Quests of Simon Ark

by Edward D. Hoch

  “We’d better be getting over to the funeral parlor,” Shelly interrupted. “It’s nearly noon.”

  Before I could agree, the telephone rang again and I picked it up. “Hello?”

  “I’m glad I could get you, boy.” I recognized the dignified tones of District Attorney Hallison James. “Could you come right out to your sister’s house? Your brother-in-law has been attacked and badly injured.”

  “What? What happened?”

  “We’re not sure yet. Apparently someone was waiting for him when he returned home last night; he was pretty badly beaten.”

  “We’ll be right out,” I said, and hung up.

  I told Shelly and Simon about it while we gathered up our coats. Then we were downstairs and in a taxi bound for Stella and Frank’s house. And once, when I glanced sideways at Simon Ark, I noticed that the casual expression was gone from his eyes.

  Now they were hard and bleak, and very dangerous; and I knew that he’d already seen something we’d missed

  III

  The house was Stella, and to me it always would be. Everything, every little vase and picture and chair, bore her mark. And even now, in the midst of death, Stella seemed still to be there, greeting me as I walked through the door.

  The first thing I saw was Hallison James coming out of the kitchen with a uniformed policeman. “How is he, Hallison?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’ll live; but he’s got a couple of cracked ribs and a bad bump on the head.” I saw him looking at Simon, so I introduced them. Then we all followed Hallison into the bedroom, where a doctor was leaning over Frank Broderick.

  “I’d like to take him to the hospital for X-rays,” the doctor was saying. “I don’t think it’s too serious, but those cracked ribs might be dangerous.”

  “Can you talk yet, Frank?” James asked him.

  “Sure,” the man on the bed mumbled. To me he looked much the same as he had the night before, except for a bandaged head and a bruised cheek. “I don’t know who it was, though. He jumped me just as I came in the door; punched me in the face and then hit me over the head with something.”

  “He must have kicked you a few times, too, judging from those ribs,” the doctor added.

  “Any idea what he was after?” I asked.

  “None at all,” Frank Broderick replied. “The place is pretty well messed up, especially here in the bedroom. Maybe he was just a sneak thief I surprised. If he was trying to kill me or something, I should think he’d have finished the job; I was in no shape to offer much resistance.”

  “Well, go along to the hospital,” Hallison said. “This is Simon Ark, a … gentleman from New York, who’s going to look into the accident. Maybe he’ll turn up something on your assailant as well.”

  “Good,” Frank Broderick said. “As soon as they take the X-rays and get me taped up, I’ll try to come over to the funeral parlor.”

  An ambulance had arrived to take him to the hospital, but as we left I saw Simon Ark call the doctor aside. I moved in close and heard him ask, “Doctor, is there any chance this man’s injuries were self-inflicted?”

  The doctor looked up in surprise. “Two cracked ribs? Not a chance in the world. As near as I can tell without X-rays, it’s a wonder they didn’t cut his lung open. No, people don’t go around cracking their own ribs, or kicking themselves in the chest.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Simon said, and moved back to join Shelly and me.

  “What kind of idea are you playing around with?” I asked him.

  “None; I simply don’t want to overlook any possibilities. The attack on your brother-in-law is most significant, and must be fully investigated.”

  “Your interest seems to have increased considerably, Simon.”

  “It has. Shall we leave for the funeral parlor now? I’m quite anxious to meet the rest of your family.”

  Hallison James drove us back to town, to the squat marble slab of a building that served as Maple Shades’ principal funeral parlor. Uncle Philip and his wife were already there, and while Hallison handled the introductions, I went in to look at the twin coffins that held the bodies of my father and sister.

  Both tops were closed, and I asked Uncle Philip about it.

  “Stella’s face was pretty much cut up when she went through the windshield,” he explained, “so we decided it would be best to keep Richard’s coffin closed as well.”

  I knelt and said a silent prayer for them both, and then returned to the outer room, where Simon Ark was talking with Hallison and Uncle Philip. Shelly and Aunt Rita had disappeared somewhere into the further depths of the place.

  “I just can’t understand this attack on Frank,” my uncle was saying. “There’s no possible reason for it, unless the thing was simply a robbery attempt.”

  “The police are dusting the place for fingerprints,” Hallison told us, reverting to his role of District Attorney. “We hope to get a lead on whoever it was.”

  “All this would have to happen in an election year,” Uncle Philip mumbled.

  “At least they can’t use the old Judges of Hades tag,” Hallison said; “you’re the only one left now, Philip.”

  I saw Simon Ark’s face come alive at the mention of the Judges of Hades. “What’s this?”

  “Just something somebody thought up for a political campaign,” Hallison explained. “It was a painting on an old Greek vase that somebody came across in a book; and, of course, the fact that the boys are always changing the sign …”

  Simon Ark interrupted to ask about this, and we explained the ritual with the Maple Shades sign. “So this is really Hades,” he said, with a slight smile on his face. “You should have told me this over the telephone last night; I’d have been more eager to come.”

