“I’m afraid that doesn’t concern me, Miss Black,” Davis shrugged. “I was instructed to go to work on Miss Patricia Black. Judge and jury convicted Arthur Salter. In the eyes of the law, therefore, he is an escaped convict.”
“Suppose,” Maria said quietly, “his innocence were proven to the hilt by facts which might still come to light?”
“If there were facts enough to show that Salter was wrongfully convicted the District Attorney would use his discretion concerning a re-opening of the trial. If he went that far, you could take it as pretty well sure that Salter would be acquitted.... But the evidence would have to be extremely convincing, I promise you that.”
Maria nodded slowly and looked at the two men in turn.
“This morning,” she said rather bitterly, “I have had to perform a most unpleasant task. I deliberately betrayed the confidence of my niece in order to save her. Mr. Johnson, I do not wish you to press for her release. I want her kept in custody—and her husband too.”
“He will be,” Davis said grimly. “If you’ve gotten the facts rightly we’ll have him under lock and key in an hour. If not, then I’m afraid I shall have to ask you some more questions.”
“It’s right enough,” Maria said; then she thought for a moment. “Once he is returned here, what happens?”
“He’ll be sent back to the Jamestown prison farm under guard.”
“When?”
“By tomorrow at the latest—once I’ve made out my report to the proper quarter.”
“And in the event of fresh vital evidence being in your hands before he is sent back, what then?”
“In that case it might be considered expedient to hold him here in case a retrial should be decided upon.”
“There will be a retrial with the evidence I intend to get!” Maria stated firmly. Then as Johnson and the inspector looked at her rather doubtingly, she went on, “I want my niece and her husband kept under lock and key so that they may be kept safe from the possible consequences of my future actions. I know the real causes behind Arthur Salter’s arrest, and I know he is innocent—but the finding of the right evidence might endanger the lives of both my niece and her husband. Now you know why I had to break confidence with the girl.”
“Just what are you proposing to do?” Johnson asked ominously.
“I’m afraid that will have to remain my secret, Mr. Johnson.” Maria booked at him levelly for a moment, then turned to Davis again. “Well, Inspector, I have co-operated with you. Now you co-operate with me by holding Salter until at least noon tomorrow.”
He rubbed his chin, then nodded. “O.K.—that can’t make much difference— But that’s the deadline! And I hope you fully realize what you’re doing,” he added bluntly.
“Completely, Inspector.... You have nothing further to ask of me, have you?”
“Not right now. I know where to find you, if I do.”
Maria nodded, turned to the lawyer. “You had better come with me, Mr. Johnson. I’d like a word with you.”
Out in the corridor he looked at her in mystification. “Just what are you driving at, Miss Black?”
“I’m hunting a murderer, you know that. And—”
“Yes, yes, I know that—but how did Miss Patricia get into this mess?“
“I’m afraid that’s a long story, Mr. Johnson, and in any case it does not touch on the point. What does matter is that I believe I can now take a shortcut to the possible murderer. The evidence I need, as I see it at present, is in the hands of one Hugo Ransome, otherwise known as Onzi, the financier. Ah! You begin to see! By the plan I have devised I can clear Arthur Salter and Patricia and get a stranglehold on Ransome at the same time.”
“So Ransome is Onzi!” Johnson breathed; then he shook his head gravely. “I don’t like it, Miss Black. Ransome is very dangerous! The police have tried practically everything to get some evidence to convict him, but they’ve never managed it. They know he’s guilty of countless crimes, murder included, but there’s never any proof. He always has plenty of shyster lawyers to help him, too.”
“Even shyster lawyers, as you term them, could not twist the right kind of evidence,” Maria said firmly.
“No, I suppose not. But think of the danger to yourself—”
“That doesn’t concern me. I have a most trustworthy bodyguard, believe me. But I shall need your help, on the legal side. You will know at a glance whether the evidence I intend to get is worthwhile or not. So be at home tonight. I shall probably call on you somewhere after midnight. You might let me have your home address.”
