worriedly, her brows knitted.

  “There are absolutely no grounds for all this, Maria. You are just building up a case against Pat to satisfy yourself. There is no proof that she helped Salter—no proof at all!”

  “No proof of that perhaps—but why has she never mentioned that he had escaped? Why was she so anxious to throw the paper away this morning? I’ll tell you why—because she knows where he is and didn’t want to be questioned. And if she knows where he is you can take it for granted she has been helping him all along. And the police are getting on the track: the paper proves it.”

  “The wind blew that paper away!” Alice said doggedly.

  “I don’t agree with you,” Maria retorted. “There was no wind then, and there is none now. Even if it was the wind, let us take into account another factor. Why should a wealthy girl like Patricia, possessing her own car and moving in a high social orbit, suddenly decide to take an East Side bus after reading that newspaper announcement?”

  Alice shrugged her shoulders vaguely, still paced up and down.

  “Again, what is she so jumpy about?” Maria went on implacably. “Why does she so resent my being here? Because she is afraid I will find out about her connections with Salter. She has not told you anything but she knows that I am the—shall we say, inquisitive sort?”

  Alice’s face was genuinely troubled.

  “On my word, Maria, I had no suspicion that Pat was mixed up in anything like this. Promise me, whatever happens, that you won’t expose her to the authorities! Please, I beg of you! I have had quite as much worry as I can stand already.”

  “I imagine, Alice, that anything I may have found out will be well forestalled by the police.... However, I am not heartless. If I think you should know of anything concerning Patricia, which may come up in the future, I’ll tell you, of course.”

  At that Alice relaxed a trifle. “Thank you, Maria—thank you. You’ve taken a great deal off my mind. When Pat comes home again I will have the whole thing out with her.”

  “That wouldn’t be very wise, Alice. If you have it out with her she is the kind of girl to blurt out the whole story. Inevitably the rest of the family will get to know of it—Janet, Richard, even the staff. In no time it would reach the ears of the police and then Patricia’s number would be definitely up. No!” Maria shook her head firmly. “Your safest course lies in keeping quiet and seeing which way the cat jumps. At least until there is absolute proof by her own admission—freely given.”

  “Yes.... I suppose you’re right,” Alice admitted slowly; then at last she nodded decisively. “Yes, for the time being I’ll keep quiet, but I do hope to goodness everything turns out for the best.”

  It was nearly two hours later when Walters announced the arrival of the lawyer. Maria found him in the library—a tall, thin man with crisp brown hair, a long horse-like face, and pince-nez. His attire was immaculate, his manner infinitely precise. When he spoke it was with a certain didactic certainty that immediately betrayed his profession.

  Once the preliminaries of introduction were over he said,

  “It is perhaps unfortunate, Miss Black, that you should have to be asked to make such a long journey across the Atlantic Ocean, but the law is such an exacting business that—”

  “I can assure you, Mr. Johnson, that I do not regret my trip,” Maria interrupted him majestically. “If you are ready for the business on hand then so am I!”

  “Quite! Quite!” He eyed her quickly through shining glasses then zipped open a briefcase. After much breathing through his nose and fluttering among blue and green documents he laid down three on the table, traced along dotted lines with an immaculate finger.

  “If you would be so good as to sign...?”

  Maria complied, her lips compressed. The pedantry of the law was something that always irritated her, despite her own inflexible administration of it at Roseway.

  Johnson nodded in satisfaction when it was over, then holding his coat lapels he made a pronouncement.

  “I’m afraid I shall have to ask you for some further form of identification, Miss Black. The will demands it.”

  “Identification!” Maria stared in surprise. “My dear sir, is it not sufficient that I am here?”

  “Not entirely, I’m afraid. Please do not misunderstand me. A clause in the will insists that you identify yourself to me beyond all possible shadow of doubt before I can proceed further. Your late brother stipulated that clause because you were so far away from him. He wanted to be certain that you alone and not an impostor were contacted. After all,”—Johnson jerked his shoulders up and then down again—“an interval of years changes us all. An impostor might have come in your place.”

  Maria sighed. “An extraordinary conception, but I see your point. Pardon me while I get my bag. I believe I have several certificates which will convince you.”

  “Splendid!”

  She left the library, crossed into the hall, and was just in time to see the returned Patricia heading for the staircase. As she went she crumpled something in her hand, finally threw it into the ornamental basket by the bureau in the hail alcove. Without looking to either side of her she went straight up the stairs and vanished along the upper corridor.

  Maria came to a stop, hesitated and looked round. Then she detoured to the paper basket and lifted out the paper strip Pat had thrown away. It was a bus ticket, registered from two to five on Route A-12, whatever that might signify. Maria meditated briefly, then put it carefully in her pocket.

  She got her certificates and returned downstairs to the library, put the various documents under Johnson’s long, thin nose. He examined them and finally nodded complacently.

  “Excellent, Miss Black. These are all I require for identification, and that being settled it is my duty to inform you that your late brother left you the sum of one thousand dollars.”

