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

by John Russell Fearn

  “So I imagine,” Maria nodded. “Tell me, if Patricia suspected her father had hatched a plot against you why didn’t she speak of it at the trial?”

  “Because cross-questioning would have produced the truth about our marriage, would have cast a blight on her father’s business activity, and, even if I had been released through it, would still have left me open to her father’s attacks upon me. Somehow, somewhere, he would have got me in the end—and probably Pat too for her defiance of his wishes. She was mortally afraid of him.”

  “Few seem to have been endeared to him,” Maria sighed: then she brisked again, “This Ransome person: is he a big man with thick, greasy black hair and a cherubic face?”

  “Right! Looks as though he oozes perpetual innocence.... So you’ve seen him, too?”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t then aware of his identity....” Maria reflected for a while. “Then on the night of my brother’s death you were somewhere between here and Jamestown, with Patricia?”

  “Correct,” Salter said quietly. “And I assure you I did not kill Ralph Black, though I’d have done it with pleasure had I been asked. I wouldn’t be crazy enough to do it with the police on my tail, anyway. Ask Pat for yourself! She’ll tell you.”

  “Perhaps.... Patricia has little regard for me, young man.”

  “Only because she is scared to death for my safety and her own,” Salter insisted. “She was afraid when you turned up and started poking about that you’d find out about me and— Well, I guess she was right at that. You have found out! If you choose you can turn her in along with me; naturally she is an accessory after the fact. I really promise you, though, that all she is trying to do is clear me. And she’s got to work fast. The police are already closing in around me; so the paper said this morning. Pat dashed over to tell me. I may have to move on.”

  “You definitely believe,” Maria mused, “that if we could somehow get a stranglehold on this Ransome person he could be forced into confessing you were—er—framed?”

  “Definitely. He’d get some stooge to take a dive.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Pulp, who had been picking his teeth with a match-stalk, broke in with an explanation.

  “He means that this Ransome guy would find some other mug in need of money, and would then pay him off enough sugar to make it worth his while to say he framed the crime. He’d get a stretch, but it would pay him. That’s the way the racket works sometimes, I guess. Just one of those things.”

  “Amazing!” Maria exclaimed. Then, “I think Patricia has been very short-sighted to keep all this to herself, though I quite see her point of view. I shall look into this for myself, young man. I have been waiting to get this Ransome person where I could nail him and I can perhaps do it.... Don’t you worry: I shan’t give you away. But I shall seek Patricia’s confidence.”

  “You will!” Salter cried. “That’s fine of you! Honestly, I—”

  “I will see to it that you get some news as we progress—probably through Mr. Martin here,” Maria went on. “And now we must be getting along. You’ll have to lock this door as best you can. I’m afraid Mr. Martin was a trifle forcible.”

  Salter moved with them to the dim opening.

  “I think you’re a swell relation, Aunt Maria,” he murmured, grasping her hand. “If you get Pat and me our of this fix we’ll never forget you for it.”

  “I shall bear it in mind,” Maria smiled. “Come, Mr. Martin....”

  They descended the ladder once more and retraced the course they had taken back into the street again. For a long time they walked side by side in silence under the dim lights, then Pulp began to scratch his head.

  “Frankly, Black Maria, I don’t get the hang of this set-up at all!” he confessed worriedly. “All that stuff you and that guy spilled is so much bunk to me. I thought you was a crook—a master mind. Now I find you mixed up in a murder rap.”

  “I am solving one, Mr. Martin. I am not a criminal, but a crime investigator. Now I know you better I can admit it. I am Black Maria, England’s greatest woman criminologist!”

  “Yeah? Well, blow me down!”

  Maria reveled in her white lie for a moment, then said seriously, “This is my greatest case, Mr. Martin. My brother was mur­dered, and I am at work discovering who did it.”

  “Whaddaya know!” Pulp whistled.

  “Not half as much as I’d like,” Maria sighed. “There are so many suspects, and every one seems to have a sound motive. But the trouble is that each one has also a perfect alibi. Yet somebody murdered my brother, and with such fiendish ingenuity it was passed as suicide. I can only find the culprit by gradual elimination of suspects. That I am accomplishing, little by little—and in the course of dealing with others I expect to have more work for you.”