He handed over his card, studied her through his glasses.
“I begin to understand now why your brother so often referred to you as a very remarkable woman,” he sighed. “Since I cannot dissuade you, I can at least wish you luck.”
She smiled, shook the hand he held out, then on the building steps she left him and caught the bus for home. Alice was the first person she encountered as she entered the hall.
“Maria dear, have you seen Pat?” she asked anxiously. “Two men called and asked her to go with them. I’ve been on tenterhooks ever since. Walters says they were policemen—”
Maria took her arm and led her into the lounge, closed the door. Then she motioned to a chair.
“Perhaps you’d better take this sitting down, Alice.... You will remember me saying that Patricia might have helped the convict to escape from the prison farm at Jamestown?”
“Arthur Salter? Yes, of course—”
“She did,” Maria stated. “And what is more, Salter and Patricia have been married for some time, since just before Ralph died, in fact.”
“Married!” Alice shrieked, jumping up. “What are you saying? She would never do a thing like that! She— What have the police done to her?” she snapped.
“They have arrested her in connection with young Salter’s escape. Don’t look so overwhelmed, Alice. This is only the beginning. I could have let Johnson bail Patricia out, but I preferred that she be left in custody.”
“You...preferred?” Alice stared dumbfounded.
“For vital reasons....” And Maria detailed them, leaving out only such facts as she deemed necessary. When she had finished Alice waved her hands hopelessly in the air.
“Just what are things coming to, I wonder? My daughter posing as an unknown in a cheap dance hall in order to get evidence! Prostituting her divine adagio artistry as a professional partner! My son-in-law an escaped convict! My sister-in-law crossing swords with the biggest gangster in town—! Lord, Maria, what sort of a woman are you?”
“Just a determined woman,” Maria smiled. “You don’t have to worry: I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“So I should hope! If you fail you may lose your life. And think of the scandal! The Black name smeared right across the front page!”
“It has happened before—when Ralph committed suicide,” Maria reminded her.
“Why refer to that?” Alice snapped.
“I am merely remarking that one scandal is no worse than another.... However, you may safely leave everything in my hands. Now I must go and tidy up for lunch.”
Maria went off resolutely and at the bottom of the staircase found Walters intercepting her.
“Begging your pardon, madam, but a typewriter has been sent for you. I had it sent up to your room.”
“Oh, yes....” Maria had almost forgotten. “Thank you, Walters.”
She hurried on her way upstairs, locked her room door, then turned and whipped the lid off the portable machine. Her lips compressed as she gazed. It was not a new typewriter, but it had been so thoroughly cleaned and overhauled it could nearly have passed for one. Certainly it was not what she had expected to see.
Sitting down, she picked it up and tipped it about in various directions, studying it minutely, pressing the various parts, examining the springs. There was nothing the matter with it, apparently. Certainly it was impossible to tell if any springs had been replaced. They were all oil
ed alike.
At last she put the machine down and frowned, tugging at her watch-chain. Then she got out her book and wrote steadily:
“Patricia is in the hands of the police for aiding her husband, Arthur Salter, in a prison farm escape.
“Tonight I shall launch my plan for saving the pair of them and getting possible further evidence that may lead me to the murderer of Ralph.
“This morning I found a wine glass smashed (in a most unique fashion) without any apparent reason.... Last night I distinctly heard a woman arguing with Richard in his room, and this morning I think I know who the woman was. Her name is Jean (Christian name). I have yet to tie up the bedroom incident. I have also to find out why Richard keeps his typewriter out of my way. Is he afraid of something?
“Have seen Janet’s maid. Drab, uninteresting girl—but I am prepared to suspect anybody and will consider her carefully. Janet’s typewriter has been overhauled, destroying all clues there might have been.
“Points to solve: smashed wine glass; bedroom mystery; and above all what was it that was used in the library as well as a spring, to cause the thinner scratch on the lower X nails?
