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

by John Russell Fearn

  “...she can think what she likes!” Dick was saying. “I know it looks odd, but I might have spoiled everything by revealing the truth. I don’t trust a soul, not even the best of them, and if the news got to the public before the actual time we’d be sunk.”

  “Quite so, but I think you’re carrying it too far,” came a girl’s voice, and Maria tensed a little as she heard it. It was the voice of the girl she had heard in the night in Dick’s room.

  “Too far or otherwise I’m keeping it hidden.”

  “Maybe I made it sound too good! You ought to have seen that the thing didn’t go off too loudly....”

  “It happened and it’s done,” Dick said grimly; then he went on earnestly, “After all, Jean, we can’t afford to take chances. We agreed on that, didn’t we?”

  “Of course.... Well, I must be going!” There was a pause and a sound like a kiss.

  Maria backed away hastily at the click of the door-latch, flattened herself by the corner wall near a massive dried tree. She watched intently as a slender blonde girl in neat attire hurried swiftly away towards the exit.... Maria waited for a moment or two, then emerged and knocked lightly on Dick’s door.

  “Come right in!” he sang out; then he looked vaguely surprised as Maria came into view.

  “Well, my favorite Aunt!” He seemed rather relieved—possibly because Jean had departed just in time, Maria reflected. Then he went on, “What’s wrong, Aunt? Want to look around? I’ll be glad to show you—.”

  “Some other time, Richard,” Maria broke in. “As a matter of fact I came to borrow your typewriter. You said you had one, and I just have to get my letters done. So I took a little walk and came along. You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not, only— Well, fact is, it isn’t here. I’ve loaned it out to friend of mine.”

  “Oh!” Maria raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you find it a big hindrance in doing your own correspondence?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have very much and I can borrow it back when I want it. Yes,” he continued, elaborating a little, “I lent it to a friend of mine so she can get some typing done.”

  “She? Hmm! I hardly expected she would require it for use as a sewing machine, Richard.... I presume she will be using it?”

  “Pretty well bound to be. It’s—it’s important work.” He looked a trifle uneasy. “I’m awfully sorry, Aunt. If I had known—”

  “I should have acted before when I first mentioned it,” Maria said. “I’ve only myself to blame.... I must say, though, that it seems odd for you to have to share a typewriter, and such a heavy one, with somebody else. With your money and interests why don’t you get another?”

  “Well, there’s a reason. We are doing a job together which needs the same machine to finish it. Can’t use two styles of typewriter. Every machine has a characteristic difference, you know....”

  “I am quite aware of that.” Maria eyed him steadily.

  “So there it is,” he shrugged. “Why not borrow Janet’s? She has a portable you know—better than my heavy thing, any time. She’s singing at the Criterion tonight, so that means that her dressing-room—and presumably her typewriter—will be all set at the theatre. Her maid Mary will be there this morning for certain. The Criter­ion’s only about two hundred yards further into town down this street.”

  “Yes, maybe I’ll try there,” Maria nodded, reflecting. “I’m sorry if I bothered you, Richard,” she added, rather dryly.

  “Bother? Forget it! Only too sorry I can’t accommodate you.... I’m afraid I haven’t time to come along with you, but you’ll find it easily enough.”

  Maria nodded, turned away and wandered to the exit to digest his decidedly vague remarks.

  “The lady friend is presumably Jean,” she muttered. “She has the typewriter. One machine between two seems to suggest a manu­script on which both are engaged. Was she in the house last night, or not? Most extraordinary!”

  She turned it over to herself as she walked along the hot street, finally entered the Criterion stage door.

  “Anybody particklar you want to see, lady?” the doorman asked.

  “Definitely, my man. I have a message for Miss Janet Black, the singer. I’m a relative of hers.”

  “Miss Black ain’t here right now—”

  “I understand her maid is.”

  “Yeah...that’s right. O.K., second door on your left.”

  Maria marched in and rapped the panels of the door in question. A tall girl with dark hair, sallow complexion, and rather sad brown eyes opened the door and looked out questioningly.