  “Anyway,” James continued, “the point was that their court decisions were so lacking in human mercy that they were like the Judges of Hades. And I suppose, if Philip here will forgive me saying it, that there was something to it. The case of Frank Broderick is a perfect example.”

  “I’d be interested in knowing more about that myself,” I said.

  “Well, it seems that Frank Broderick owned some land that was to be used for a large shopping center. He’d bought the land for that express purpose, sinking most of his money into the deal. Just as he was about to close a deal with the backers of the shopping center, the local government re-zoned that particular piece of property into a residential area. Of course Frank fought it, claiming the town government had known of the plans for the shopping center, and had originally approved them. He took the case to court on the grounds that the re-zoning should not be allowed to interfere with the already-approved shopping center.”

  He paused a moment to light a cigar, the continued. “Well, Frank’s father-in-law drew the case. Of course he should have disqualified himself at once, on the grounds of personal relationship with the plaintiff. He must have known, as everyone else did, that whatever decision he reached would immediately be thrown out by a higher court. But he sat on the case anyway, and he ruled against his son-in-law on the zoning battle. And while the high court was busy reprimanding him, and tossing out the decision, the shopping center backers got tired of waiting and bought another location.”

  “With the result,” Uncle Philip interjected, “that Frank was forced to sell the property at a loss of around fifteen thousand dollars. I suppose at times I can’t blame him for his hatred of Richard and myself.”

  “And this is the reason for the enmity between my father and Stella?” I asked.

  “That was the main cause,” Uncle Philip agreed, “though of course there were others. After this shopping center deal fell through, your father blamed Frank for the Judges of Hades tag. It could never be proven, but I suspect myself that it was Frank’s way of getting back at us.”

  Some people were arriving to pay their last respects to the dead, and Uncle Philip and his wife hurried off. Shelly, Simon Ark, Hallison and I remained in the outer room. After a moment Simon rose and strod
e to the window. I followed him and we stood together looking out at the drifting snowflakes.

  “What is it, Simon?” I asked at last, because I knew there was something bothering him.

  “I don’t quite know,” he answered. “Is your local library open on Saturdays?”

  “It always used to be. Why?”

  “If you can get away from here for a while and accompany me, we might possibly learn some facts of mild interest.”

  That was enough for me. I left Shelly in Hallison’s care, made my excuses to the others, and we were off.

  “Now what’s all this about?” I asked Simon as we walked briskly through the snow toward the library.

  “Well … it probably means nothing; but since my arrival here, all of these people have been most silent on one point.”

  “Which point is that, Simon?” I asked him.

  “No one has even mentioned the third judge.”

  “The third judge?”

  “Certainly! Your knowledge of Greek vase paintings is most limited, my friend. There were always three Judges of Hades …”

  The low, sprawling building that housed the meager collection of the Maple Shades Public Library was all but deserted when we entered. Here and there a high school student was busily pondering over thick volumes, but otherwise we seemed to be the only customers. Simon Ark went immediately to the librarian and asked to see the file of local newspapers covering the last election of judges.

  She gave him a curious look and then disappeared into the rear. Presently she returned, bearing a large bound volume that was already beginning to show signs of wear.

  Simon turned quickly to the October issues of Maple Shades’ single daily newspaper and ran over the columns of political news he found there. Finally we found what we sought, buried halfway down a column reporting on a speech of the previous night: “In an obvious reference to the three men running on the rival ticket, he said further that he does not want to see our courts presided over by the ‘Judges of Hades.’ This apparently was a reiteration of the charges that some recent court decisions have been unfair, and that jail sentences have been extremely harsh.”

  “Well, said Simon, “there it is! There were three Judges of Hades, in Maple Shades as well as in ancient Greece. Now if we can only find something about the third man …”

  “But what good will that do?” I wanted to know. “It still won’t tell us about the accident; or about who attacked Frank Broderick last night.”

  “You never know. Sometimes the truth lurks in unlikely places … Here!” He pointed to the picture of a political rally on the front page of one of the papers. The photo showed a vast crowd of people, gathered before a platform on which three men stood, their hands linked above their heads in a symbol of victory. I recognized my father and Uncle Philip as two of the men. The third was a well-built man who appeared to be quite a bit younger. That was about all we could tell from the screened newspaper photo.

  “Here’s his name,” I pointed out to Simon. “Conrad Mara. He apparently was running for his second term as county judge.”

  Simon Ark grunted. “Conrad Mara … A most significant name.”

  “Significant? What’s significant about it? It’s not too uncommon a name.”

  “It is significant nevertheless. Let us look further and see what happened to Conrad Mara.”

  We looked and read; we followed the day-by-day activities of Maple Shades all through the month of October, through the fires and births and deaths, and all the common little things that happened in any small town.

  Finally we came to Election Day, and the day after.

  There was my father’s picture, smiling out at me from the printed page, and there was Uncle Philip smiling next to him. They had won; they had been re-elected to another term in office.

  But there was no picture of Conrad Mara.

  There was no mention of Conrad Mara.

  We looked at the tabulations and found his name, but he had run far behind his opponent; there was no mention of him elsewhere in the paper.

