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

by John Russell Fearn

  “Correct,” Johnson nodded.

  “Then?” Davis questioned.

  “Then I went home,” Maria shrugged. “Mr. Johnson considered the documents were best in the hands of the police, so here they are.”

  “You can prove what time you arrived home?”

  “Easily. My sister-in-law was waiting up for me as it happened.”

  Davis gave a grim smile. “Just a case of a thief, completely unknown, dropping his booty after a getaway from the Dance Hall, eh? And quite by chance you happened on that booty?”

  “As far as the law can prove otherwise, yes,” Maria said, and waited complacently.

  “And I will verify that story,” Johnson stated.

  Davis gave a reluctant sigh. “Well, I’ve got to admit that it hangs together—and you’ve certainly been a darned sight smarter than any of my men. That of course is because you had no red tape to hold you back.... As to Ransome, we’ll have him before the day’s out.. The probability is that he’ll try and skip town when he finds how you’ve tricked him—but I’ll clap a warrant on him before he can get far.... But you’d better watch out for yourself, Miss Black. Getting Ransome doesn’t include his numerous boys, and they’ll probably have orders to get you.”

  “One is harder to get at than three,” Maria smiled. “With my niece and her husband out of the way I feel much more comfortable: at least they are out of the firing line. As to myself—well, I am not an easy target. I take it that Salter and my niece will remain in custody?”

  “Until the reopening of the trial, yes. From now on the matter will be in the hands of the District Attorney. But I’m sure the outcome of all this is not for a moment in doubt, Miss Black. It’s you I’m still worrying about. If you want it, you can have police protection.”

  Maria rose to her feet and shook her head.

  “No, thank you, Inspector. I have many things to do yet, and I have my own way of safeguarding myself. I presume I am free until I am needed as a witness?”

  “Certainly—but please remain within the city limits.”

  “I will.... Now about the original of this carbon-receipt letter. You are going to come and search for it?”

  Davis nodded. “It strikes me as odd we didn’t discover it when a complete examination was made of your late brother’s papers. However, we all make mistakes.” He gave a grave smile. “I shall probably come myself and make a search in about an hour.”

  Maria smiled too. Then she turned to the door.

  “I’ll stay, Miss Black,” Johnson said, as he held the door open. “I’ve one or two things to talk over with the Inspector.”

  Maria went on her way, found Pulp waiting for her anxiously as she emerged on to the pavement.

  “Well? How’d it go?” he asked eagerly.

  “Everything is what you might call—jake,” Maria replied. “I rather fancy the admirable Inspector is co-operating with me to put Ransome where he belongs—and now I have to hurry home to put the original letter-receipt among my brother’s papers. And I have further work for you, Mr. Martin.... From now on, until further orders, I want either you or somebody you can implicitly trust to keep a constant watch on my movements. Even though Ransome may be picked up that will not prevent his men from operating in reprisal. You see?”

  “Leave it to me,” Pulp nodded. “It’s a fifty-dollar-a-day job, though.”

  “You shall have it. Money is no object in achieving my end, Mr. Martin. As you are quite aware, I am out to catch the person who murdered my brother.... That is my prime object, but to attain it I am perforce having to plough through many side issues. So far I have done pretty well, but I have not got what I want. My continued efforts may take me far afield—hence the need for constant protection.”

  “While I’m around you’re safe,” Pulp said calmly. “Never, night or day, will you be left unobserved. I’ll fix it. You may not see the watching eye, but it’ll be there. Rely on it!”

  Maria opened her bag. “Here is a week’s money in advance. I know you will do the rest.... When I want you again I’ll contact you somehow.”

  “All you’ll need to do will be to signal with your hand. I will be there.”