  “Yes?”

  “I am Miss Black’s Aunt,” Maria said gravely. “Your mistress is not here yet, I understand?”

  “No, madam, not yet.... Is there a message I can give her?”

  For answer Maria walked calmly into the dressing room and stood gazing round. The maid waited, her mouth setting a little.

  “Is there—?” she began to repeat; but Maria cut her short.

  “Your mistress said I could borrow her portable typewriter, so I have come for it.”

  “Typewriter!” Mary looked astonished for a moment; then she changed to an obvious uneasiness. “I’m sorry, madam, but I can’t take that responsibility on myself. I must have Miss Black’s per­mission first.”

  “Then ring her up,” Maria shrugged. “I’ll sit here and wait.”

  The girl hesitated then picked up the telephone and dialed the residence number. First Walters, then Janet herself squawked in the receiver. Maria sat listening to Mary’s remarks.

  “There’s a lady here, Miss Black—your aunt, she says. She wants to borrow your typewriter.... Yes, that’s right.... Oh, you’ll be over yourself in a few minutes...? Yes, very well, Miss Black.”

  The girl put the receiver back and Maria eyed her questioningly.

  “Miss Black asks if you’ll wait, madam. She’ll be along herself in a few minutes.”

  Maria shrugged, settled herself more comfortably, watched as Mary busied herself with the dressing table and various cosmetics. After a while she spoke again.

  “How long have you been with your mistress, Mary?”

  “About a year, madam.”

  “My niece speaks very highly of you.”

  “I’m glad of that. I do my best; m’m.”

  Maria became silent again. The girl was not given to talking much, that was evident. As she sat on, Maria’s gaze moved to different parts of the dressing room, but she failed to discern the machine for which she had come, unless it was concealed behind the curtains of the hanging wardrobe.

  Then suddenly the door opened and Janet came in quickly, pulling off her gloves.

  “Morning, Miss Black,” Mary said, glancing up.

  “Hello, Mary—good morning. Hello there, Aunt! Hope you haven’t minded waiting for me?”

  “Not at all, Janet—only I fall to see the reason. You surely did not expect somebody was impersonating me for the purpose of borrow­ing your typewriter?”

  Janet laughed. “Heavens, no! It was just that I wanted to have a few words with you and it was pretty well a providential chance that you decided to get in touch with home. Tell you about it in a moment.... Get the typewriter, Mary, will you?”

  The girl turned and searched behind the curtains of the hanging wardrobe. She rummaged about for a few minutes, then withdrew.

  “I’ve just remembered, Miss Black— You sent it to be cleaned and overhauled. Don’t you recall that you told me to take it when we were finishing the last run...? I’d forgotten all about it until now.”

  Janet gave a start. “So I did!” She looked at Maria apolo­getically. “I’m afraid my head is like a sieve, Aunt— Tell you what you do, Mary: go along and get it, will you? Don’t bring it here—have it sent up to the house. Come back here afterwards.”

  “Yes, Miss Black.” The girl hurried into hat and coat and then departed.

  “Silly of me,” Janet smiled. “I’d quite forgotten.”

 
“We all forget things sometimes,” Maria replied ambiguously. “Tell me, Janet, what did you wish to talk to me about?”

  “It’s about Pat.” Janet’s face became suddenly serious. “Some­thing happened this morning just after you left. I still do not properly understand it. Two men called and insisted on seeing Pat privately. They wouldn’t state their business to anybody but Pat, and they were with her for quite a little time. Result was she left the house with them and said that she wouldn’t be long. She looked frightened, Aunt, as I saw her departing. What makes it worse is that Walters tells us the men were from police headquarters.”

  “Police headquarters!” Maria gave a start; then almost at once she had a grip on herself again. “If that be true where would they take her?”

  “Well, the precinct station for our neighborhood is two blocks away. It would be there, I expect. But Aunt, what on earth could they want to—”

  “Obviously the whole thing must be a mistake,” Maria said. “I shall look into it personally.”