“Cannot understand Janet’s manner: seems to be cooling a little towards me. Patricia believes I have betrayed her. Alice is devastated by events.... Has ‘Cresty’ the parrot any possible connection with this puzzle? Perhaps—because he is a first-class imitator of voices and of Janet’s singing voice in particular.
“Re Janet’s maid: The girl’s parents died and made it necessary for her to find work. She found it with Janet. Why did they die? They could not have been very old judging from Mary, and their business (hardware) was not exacting. Seems odd to me that it happened after Ralph had bought over their business. This is well worth an investigation.... The time is 12:43 p.m.
“Altogether, a web with numberless strands,” Maria sighed, reading through her earlier notes, then putting the book away. “Either the creator of this murder scheme had great intelligence or else it was planned by more than one person....”
She mused over that for a moment, her eyes narrowed—then with a shrug she turned aside and began to tidy herself in readiness for lunch.
* * * *
During lunch, which Alice and Maria had alone since Dick and Janet remained absent and Pat could obviously not appear, very little conversation was exchanged. Alice was clearly moody, worried, ate but little. Maria’s appetite was unimpaired and when she talked at all it was mainly of irrelevancies.... Altogether she was glad when the meal was over and she could excuse herself on the pretext of at last typing out her letters. Maria believed in exactitude. She had borrowed a machine for the intended purpose of doing correspondence: it was the first law in Nathan’s Deluding the Suspect, therefore, that she must corroborate her original motive and thereby destroy all possible suspicion of an ulterior reason.
So, once in her room, she spent most of the afternoon typing—but not letters. Instead she compiled a typed dossier of her discoveries to date.
Once during the work she heard Alice walk along the corridor; that quick, light tread was unmistakable. It was certain she must have heard the machine. Then Dick returned home for his afternoon rest before turning out again in the evening. He too must have heard the machine. Maria smiled grimly and went on clicking industriously.... There were no signs of Janet: presumably she was hard at work on rehearsals.
“Anyway,” Maria mused to herself, when at last she had the sheets clipped together, “it might serve to convince them that my aim was letters and not a search for a spring....”
She read through her notes thoughtfully, yet though they now embodied every fact she still saw little real light.
“That wine glass...?” She tugged her watch-chain. “Yes, the wine glass. I am convinced there is something there—a pivot on which the whole issue can turn.”
She did not flog her brain to try and grasp a solution, however. That was not her way. Instead she put her notes away and, knowing what the night had ahead of her, calmly went to bed. It was late evening when she awoke. She found she had missed dinner—a fact that satisfied her because she was in no mood for talking. When she reached the lounge she found Alice there alone, listening to the radio. Again Maria was complacent: conversation was once more precluded. But after a while Alice switched the radio off as she saw Maria regard her watch and then snap it shut again decisively.
“So you are going to do this thing, Maria?” she asked grimly. “You are really going to launch this—this hopeless crusade against Hugo Ransome?”
Maria rose to her feet. “Definitely! The time is now just ten forty-five, therefore I must be on my way. I have to meet my associate, Mr. Martin, at midnight.”
“I do wish you wouldn’t take this awful chance—”
“And if I don’t? What of Patricia?”
Alice was silent, biting her lower lip.
“I suppose you’re right,” she muttered. “I’ve learned by this time that it is useless to try and stop you when your mind is made up.... When will you be back?”
“I have not the least idea. Probably in the early hours—and the less that is known of my activities the better.... I refer to Janet and Richard.”
“I shan’t even see them,” Alice said quietly. “Dick will not be home until early morning and Janet said she would be very late. Tonight is first night, of course, and it means a lot of people to see after the concert.”
Maria nodded, then she asked, “When does she broadcast again?”
“Tomorrow night. First nights are not broadcast until it is seen how the show goes over. If it hits the mark, it is put on the air at the beginning and the end of the run. That was how Ralph was able to judge Janet’s voice.”