  Pulp helped her into the taxi and slammed the door. In the back of the conveyance she sat thinking as Joey drove swiftly through the streets back to the residence. Uppermost in her mind at the moment was the broken spring on the roller lever of Ransome’s typewriter. It had come as a complete surprise to her and in a way conflicted with certain other notions. She had been pretty sure that the letters of ‘Onzi’ had constituted a possible threat to her brother’s life unless prompt payment had been made. Ransome himself had exploded all that by revealing that payment had been made, thereby dispensing with any apparent reason for requiring Black’s elimination.

  Yes, it dispensed with the possible motive on the one hand—but on the other was the matter of the spring, and Maria was convinced that somehow, somewhere, the spring played a decisive part. She sighed, pigeonholed her speculations for later on.

  She was glad as she entered the house that there was nobody about. Quietly she slipped into the library, parted with her original letter-receipt among the papers in the desk. Then she went upstairs and stayed only long enough to tidy herself before coming down for lunch. Alice, Janet, and Dick were present, halfway through the meal. A bombardment of questions began immediately, until Maria quieted them with raised hand.

  “Please! Please! I can’t answer you all at once.... Not that there is much to tell,” she went on, seating herself. “You know the truth already, Alice, so you two may just as well.”

  “Well, let’s have it!” Dick exclaimed impatiently. “What has Pat been up to, anyway?”

  Maria went into the details as she proceeded with her lunch.

  “So there it is,” she concluded. “It will all be in the papers anyway when the trial is reopened, so there is no harm in you knowing the facts beforehand.”

  There was a long silence. Dick and Janet looked at each other, then at their mother. Alice was silent, toying with her serviette.

  “Good for Pat!” Janet exclaimed at last, with an admiring shake of her dark head. “I always knew she’d got plenty of nerve— And good for you, Aunt, for finding out so much! You have rather a weakness for looking into things, haven’t you?”

  “I do more than look into them, Janet,” Maria answered her calmly: then Dick said:

  “Just how did you happen on to all this? I mean, did you deliberately interest yourself in the matter or was it just a chance?”

  “I found it, Richard, in the course of my investigations in another direction.” Maria paused and looked round on each of them. “You might as well know something else now, too. Your father—your husband, Alice—did not commit suicide. He was murdered!”

  “Then I was right!” Dick cried, snapping his fingers.

  “How can you be so sure of it?” Janet asked quietly.

  “Mr. Johnson has given me a letter, written by your father, in which he says that if his death happened in any way contrary to natural causes it could certainly be assumed as murder. I have also gathered enough by now to know there was little reason for suicide. Your father left me a thousand dollars for expenses that I might incur in finding his killer. I am engaged on that work now. Should I find the murderer—and believe me, I shall—I shall then claim my full bequest.”

  “Which explains much,” Janet mused. “We all thought it was a paltry sum for dad to leave you: now we can see there was a string attached to it.... Whom did father say he thought might kill him?”

  “He gave no clue.”

  “Then who do you think did it?” Dick asked bluntly.

  “I don’t know yet, Richard,” Maria shrugged. “And incidentally, was your reason for suspecting murder created by those letters among your father’s effects?”

  He seemed to hesitate momentarily. “Yeah—sure. What other reason would I have?”

  “I don’t know; but it struck me as a fl
imsy basis for your belief.”

  Dick shrugged, glanced at Janet and his mother sharply, then went on, “Well, anyway, it was the only visible reason I had for suspecting it was murder. Of course I have lots of other theories—and one in particular.... But there’s no proof—”

  “I’d like to hear some of those other theories,” Maria said grimly.

  “O.K. Suppose, then—” Dick broke off and looked up in irritation. “Well, Walters, what is it?”

  Walters looted at Alice. “There are two gentlemen here, madam, from police headquarters—an Inspector Davis and—”

  “I’ll see them, Walters.” Maria rose hurriedly. “This is my field, Alice,” she added. “I can handle it better than you, I think.”

  Annoyed at the interruption she swept into the hall and found Davis and his colleague waiting.

  “Oh, good afternoon, Miss Black,” Davis said. “I have the authority to—”

  “To conduct a search once more through my late brother’s papers?”