  “I’ll come with you—”

  “Frankly, Janet, I would rather you didn’t.”

  “But why not?” Janet asked in wonder. “I’m her sister, am I not? If she is in trouble I want to help.”

  “You cannot help unless you know the nature of the trouble,” Maria said steadily. “It so happens that I do.”

  “You do! What’s she done? Tell me!”

  “I cannot break a confidence, Janet, and you would not expect me to—any more than you would expect me to divulge the secret of your association with Peter Wade.”

  “Oh,” Janet said slowly, “I think I see your meaning.”

  Maria nodded amid turned to the door. Then she paused and looked back thoughtfully.

  “Janet, there is one thing I would like you to make sure of. You have already told me that your maid knows of your association with Peter Wade—but what makes you so sure you can trust her?”

  “Because— Well, because I’m satisfied as to her honesty. You see, I know the family she comes from—everything. Her mother and father ran a store in Columbus, Ohio, which dad bought in to add to his chain stores. So, in a way, I felt it was in the family. Mary’s parents died just after dad had bought their place over and when I was in Columbus Mary came and asked me for a job, hearing through my former maid—who left me to get married—that there was such a position waiting. So I gave it to her. With her parents dead and the business sold Mary had to look for a fresh living.”

  “I see,” Maria reflected. “And you say the girl’s mother and father died just after your father had bought their place over? A bit odd, isn’t it? I don’t imagine they could have been very old.”

  “I didn’t inquire into it,” Janet shrugged.

  “Well, it’s your own responsibility anyway,” Maria said. “I do not think, for myself, that one’s servants should be so conversant with private matters. It doesn’t always do.... I’ll see you later, Janet.”

  Janet nodded, frowning in puzzlement over some of Maria’s remarks.... Then the door closed softly.

  CHAPTER SIX

  On her way to police headquarters Maria only stopped once—and that was at her temporary bank to withdraw enough money to pay off Pulp and his boys in the evening. Then she set off again, was finally shown by the sergeant in charge into the office of Inspector Davis.

  The chief of the neighborhood precinct station was a massive, bull-necked individual with immaculate fair hair and piercing gray eyes. He rose from his desk as Maria entered and drew up a chair.

  “Well, Miss Black?” He glanced down at the card she had handed in.

  “Am I right in assuming, Inspector, that you had my niece, Patricia Black, picked up this morning?”

  “I am afraid so,” he said quietly. “I rather expected some member of the family to come along soon.”

  “What is the charge against her?” Maria demanded.

  Davis resumed his desk. “She is being held in connection with the escape of a prisoner from a penal farm, and on a charge of impeding the path of justice in effecting his recapture. That’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid.”

  “Is there anything to prevent me seeing her?”

  “I guess not. We are keeping her here until her lawyer arrives: she has that right, of course....” Davis pressed a button, gave brief instructions to the man who came in. A moment or two elapsed and then Patricia appeared, a granite-faced woman immediately behind her.

  “Aunt!” Patricia cried, racing forward. “Aunt! Thank Heaven you came along! But—but how did you know of all this? Who told you?”

  “You have Janet to thank.... Now, what is it all about?”

  Pat glanced at the immovable Inspector.

  “He says I’m being held because I spirited Arthur away in my car! Says he has witnesses who can prove it! What’s more, they want me to tell them where Arthur is. But you won’t get anything out of me!” she finished bitterly, swinging round to the desk. “You hear me? He’s innocent, and you shall not take him back—”

  “I understand you’ve sent for your lawyer?” Maria asked.

  “Yes—for Mr. Johnson. He’ll handle everything and I’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Maria was silent for a moment, thinking. Then she got up and led the girl gently to a chair. Rather puzzled, she sat and waited—then Maria turned to the Inspector.

  “In other words, Inspector, it has been discovered that Miss Black here was the woman who aided Arthur Salter to escape from the prison farm?”