  “Swell!” Pulp rubbed his hands. “Say the word!”

  “Listen carefully then....” Maria stopped under a lamp. “You heard Salter mention Maxie’s Dance Hall? Do you know it?”

  “Nope.”

  “A pity. I’m not familiar with New York myself, either: I don’t quite know how to direct you to it—”

  “Don’t let that worry you,” Pulp grinned. “I’ll find it pronto if you’ve work for me to do.”

  “Excellent! Yes, I have work for you—much more complicated than anything you have done so far. I shall, for instance, need the services of a safe-breaker. One who is an extremely fast technician.”

  Pulp did not even hesitate. “I know the guy you want—‘Fingers’ Watson. But his rates are high. Depends on the size of the safe.”

  “I don’t know its size,” Maria said, frowning. “What I want is to have this man Ransome’s safe rifled and all its papers removed. I reason that he will not call in the law because that might reveal what the papers contain. You know where the safe is—in the back of Maxie’s Dance Hall, presumably in a sort of office. What size of a safe do you expect it will be?”

  “Wall safe probably, usually hidden behind books, flowers, or a pitcher. Guess a jog like that has a risk—cost you five hundred bucks at least. You’ll get good work from Fingers, though, take it from me.”

  “I haven’t the money now, but you have my assurance that it will be paid on the nail tomorrow. You can trust me.”

  “Sure I can!” Pulp nodded. “What’s the layout when I get hold of Fingers?”

  “I flatter myself my plan is distinctly ingenious,” Maria mused. “Ransome’s safe could be robbed at night, but it is more than likely that he will have men on night guard. Therefore the time for such a robbery is undoubtedly when the place is in full swing and packed with dancers and diners. At that time any guard there may be will be at its laxest. Then, while a specially staged riot is in progress—which will, so to speak, draw Ransome’s fire in an effort to quell it—Fingers will reach the office by any means he chooses and do the job. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Martin?”

  “It’s a natural!” Pulp breathed in awe. “An’ of course you want me to start the riot?”

  “Exactly! I shall be present in the dance hall: the waiter knows me by now. I shall be on the balcony to give signals where necessary. My niece Patricia will be there too—at least, I expect so. She is the wife of the man Salter we’ve just been talking to. You will see that no harm comes to her once I’ve pointed her out to you.”

  “Okay. I’ll dig up some of the boys to make the riot look extra good. For my own part I’ll work for half pay; I get plenty of pleasure out of a fight. The boys will want fifty smackers apiece though. Three of ’em should be enough. Reckon me at twenty-five smackers and we’re all set.”

  Maria calculated quickly. “Altogether, with Fingers, a total of six hundred and seventy-five dollars. Splendid! It will be given to you without fail tomorrow night. You will meet me on the opposite side of the street to Maxie’s Dance Hall at exactly midnight. Keep your colleagues out of sight. Understand?”

  Pulp nodded.

  “Then I’ll say good night,” Maria smiled. “Here
are two more dollars for your trouble and extra valuable aid.”

  He took them, nodded, then caught her arm. “I’m sort of for­gettin’ my manners,” he said briefly. “A long time since I had to use them, I guess. You’ll want a bus back home. Bit of a twisty way back to Three-Shot’s street. Let’s go.”

  Holding her protectively he marched her through the frowning abysses of dark streets. She was glad that he did: they passed more than one unsavory individual on the way.... And so they returned to the bright lights of the main street. The last Maria saw of her mighty henchman as she looked back from the bus was his big paw waving to her energetically.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Weary from her excursions Maria crawled rather than walked up the steps of the Black residence. It was just ten minutes to midnight when Walters admitted her. He looked at her rather doubtfully, but made no comment: then later when she saw herself in the hall mirror she realized what had made his wavering eyes jump. She was covered in dirt and dust, must have been seated in the bus with her face streaked in cobwebs. At least it had been fairly dim and mainly deserted. That was one consolation.