  Maria looked at him bleakly.

  “But,” Johnson went on, “there are further providing clauses....” He fished in his bag again and handed over a heavily-sealed envelope. “This letter I was instructed to give to you upon your proving your identity. You are to read it to yourself, but in my presence.”

  Maria eyed the superscription in her brother’s firm hand—

  To my dear Sister Maria, to be read in the event of my death in circumstances other than natural.

  “A strange observation,” she commented, frowning—and tore the flap. She read the letter slowly, her brows lowering.

  My dear Maria,

  Should I die of natural causes this letter will be destroyed by my lawyer, Stephen Johnson, but should I die from any other cause it is to be handed to you.... You, Maria, are tied closer to me by relation­ship than anybody else. We have blood ties that cannot be equaled even by my wife and children.

  I write this to you because I know you to be a woman of infinite resource—and because I have reason to believe that certain enemies may at any time try to break my control by liquidating me. Inevitably my journey to commercial domination has forced me to be ruthless, and there are times when I feel that avengers are waiting to strike me down. I expect it. I have been hard, cruel—but it has been necessary to achieve my e
nd.

  For various reasons I am not passing on this expectation of violent death to my wife and family. I feel they would not fully sympathize with me. I have felt convinced for some time now that my breaking of lesser factions in order to more firmly entrench myself has not been entirely to their liking. You, however, knowing nothing of my methods and bearing in mind only our relationship, will perhaps see things differently.

  If I should die anything other than a natural death—for I have no intention of taking my own life—I want you, with your single-mindedness and passion for detail to use every means in your power to discover my assassin, should he or she not be apprehended by the law. By this means any stigma on the family, resulting from death on my part by other than natural causes, may be removed. That depends entirely on you. And I warn you, if anybody does plan my demise they will work with great skill, may quite possibly elude discovery. Hence my request to you.

  I have instructed my lawyer to release the sum of $1,000 to you for expenses that you might incur in tracking down my potential murderer. Should you arrive at the solution and unmask my murderer, together with a complete exposition of the method used to kill me, you are then to receive a bequest of $500,000. Johnson will be the sole judge of whether you have qualified or not. You may trust him implicitly.

  With sincere remembrances,

  Ralph

  Maria folded the letter slowly and laid it on the desk, thought for a while. She looked up finally to see Johnson regarding her.

  “I suppose, Mr. Johnson, you know what is in this letter?”

  He nodded. “And I think I should tell you, Miss Black, that right up to the last moment your brother maintained his sanity. He was not depressed. Whatever business worries he had were merely in the normal course of handling an immense concern. The police chose to believe that he had enough troubles to make his suicide seem logical...but of course, knowing as I did the contents of this letter, I could not help but suspect that it was—murder. I intimated that fact to the family also—vaguely.”

  “Which may be why Richard wrote me saying he believed his father was murdered,” Maria said slowly.

  “I was not aware he did that. No doubt my hints prompted it. Of course, there was nothing I could say or do. I could not bring my suspicions to the notice of the police without revealing a copy of this letter; and in any case I was completely bound to keep it unmen­tioned until you came. Your brother arranged it very cleverly in order that a posthumous investigation could be conducted, not by the police but by one he knew he could trust implicitly to arrive at the right solution—yourself, of course. He seemed to think very highly of your—shall I say, investigative power?”

  Maria smiled faintly. “He knew that my one hobby in life is criminology. And in his usual ironical way he evidently decided to put my hobby to the test—even to the extent of withholding my bequest unless a solution to his mysterious death be found. I take it that had he died naturally I would have received my bequest in the ordinary way?”

  “Certainly. As it is, however, I am simply under orders. The rest of the family imagine your inheritance is a mere thousand dollars, for of course they know nothing of this letter. Your brother did that so that as near as possible he could keep those nearest to him out of all chance of suspicion or scandal.... Now you see why I had to have positive identification, why I had to see you personally.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Maria aroused herself from thought again and said composedly, “Pay the thousand dollars into a bank of your own selection and send the details on to me here. I shall carry out my brother’s wishes if it takes every penny he provided and my own money as well.... Now I know for the first time that it was murder! Marvelously done! Cunningly executed.”

  “Yes, I am afraid that is true,” Johnson sighed. “Not one in a million would suspect it was murder. Not a single clue to go on, either.”

  “It depends what constitutes a clue,” Maria replied. “And incidentally, I believe you can give me a little help. Do you happen to know where I can get in touch with a man named V. L. Onzi? He is some kind of financier, I believe.”

  “The Onzi Financial Trust?” Johnson pursed his lips. “I should imagine the best place would be at their headquarters on Fifty-Sixth Street. Your brother had many dealings with that firm.”

  “So I understand. Do you know anything of them? Their reputation?”

  Johnson gave a rather grim smile. “I’m afraid I know little to be said of them which is favorable. More than once I warned your brother to take care how he dealt with them— I’m afraid though that he was as usual quite confident of himself and disregarded my advice.”