  “We’ve enough evidence to prove it,” he assented grimly. “And it’s a pretty serious offence too!” He swung to the girl suddenly. “Young lady, do you realize what sort of a mess you are in?” he demanded. “The more you try and impede us the worse it will be for you. Why not come out into the open and tell us everything you know?”

  “I’m doing nothing and saying nothing without my lawyer,” Patricia retorted, and folded her arms adamantly.

  “I think perhaps I can explain,” Maria stated quietly.

  “You mean—” The Inspector broke off as the door opened again and Johnson was ushered in. He glanced round through his pince-nez and nodded affably.

  “Good morning, Miss Black— Now, Miss Patricia, what’s all this about?” He crossed over to her.

  “They say I helped a convict to escape—”

  “The convict is her husband,” said the Inspector briefly.

  “Her husband!” Johnson exclaimed. “That—that isn’t possible, surely—”

  “We’re satisfied that it is,” the inspector said.

  “Miss Patricia—” Johnson began earnestly, then Maria cut in on him.

  “There is little to be gained by wasting time, Mr. Johnson. Suppose we have the truth? Suppose I tell the truth?”

  Johnson straightened up, eyed her bleakly through his lenses.

  “If you don’t mind, Miss Black, I would prefer to handle this matter in the proper legal manner. I have reasons for thinking that—”

  “Such reasons don’t interest me, Mr. Johnson,” Maria retorted. “I do not intend to have my niece’s already precarious position made worse by a lot of legal chicanery. I have a statement to make, Inspector, and I want it recorded.”

  “Very well.” He pressed another button and a clerk arrived with writing pad and pencil, sat down and waited.

  “Miss Black, can’t I urge you—” Johnson implored.

  “Yes, Aunt, what are you going to say?” Patricia burst out, jumping to her feet. “Just what? You can’t deliberately go and betray me after all you promised! You just can’t! Leave this to Mr. Johnson and everything will be all right.”

  Maria smiled faintly. “I am sorry, Patricia: I have my own way of doing things.... Inspector, my niece here did assist Arthur Salter to escape from the prison farm. She took him first in a borrowed car and then in her own, which was specially prepared to conceal him—”

  “So we found out,” Davis nodded. “Right now we’re most interested in trying t
o find where Salter is hidden. We’ve gotten pretty close, but to be sure would save a load of hard work.”

  “I can tell you—exactly.”

  “Aunt!” Patricia screamed. “You’re throwing him back into their hands—!”

  Maria ignored her outburst and turned to the massive wall map, studied it for a moment, then put her finger on a particular spot.

  “This is where you will find him,” she said calmly. “My niece told me all this last night.”

  “I didn’t! I never—!”

  “If that be so why did you not come sooner and reveal all you knew, instead of waiting to be forced into it?” Davis demanded.

  “For the obvious reason that my niece might have found out about it and so warned Salter to move. As it is, you will be able to catch him.”

  “I see.... Well, Miss Black, your statement coincides exactly with what we already know. I’ll have some men on Salter’s trail right away.”

  Davis turned and gave brief instructions.

  “To think I trusted you!” Pat breathed venomously, her eyes flashing. “To think I was mug enough to believe you wanted to help me! All you have done is smash everything for which I was working! One day, Aunt, I’m going to make you pay for this—to the full!” She swung to the inspector. “Listen to me, you! I helped my husband out of that prison farm so he could direct me in operations to prove his innocence. He is not guilty, I tell you! He’s— Oh, what’s the use?”

  Before the inspector’s calm, unmoved gaze she sat down in her chair again, ran a worried hand through her hair.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Patricia,” Johnson said gently, patting her shoulder. “I’ll get you out. It can be done, you know—”

  “Until such time, take her out,” Davis instructed; then when the door had closed behind her Johnson moved to the desk.

  “Now, Inspector, suppose we—”

  “I have not finished yet, Mr. Johnson,” Maria broke in, then as he looked at her in amazement she turned again to Davis. “Listen, Inspector, I told you the whole truth in regard to this matter because it was the wisest thing to do.... But I also know—in fact I am quite convinced—that my niece is right in declaring her husband to be innocent.”