Black Maria, M.A.: A Classic Crime Novel. John Russell Fearn

“He had apparently been listening to the radio because Mother told me it was blaring away when Walters broke in here. I suppose dad had been listening to me singing.... I guess I’ll never know now what he thought of my voice on the last night of the tour.”

      Maria went over to the radiogram and studied it. Presently she turned and asked a question.

      “Then the shot was not heard?”

      “I was upstairs in my room,” Alice responded, straightening up in the armchair. “I was there all evening as a matter of fact, reading. Now what was it about— Oh, but I don’t suppose it matters, does it? In any case I could not have heard the shot from my room. You know how big this house is. The only one who might have heard it is Walters—but he didn’t. So he said.”

      “Hmm....” Maria began to prowl, regarded the French win­dow with its newly-fitted glass, then walked to the door of the room and studied the lock. It bore no signs of tampering. At length she stood erect again and fondled her watch-chain.

      “The windows and doors were locked. Nobody was at home except you and the servants, Alice. And yet.... Tell me, Richard, what made you think it was murder?”

      “I’ll show you. Look here!”

      He crossed to the desk, unlocked one of the drawers and hauled a batch of papers to light. Quickly he sorted out about half a dozen and handed them over. Maria took them, sat down and read care­fully.

      The first one was a highly complicated business letter referring to the negotiation of loans and private securities. The amounts involved rather startled Maria; then her face became grim as she read the companion letter to it. It was brief but threatening, de­manding the honoring of the debts immediately.

      “I admit a certain suggestion of threats here, Richard,” she said at length. “But hardly enough grounds for murder.”

      Dick pointed to the memorandum. “See that name? V. L. Onzi? That man is a financial expert—or at least that’s what he calls himself. Actually he’s a loan shark of the lower breed, and when he doesn’t get what he wants he resorts to strong-arm tactics.”

      “But what on earth was your father doing mixed up with such a man?”

      “He could hardly help it, Aunt,” Janet said. “You see, dad started out with canned broccoli, as you know. From that, the business flourished. All sorts of canned things were added. A flock of chain stores developed.... Well, with such numberless organizations up and down the country dad could not possibly give each one his individual attention. That was why some of his branch managers fell into the wrong hands—and one of them into the grip of Onzi in particular. I don’t know the exact circumstances, but it looks as though this manager needed a loan to carry over immediate liabilities. He got it. But Onzi, when the time came for payment, did not apply to the manager but to dad, the fountain-head.... Isn’t that what you mean, Dick?”

      He nodded. “Right on the button, Jan. I believe that Onzi singled out dad as a possible victim to serve his own mysterious ends.... Oh, I know it sounds vague,” he admitted, seeing Maria’s unconvinced look, “but it can at least establish a motive for murder.... Besides, there may be others too! Look at the rest of these papers and you’ll find dad and his managers were mixed up with all kinds of unsavory folk. His vast business made that unavoidable. Briefly, these documents show that at least six or seven people had a good reason for wanting him out of the way. He was a pretty ruthless sort of man, as you may know. He allowed nothing and nobody to balk him. His death must have relieved quite a few people.”

      Maria glanced through the documents, finally tossed them down.

      “If all this is true why didn’t the police follow the obvious trail to a proper conclusion?”

      “They said the idea was illogical,” Dick grunted. “They in­terpreted the documents as clear proof that dad was beset by numberless difficulties and chose suicide as the only way out. Besides, the locked room, the total absence of any clues to suggest murder, made suicide the only solution. Only dad’s fingerprints were on the gun. There were no signs of anybody having been near the house— But Aunt, I still think one of these many people mentioned here, and Onzi in particular, might have had a motive. Don’t ask me how it was done. I’m no detective.”

      Maria got to her feet, stroked her chin slowly. “Frankly, Richard, I can’t help feeling you have based your conception of murder upon a very flimsy pretext. All these notes and letters are threatening; but one cannot base a murder motive on nebulous threats.”

      “Why not?”

      “I am assured of it from my private study of criminology.... Of course, there is a certain interest attaching to this Onzi person— Would it be possible to meet him?”

      “Lord, no! At least not in safety.”

      “I am not concerned for safety; only for facts. Where can I find him?”

      Dick reflected. “Hanged if I know, really. The Onzi Financial Building is on Fifty-Sixth, but whether you’d find Onzi himself there or just an assistant I don’t know. So far as I remember dad was about the only person who ever saw Onzi personally—excepting for a few business big shots of course.”

      “Is this Financial Trust illegal?”

      “Not as you’d notice,” Dick answered dryly. “That’s where the trouble comes in. There are dubious quantities in every great city. How long they operate without making a slip-up depends on the cleverness of their legal advisers. So far Onzi has gotten away with it.”

      “I see. Fifty-Sixth, you said? I shall probably visit the place before long.’’

      “Which means you do believe Onzi may have had something to do with dad’s death?” Janet asked quickly.

      “I did not say that, Janet. Accusation is a dangerous thing. One must first make contacts: that is the first law of investigation, I believe,” Maria added, looking round gravely.

      Dick gathered up the documents silently and returned them to the desk. Janet glanced at her puzzled mother. Then Maria turned to them again.

      “Who is in charge of Ralph’s business now, Alice?”

      “Flock of directors,” Dick said. “But they’re all reputable. Dad was only the nominal head.”

      “They would not, for instance, gain anything by your father’s death?”

      “No; you can rule that out. On the contrary I think it’s put them in rather a spot. It means a whole mass of complication sorting things out. That will be done gradually in conjunction with attorney Johnson. You’ll be seeing him tomorrow anyway: perhaps he can tell you one or two things.”

      Maria nodded, changed the subject by asking a question.

      “Were you fond of your father, Richard?”

      “Huh?” He looked surprised for a moment, then gave a shrug. “Why sure, I liked the old man. Can’t say I loved him, though. He was too much like a granite statue for that.”

      “A man of tremendous ambitions—dogged resolve,” Alice sighed. “Maybe he had changed a lot from the man you used to know, Maria.”

      “Maybe, though I was always impressed by his desire to master every problem.... Richard, you told me you didn’t go into the business because you preferred the theatrical world. Was there ever a chance for you to go into the business?”

      “Oh, yes, but— Well, I guess the idea of sitting in an oak chair and directing the destinies of chain stores didn’t appeal to me. I wanted the bright lights, same as Jan and Pat. We all burst into stage work—Jan as a singer and Pat as a solo dancer. Incidentally, Pat’s between engagements at the minute in case you’re wondering why she’s at home. Summing it up, Aunt, I don’t think dad quite approved of my revue work. He had the oddest notions on con­vention. Certainly he would never advance me a red cent to finance anything new. I had all my own spadework to do....” Just for a moment Dick’s face set in grim