  “Hmm.... I see.”

  Johnson turned to his briefcase again, handed over a copy of the will, and collected his papers. Then he zipped the case shut.

  “I think that’s all for now, Miss Black. I’ll get into touch with you again—and if there is anything I can do to help you in your efforts don’t hesitate to call on me.”

  Maria nodded as she shook hands, bowed him out majestically. Then she gathered up Ralph’s letter, the copy will, and various papers, and hurried up to her room. Locking the door she settled down to make her usual black book entries. Thoughtfully she read what she had already underscored:

  Patricia, disguised by a black wig, has taken a position as professional dancing partner in Maxie’s Dance Hall, a cheap dive in the city. She seems to welcome the attentions of a black-haired, rather sensual-looking person whose name I would like to know. Have tried to get the name of the dance hall’s manager but the waiter withheld it from me. But I shall find it—possibly with the aid of an assistant, for which I feel an increasing need.

  In the library I have found a spring, manifestly from a typewriter. I see no importance attached to it at the moment; but it is perhaps significant that one of the spring loops exactly fits one of the nails sup­porting two guns in the library. I shall endeavor to discover from which machine the spring came.

  “It seems clear that Alice, Janet, Patricia, and Richard all resented Ralph’s domination over them.”

  Taking out her pen, Maria added further notes:

  “Very significant facts have also come to light in regard to Patricia. She has, I believe, helped her lover, one Arthur Salter, to escape from imprisonment. What does puzzle me is the reaction of Alice to this. Her manner has changed amazingly since I pointed out certain facts. It is as though she fears some hitch in a plan, of which I am at present in total ignorance.

  “Patricia has freely admitted a broken spring on her typewriter, so freely it makes me wonder. But it is a mainspring. Janet and Richard also own typewriters. I shall look further.

  “Shall try to contact this Onzi person and unravel the dance hall mystery.

  “N.B. Walters’ eyes are still unsteady. I really begin to think it must be nervous affliction. Time is: 12:40 p.m.”

  Maria put the book away, reread her brother’s letter, then locked it away with the book. As an afterthought she added the spring she had kept in her locket.... Then she studied Pat’s discarded bus ticket. Finally she made up her mind, put the ticket carefully away in her pocket and tidied herself up for lunch.

  Her afternoon plans were mature.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  To Maria lunch seemed to be a rather strained affair. She spent the greater part of it parrying Alice’s quite natural questions con­cerning Johnson, while Alice herself was dearly itching to question the silent Patricia concerning her East Side bus exploit—but she refrained when she saw the warning light in Maria’s eyes. Perhaps the most puzzled of the group seemed to be Janet, though on the whole she maintained her usual air of composure.

  Altogether Maria was glad when the meal was over and she could excuse herself on the grounds of an intended stroll through the city.

  “Expect me when you see me, Alice,” were her parting words—then off she went, attired in her mannish costume and severest hat, with sunshade to match.

  Her first call was at the
Onzi Financial Trust—but she drew a complete blank. No, the president was out of town: no idea when he would be back.... Maria retired, temporarily defeated, and made her next stop at the Bureau of Statistics. Some searching and paying of fees finally obtained for her the marriage records of the past three months. She settled down to a quiet study, notebook be­side her.

  It took her some time to find what she wanted. There were innumerable Arthur Salters and Patricia Blacks—but in one case there was a Patricia Black married to an “Archer Slater, Financial Executive,” on April 29th.

  Maria studied again, then sat back to think, fingering her watch-chain.

  “Slater—Salter. Archer—Arthur. Just enough difference to make it sound like another person. Registry office marriage. Hmm, beyond doubt my guess seems to have been right. Patricia risked all the things she did because Salter is her husband. They married in opposition to Ralph’s wishes.... The different name explains why so far the police have not linked up Patricia with the escaped Salter.... Most interesting! This, I think, is what is known as ‘playing a hunch.’ I have often wanted to do that. And the time has come for an assistant. I must find this Salter person somehow.”

  She got up, returned the records, then inquired of the clerk the quickest route to the center of East Side. He gave her four different alternatives from which she chose the one recorded on Patricia’s bus ticket. A few minutes later she was seated in a bus. When the conductor arrived he eyed her grimly as she handed up Patricia’s ticket.

  “What’s this?” he asked bluntly. “No good to me!”

  “I am fully aware of that, my man. Don’t jump to conclusions! I want you to advise me when we reach the point marked on this ticket.”

  “Eh? Oh, okay. I get it....”

  He handed Maria her ticket and departed. She returned Pat’s ticket to her bag and then resumed her survey of the outer world. The bus ‘peregrinations’ rather confused her sense of direction since she was accustomed to keeping to the left side of the street instead of the right.... Then she noticed that the city buildings were beginning to give place to lower built edifices, narrower streets, gaunter façades indicating the vast tenement houses of the lower quarters of the city. Elevateds stretched their clangor past infinities of windows; innumerable men and women were plying their wares in open markets— Then the conductor gave a shout.