“Yes, I remember Janet telling me about that.... Well, my dear, I must be off.”
Maria was soon ready for departure, made her way leisurely towards the bright lights of town and stopped at a restaurant for a late supper. Then, fortified for action, she made for the spot opposite Maxie’s Dance Hall. It was exactly midnight when she arrived there and she had hardly gained a shop doorway before a familiar figure in loud checks and a pork-pie hat loomed in view.
“Hi’ya, Black Maria! Here I am, dead on the spit! Are we all set to go to town?”
“We have no need to go to town, Mr. Martin: we are here already,” Maria answered briefly—and at that he scratched his head.
“You take me words the queerest way sometimes.... I mean are we all ready for the big showdown? I got the boys, and Fingers. You got the money?”
“Yes.” Maria handed him a sealed envelope. “You’ll find it all here. Divide it between you later on, since you are my commander-in-chief, so to speak. I take it you know where your ‘boys’ are stationed?”
“Yeah—sure. One whistle from me and they’ll be right with us. I figured we might go in twos at intervals, and when we’re all in—barring Fingers, that is, who says it’s a back window job—we’ll start the fight.”
“Excellent,” Maria agreed, as he pushed the money in his coat pocket. “I’ll go on ahead and take up my balcony position.”
“O.K.... Oh, wait a minute! What about the dame you said you wanted us to protect?”
“She won’t be here,” Maria replied. “As far as I am concerned, Mr. Martin you don’t need to—er—pull your punches with anybody. Just—sock ’em!” she finished, with sudden vigor.
Pulp rubbed his hands. “Now you’re talking my language, Maria! Now look, about those papers you want: I’d better just explain the set-up before you go in. When Fingers has got ’em he’s going to slip out and hand ’em to Joey, see? He’s a taxi-driver; he’ll be right outside the dance hall, or at least doing a gutter crawl. All you’ve got to do when you get my all-clear signal from the hall is dash outside and jump in the taxi. Leave the rest to Joey. He’ll drive you to a safe spot until the heat’s off. You get it?”
“You have done excellently, Mr. Martin,” Maria beamed. “Now I’ll get mo
ving.”
She crossed the road and entered the dance hall for the second time. This time she was more familiar with it. Deliberately she spent a moment or two discussing irrelevances with the gum-chewing maiden in the box-office, then she passed through the stuffy foyer and nodded to the commissionaire. He nodded back and gave a rather clumsy salute accompanied by a leer....
Maria went on to the balcony and found it practically deserted. Taking the same table as on her previous visit, she waited. The uncommunicative waiter came forward, the only difference in him being the presence of a clean apron.
“Anything partick’lar?” Then seeing who it was he gave a reminiscent nod. “Yeah, I know! Lemonade!”
Maria watched him go off with slovenly strides, noted with some misgivings that there was a suspicious bulge in the region of his shoulder—obviously a revolver. Then she turned and looked below as the familiar giant figure of Pulp came into view with two very doubtful-looking henchmen. They were hatless individuals with heads shaven close to baldness. From the blue jerseys and baggy pants they wore Maria placed them as seamen. It was odd, but Pulp, obvious thug though he was, looked the most refined of the trio.
His technique, Maria decided, was promising. He started off by bumping with apparent mischance into a waiter; then he sat down at a table on the edge of the dance floor and thumped violently for attention. Once he glanced up slyly and gave a slow nod of his head; then he turned to watch the few couples drifting about the floor to the squawking of the orchestra. Most of the dancers seemed to have repaired to the tables for supper.
“Anything else?”
Maria glanced up to see the waiter with the lemonade. He sucked his teeth and took the money she handed him.
“There is something I wish to ask you,” she said. “You remember that girl I asked you about? Maisie Gray? Where is she tonight?”
Black Maria, M. A.: A Classic Crime Novel Page 13