  “Has the mistress retired, Walters?” she asked briefly, as she crossed the hall.

  “Yes, madam. Miss Janet and Miss Patricia have also retired. The mistress said I was to wait up for your return. Supper was placed in your room a little while ago.”

  “Thank you.... Mr. Richard is out, I presume?”

  “At his cabaret, madam.... Will that be all?”

  “I think so. Good night, Walters.”

  “Good night, madam.”

  Maria turned her weary feet to the stairs and went up slowly. She had spoken to Walters without turning, ashamed of her dirty appearance. That he was curious was obvious, only— Maria gave herself a little shake of impatience. No use thinking things about him again: she was too tired for it anyway. In spite of it, however, she kept herself alert enough to enter up her notes—

  “Patricia and Arthur Salter (under name of Archer Slater) are married. Salter was sent to prison on a false charge arranged by Hugo Ransome (otherwise Onzi) at the instigation of Ralph. Patricia is trying to clear up charge on her husband, in which effort her Maxie’s Dance Hall excursion is explained. Shall endeavor to aid her.

  “Janet has complicated matters. I found her tonight walking through an East Side park with her (so she says) fiancé, one Peter Wade, former big composer now suffering hard times.

  “Peter Wade and Arthur Salter both have had excellent motives for wishing Ralph dead. For that matter I am much appalled by the gradual revelation of Ralph’s cruelty and personal domination.

  “Have contacted an excellent ‘stooge’ in the person of one Mr. Martin.

  “I have the feeling that instead of solving this problem I am only adding more names to the list of possible murderers. However, I shall not give in.

  “The time is exactly—12:32 a.m.”

  Maria put her pen away, read her notes through to date while she ate her supper.... She had put the book away and was preparing for bed when she heard a faint sound on the landing outside her door. A grim smile touched her lips. She waited a moment or two, switched off the lights, then opened her bedroom window and peered into the night. She was just in time to see Patricia’s light-coated form dis­appearing along the quiet vista.

  “No wonder you spend so much time trying to recover sleep, my dear,” Maria sighed. “But you have courage—fine courage. For that there must finally be a reward.”

  She yawned, closed the window, and literally fell into bed. Her next conscious thought was of hearing a woman’s voice crying desperately for help! Blinking, she sat up. It was still, dark. With a frown she strained her ears and caught brief sentences, high-pitched with hysteria.

  “I don’t care! You can’t do this thing to me! You can’t, I tell you—!”

  “Shut up, damn you!” snapped the voice of a man; and there followed a sound not unlike a slap in the face. After that the talking stopped suddenly.

  Maria sat waiting, her head bent towards the wall from which the sounds seemed to have come. Next to her room was Dick’s. Could it be that he—? Maria was a woman of action. She jumped out of bed into slippers, bundled on her dressing gown and made for the door. In a moment she had stalked along the corridor to Dick’s room and knocked sharply.

  “Richard! Richard, what is the matter in there? Richard!”

  A click followed a moment later as a key was turned. The door swung wide and Dick stood there. He was fully dressed, cigarette smoldering at the corner of his mouth, his hair tousled, a light silk gown over his shirt and trousers.

  “Why, Aunt! Whatever’s wrong ” He looked at her in con­cern.

  Her cold blue eyes searched his face for a moment. Then she said curtly, “There is nothing wrong with me, Richard—but there does seem to be something wrong in here! I heard voices—a man’s and a woman’s. The man’s voice was undoubtedly yours!”

  “Huh?” He stared at her, then momentarily his face hardened. It was the same bitter expression she had once seen him register in the library when he had referred to his father’s refusal to finance his cabaret enterprises. It went just as quickly too and with a rather crooked smile he asked, “Just what kind of a guy do you think I am?”

  “I don’t know, Richard—really I don’t.” Maria’s lips tightened. “But I know I heard you and a woman arguing in here!”

  He scratched his head. “Well, okay if you say so—but I guess you must have been dreaming. Come in—convince yourself.”