  “Of course.

  Maria led the way to the library and waited while the desk drawers were examined. At last Davis had singled out the letter he needed, together with all other technical details relating to the investment bond that had passed to Hugo Ransome.

  “I guess we missed this last time we searched,” he observed calmly, putting the drawers back. “Thanks, Miss Black: this is all we need.”

  At the front door she retained Davis for a moment.

  “About Ransome, Inspector.... Did you get him?”

  “Yes, we got him. As I had expected, he tried to skip town, but we nabbed him at Pennsylvania Railroad Station. Right now he’s where we went him. I also contacted the District Attorney and am awaiting his final okay concerning a reopening of the Salter trial. But I’d still advise you to be careful, Miss Black. From what I hear, several of Ransome’s boys are around looking for you. We can’t do anything about that: we’ve got to have proof. So unless you’ll take police escort, it is still your own responsibility.”

  Maria smiled. “Thank you, Inspector, but the answer is still the same.”

  He gave a shrug, shook hands and departed. Maria returned quickly to the dining room, but to her irritation Dick had gone.

  “Where did Richard go?” she demanded of Alice.

  “Why—upstairs.” She looked surprised for a moment, then she asked earnestly, “Maria dear, what did those men want? Tell me!”

  “We have some interest in this,” Janet observed cynically.

  “All they wanted was some more evidence for convicting Ransome and freeing Patricia and Arthur Salter,” Maria replied hurriedly. “Now you must excuse me. I have to speak to Richard....”

  She hastened upstairs, and was in time to find Dick just leaving his room, hat on head. He paused as Maria confronted him.

  “Anything wrong, Aunt?” he asked, surprised.

  “I thought,” she said, “you had come up for your usual rest. I wanted to catch you before you got settled—”

  “No rest this afternoon,” he smiled. “And anyway I don’t always take one. Depends on how I feel. Today I’ve plenty else on my mind. I’ve special work to get done in town. See you later....”

  “Just a minute, Richard, before you go. What were you going to say to me at lunch when I was called away? About your suspicions regarding the murder of your father....”

  “Huh? Oh, that!” He glanced at his watch. “Listen, Aunt, I just haven’t the time to go into it now. I’m late as it is. Tell you what: we’ll get together later, eh? Right?’

  Without giving her time to answer he nodded, smiled, and hurried on his way downstairs. Maria watched him go, watch-chain twirling in her fingers. She was still standing lost in thought when Janet came slowly up to the corridor.

  “Dick seems to be in a hurry,” she commented, looking down towards the hall. “What happened to his usual rest?”

  “For some reason, by no means clear to me, he has decided to forgo it,” Maria shrugged; then she looked at Janet’s placid features. “I am glad we have a moment together, Janet. I’d like to have a little private chat with you.”

  “Surely. I’ve only come up to rest, anyway. Come along into my room.”

  She led the way in and motioned to the armchair.

  “I don’t want you to take offence at some of the things I am going to ask, Janet,” Maria said quietly, sitting back and interlocking her fingers. “Believe me, I have a definite reason for every word I utter.... Firstly, about this young composer friend of yours—this Mr. Wade. You say you are in love with him and are trying to keep it from Montagu, your producer or manager, or whatever he is, in case he might make things awkward for you if he found out....”

  “Right,” Janet assented quietly.

  “Your father—with the one exception of your maid—was the one person who knew of your affection for this young man?”

  “Right again.”

  “Your father,” Maria persisted, “was a man of ruthless purpose. If he saw anything likely to eclipse or even cast a shadow over the family standing, if he had reason to suspect the least lowering in the social prestige he had set, he was likely to be prompted to sudden and unscrupulous action...?”

  “Yes....” Janet nodded her dark head moodily. “His merci­less exactitude was the one thing which always went against the grain.”

  “Assume—only assume, mark you—that he had decided to do something to drive a wedge between you and Mr. Wade,” Maria proceeded. “Since he knew you were associating together, he might quite easily have thought of something on the lines of Arthur Salter’s affair to separate you and Wade. Suppose he had had such a plan and Wade had found out about it?”