  Simon closed the heavy volume and returned it to the librarian. “Maybe you can be of some assistance,” he told her. “We’re seeking information about Conrad Mara. He used to be a county judge here …”

  “No,” she replied, “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I know nothing of Conrad Mara.” She turned away from us and walked quickly to the rear.

  Simon Ark sighed and I followed him out into the street. “Where to now?”

  “Back to the funeral parlor, to see if we can find anyone who wants to tell us about Mara.”

  “But why is he so important, Simon?”

  “My friend,” he answered slowly, “as you know, I have pursued Satan and his works for many centuries, and I have seen him in a variety of guises. I have seen him as a desert chieftain and a crusading knight, and even as a baldheaded monk. He comes, and he lives among people for a time, and then he goes.”

  I was used to hearing Simon talk like this, and I knew that it was not just talk. Whether he was a mortal man like the rest of us, or something more, I’d probably never know. But when he talked like this I listened.

  “Are you trying to say that this Conrad Mara was the devil in disguise?”

  “I don’t yet know for certain. But something brought the evil to Maple Shades, something brought the evil that struck down your father and sister. Because evil comes like a wet summer wind, clutching at a town, seeping into every crevice until no one is safe from it.”

  “But why Conrad Mara more than anyone else?”

  “Because he is no longer here. Because he has moved on, as Satan always must, after his work is done.”

  “But why Mara?”

  “My friend,” he answered, “do you know who Mara was?”

  “Who he was?”

  “Not this Mara, but the original one—many centuries ago.”

  “Mara? No, I’m not familiar with the name in history.”

  “‘Mara’ was the name given to the devil in writings of Buddha …”

  “Oh, come on now, Simon! Mara is a fairly common Italian name; you’ll find it in almost any phone book.”

  “And perhaps, my friend, Conrad Mara is just a simple Italian judge. But then again, perhaps he is more. We must wait and see.”

  He was excited now, in that quiet way I knew so well. He was on the trail, on the trail of something big and very evil. The memory of his original purpose in visiting Maple Shades was now buried deep in his mind, and he was the man I’d first known, so many years ago.

  IV

  We reached the funeral parlor and while I spoke briefly to the few visitors I still remembered, I noticed Simon motioning my uncle into the next room. When I could break free I joined them in time to hear Uncle Philip saying, “I have nothing to say, Mister Ark. Judge Mara is gone and that is all you need to know. He left town well over a year ago, and could have no possible connection with the accident.”

  Simon Ark sighed. “Is that all you have to say?”

  “That’s all,” said my uncle, and hurried back to join his wife and the other mourners.

  “Now what?” I asked Simon.

  “We must find out,” he answered. “I’m convinced that Conrad Mara was the cause of the evil here.”

  “It does seem strange that no one will talk about him. Look, there’s Hallison James. Let’s ask him.”

  Hallison joined us, glad to relax from the tiring chore of greeting visitors. “Where have you fellows been?”

  “At the library, Hallison,” I said. “Trying to find out something about the third Judge of Hades, Conrad Mara.”

  Hallison’s smile faded. “We’d rather forget about Mara.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not something we discuss here in Maple Shades,” he said, and there was a note of finality in the words.

  “Well, can you tell us where he went when he left here?” Simon asked.

  “To hell, I imagine,” James replied.

 
“You mean he’s dead?”

  “No, no, he still lives; I think he’s in Cincinnati somewhere.”

  “And where did he come from?” Simon asked, his face tense as he waited for the reply.

  “Well, that’s a long story. Philip could probably tell you more about it than I could.”

  “Philip won’t talk,” I told him.

  “Then I’ll tell you as much as I know. Philip and your father met Conrad Mara in Havana, back in 1937. You were still in your late teens then, but you’ll remember that they went down to Havana for the first Daiquiri Bowl football game on that New Years’ Day. Rita went along, too, but your mother was too sick to go; she stayed home with you and Stella.”

  I remembered. It was nearly twenty years, but I remembered. The details of those last few years at home still stood out clearly in my mind.

  “Well,” Hallison continued, “as you probably remember, there was a huge sports carnival in Cuba that month, just after Battista took over the government. Villanova and Auburn, I think, were the teams who played in that one and only Daiquiri Bowl game. Anyway, somewhere during the festivities the two judges met this Conrad Mara, a widower living in Havana with his ten-year-old son. He had a small law practice, but apparently he was interested in coming back to the States. After Philip and Richard returned, they kept corresponding with Mara, and pretty soon he did come up here, to Maple Shades. He’d found some people to take care of his son, and he came up here to set up a law practice. And before long he was a judge, along with the other two …”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. He was defeated in the last election and he moved to Cincinnati. That’s all I know …”

  I sighed reluctantly and turned to Simon. “That answer your questions?”

  Hallison James left us, and Simon stood for some minutes watching the visitors entering and leaving the house of the dead. I took a minute to call the hospital and ask about Frank Broderick’s condition. He was in fair shape, and they were just keeping him overnight for observation. He’d be released in the morning.