  He stood aside and Maria walked in slowly. All the lights were on and there was certainly no sign of disturbance. Nor was there any place where anybody could possibly hide—except the wardrobe. But this was open, as it happened, all parts of it with clothes included. There was nothing there.

  “Well?” Dick asked quietly, crushing out his cigarette in a tray.

  Maria turned, feeling for a watch-chain that was not there. She gave a little shrug.

  “I’m afraid it looks as though I have been making myself very absurd, Richard....” She looked towards the window. The curtains were only partly drawn but it was enough to show her that there was no balcony outside on which anybody could have hidden.

  “Very absurd,” she repeated, turning to face him. “Yet I could have sworn....”

  “You dreamed it,” he said, with a rather fixed smile. “You know, dreams do the oddest things to people sometimes. And anyway, even assuming for one moment there were grounds for your belief, why should you be the only one to hear? Pat’s room is next to this one and she’s a very light sleeper. She’d have been in here like a shot.... Yet she isn’t.”

  “No, she isn’t.” Maria compressed her lips. Since Pat­ricia was right out of the house anyway her non-appearance was hardly surprising.

  “We can go and ask her if you like,” Dick volunteered.

  “No—no! It would be silly, indeed unfair, to wake her up because of a silly fancy of mine.” Maria relaxed and smiled. “I’m sorry, Richard: forgive a fanciful middle-aged lady, will you?”

  He put an arm about her shoulder as she reached the door.

  “I don’t want my favorite aunt to start having nightmares,” he said seriously. “First sign of illness, remember, and that will never do! Tell you what! I’ll leave my door open tonight and if you cry out or anything I’ll have mother come and see you. How’s that?”

  Maria gave him a rather anxious look. “It really isn’t necessary, Richard. You’ll be in a draught—”

  “I’m used to draughts: stages are full of them. You leave it to me,” he smiled, urging her gently into the corridor.

  “Well, I— All right,” she shrugged, rather hopelessly, and returned to her own room. One fact was uppermost in her mind at the moment: when Patricia returned it was almost inevitable that Dick would hear her, even see her pass his open doorway. And then—

  “Matters might get even more complicated than they are,” Maria muttered to herself.
“If the enemy close in, follow their methods—­so says Desmond in his Outshooting the Shooters. Right!”

  She opened her own door slightly, drew up a chair to it, and sat down to wait, thinking. She was still by no means convinced that the voices she had heard were the products of a nightmare. Quite the contrary, in fact. But the lack of substantiation...? Then she abandoned speculations for the moment, as there came a faint sound from the cavern of the hall. It was followed by a soft creak ever and again from the stairs, coming ever nearer the corridor. Maria rose, flung the door wide, and permitted a fan of light to shine on the dumbfounded Patricia. For a moment she was paralyzed. She had on her white coat and hat, black wig, and was carrying her shoes in one hand. Her green eyes stared in obvious horror at the sight of Maria’s forbidding figure in its dressing gown.

  Before the girl could cry out Maria raised a finger warningly, then motioned her inside the room, closed and locked the door behind her.

  “Well?” Patricia asked coldly. “I always thought you were a confounded old snooper and now I’m sure of it!”

  “Put your shoes on, Patricia, before you catch cold,” Maria replied calmly; then as the girl impatiently did so she went on, “I had intended delaying this little talk, but it seems as opportune now as at any time. You might as well know that the door of Richard’s room is wide open. He’d probably have seen you pass.”

  “So what? I could deal with him.”

  “No doubt, but why waste time in doing that when the truth is so much simpler? You see, Patricia, I know just what you are up to and where you’ve been tonight.”

  The green eyes smoldered. “That isn’t possible!”

  “Oh, yes it is, Maisie Gray!”

  Patricia pulled off her hat and wig, shook free her blonde hair. “Who told you that?” she asked, her lips set.

  “I found it out,” Maria shrugged. “And the time has come, Patricia, when you are going to listen to what I have to say.”

  “Not if I know it!” she retorted. “I’ve had about enough of your confounded poking about! Who do you—”