  Janet compressed her lips and it seemed her face went a shade paler.

  “Are you daring to suggest that Peter— But you can’t be! The thing’s too ridiculous!”

  “Listen to me, Janet,” Maria snapped. “From what I have discovered, I have every reason for thinking that whoever murdered your father arranged the suicide on the same day that your father met his death.”

  “What of it?” Janet asked coldly. “You can’t mean you think Peter would do such a thing. How do you imagine—even granting there was a plan laid by father to separate Peter and me—how do you imagine Peter could ever have found out about it?”

  “I don’t know...unless you knew of it and told him.”

  “Really, Aunt, this is puerile! You’re letting your fancy run away with you.”

  Maria shrugged. “It is easily settled. Where was Mr. Wade on the day your father died?”

  “I don’t know.” Janet’s face set in adamant lines. “I do not spend all my time with him. On the day father died, it was the last night of my concert run, and I was at the theater from about five in the afternoon until the early hours of the following morning. I didn’t see Peter all that day.”

  “And what did you do during the afternoon?” Maria asked.

  “I attended to correspondence. I was in the lounge all the after­noon with Mary. Dad came home about twenty minutes to five and promised to listen to my concert over the radio. Not that it signifies. Everybody knew he was going to listen to it, anyway;”

  “Including Mr. Wade?”

  “Yes; I believe I told him about it.”

  Maria got to her feet and gave a grave smile.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you, Janet—but I did warn you, you know. You’ve been a great help, if that is any consolation.”

  Janet relaxed a little. “Sorry I blew up, only I’m afraid you touched a sore spot. Just what do you hope to get out of all this? Peter would never have done the thing you suggest, I’m convinced of it. One might as well say that I did it.”

  “That possibility had occurred to me,” Maria reflected.

  “What!”

  “Only because your alibi is so perfect,” Maria beamed. “You were at the theater singing when your father died. That is an established fact.”

  “Well, thanks for telli
ng me,” Janet said, looking irritated again. “I suppose I killed my father by remote control, or something?”

  “Somebody did,” Maria answered, with conviction. “Some device or other killed your father after he entered the library for the evening to do his work and listen to your singing. The device was arranged between the time when the maid Lucy tidied the library in the morning and the time your father went into it in the evening. Had it been otherwise the maid would in all probability have seen the device.”

  “What device?” Janet demanded, puzzled.

  “I don’t know yet—but something diabolically clever which fired your father’s own gun and dropped it beside him afterwards.”

  “Well, anyway, that discounts Peter,” Janet said, thinking. “How could he have got into the house during the daytime to fix a—a device in the library?”

  “Many things are possible to a resolute person, Janet. The grounds are devoid of clues at the back of the house, where the library abuts—that I know; but then, as Anstruther has pointed out in his treatise, Murder Without Clue, there are twelve different methods that can be employed by a criminal to avoid leaving either footprints or marks of tampering on the window.... I do not suggest that Mr. Wade knows any of these methods: I am merely passing com­ment. Another thing I know—the murderer was well acquainted with your father’s movements.”

  “Which puts Peter further away than ever from your unjust suspicions!” Janet retorted. “How could he know father’s move­ments?”

  “Only from you, my dear....” Then, as Janet stood grimly silent, Maria turned to the door. She looked back thoughtfully. “Remember, Janet, that if an outside agency was not responsible, it leaves only those in the house!”

  With that she left, made for her room, and began to tabulate her notes while matters were still fresh in her mind.

  “I believe I have definitely trapped Hugo Ransome and thereby cleared Patricia and Arthur Salter. Ransome’s letters to Ralph are no longer a threat and motive for murder. But against this there is a missing spring on Ransome’s typewriter, which could correspond to the one I found in the library. But something goes with the spring to complete the contrivance and I still do not know what it is.