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

      “Pat,” Janet said calmly, “is a little fool. She wanted to marry a man who later turned out to be a thief, and because dad knew it was all wrong and forbade the marriage she never forgave him for it. That’s all that’s wrong with her.”

      Maria mused over that. Then: “Tell me, Janet, what was to prevent your father visiting your first and last nights personally at the theater instead of listening in over the radio?”

      “Work!” Janet grimaced. “He never went to a theater if he could help it. He would listen to my singing over the radio, and when it came to the turn of the other singers he would get along with his work until it came to my turn again. We sing in relays, you see. I am the soloist, with three songs at the commencement and usually three at the end. Father was the kind of man who just couldn’t sit patiently through anything which did not directly concern him. So he combined pleasure with business so to speak, and thereby never lost a moment.”

      “How could you tell all this if he always locked himself in?”

      “Oh, merely from the information he had given me at different times. He was a man of punctilious habits, and never varied from them. For instance, you notice that all the chairs in this room are of what one would call the uncomfortable type: he used them strictly for business. On the other hand, for pleasure, he had this huge armchair fixed just so—in fact immovably, for you can see the castors are in wooden blocks. His idea, I gathered, was so that the chair could directly face the radio. Anyway, I know this was the one chair he always used when listening to me. It comprised one of his main relaxations....”

      “The chair, then, cannot be moved?” Maria questioned.

      “It can—but it rarely was. I think the staff were afraid to move it without dad’s permission for fear of him flying into a rage. It’s easily the heaviest and biggest armchair I’ve ever seen—like a baby bed almost....”

      “Hmmm...,” Maria said, and surveyed it—but not as closely as she intended doing later on.

      “I suppose,” Janet went on reflectively, “that dad and I got along together perhaps better than either Pat or Dick. However, I always had the impression that he was not half so interested in me as a daughter as he was in my ability to sing. Singing to the public, from his point of view, represented power, money, fame—the things he loved so much. Maybe it is a silly impression I have got, but there it is.”

      “In other words,” Maria summed up, “he was so busy a man that he had become estranged from his own children. Pat openly resented it: you, Richard, took it more or less as a matter of course but disliked it just the same. But in none of you was there any real love of child for parent.”

      “It sounds awful,” Janet said, after a long pause, “but I’m afraid you’re right.”

      “Does—does all this mean anything?” Alice put in vaguely. “Really, Maria dear, it seems there is an awful lot of talking going on which is leading nowhere. I think that thinking to no purpose is a dreadful waste of time, don’t you? Or—or haven’t I got the idea right?”

      “After all, Alice, I did warn you that I like to know about every­body and everything,” Maria said. “Call me a busybody if you like.... But I’m satisfied now.”

      “You mean you think dad was probably murdered?” Dick de­manded.

      “I can perhaps tell you better when I have seen Mr. Johnson tomorrow. Then there is this Onzi person....”

      “Well,” Janet said, smiling, “now the third degree is ended maybe we can go back to the lounge. This room is hardly the place for congenial conversation. And by the way, Dick, time’s getting on.”

      “Eh?” He glanced sharply at his watch. “Holy cats, you’re right! I’m going to be late for my show. See you later, every­body.... Good hunting, Aunt!”

      * * * *

      It was eleven-thirty when Maria retired to her room—but she did not prepare for bed immediately. She sat thinking for a long time, brows down, fingering her watch-chain. She heard Alice and Janet, and afterwards the domestics, pass in procession along the corridor to their rooms. Since Patricia had not put in an appearance all evening it seemed that she had made good her threat to be rid of her tiredness by going to bed. This was a point that somehow intrigued Maria. Bringing out her black book she began to write—

      “Why should a perfectly healthy girl like Patricia suffer from an extraordinary tiredness? Certainly not because of her work for I am assured she is at the moment between engagements. From a preliminary study of her I have the impression she is hiding something and resents my presence for fear I may find out what it is. Altogether, what I have seen—i.e., documents and so forth, leads me to believe the murder motive as rather unconvincing; unless this has been done deliberately to deflect suspicion from a real culprit.... Viewing the family objectively and not as relations, I note that each one, save perhaps Alice, admits having but little regard for Ralph. Another thing: all save Alice were absent from the house on the night. Was that done to provide an alibi? I have intimated that I do not believe Ralph was murdered, but privately I think he was—though exactly how will provide a neat problem. For instance, why was Dick so anxious to assert it was murder...? Tomorrow I meet Johnson, the family lawyer. I shall also hope to contact one V. L. Onzi, a shady financier, I understand.”

      Maria read the notes through, nodded to herself, then locked the book away again. Again she meditated, this time upon the library, recalling numerous little things it had been impossible to examine thoroughly in the twilight and with the eyes of the family upon her. Finally she came to a decision.

      Quietly she left her room, walked silently down the heavily car­peted staircase and descended into the hall. All was quiet and abysmally dark, but she could determine her position from the friendly pedantic ticking of the massive clock outside the library door. She went across the hall, opened the library door and stole softly inside.

      “Who’s that?”

      The sharp voice rather startled Maria for a moment, then she recognized it as Alice’s even as the lights came up. Alice was standing beside the big armchair, dressed in a kimono-like gown and lace cap. A variety of expressions went over her features.

      “Oh, it’s you, Maria. Whatever are you doing here? Dressed too!”

      Maria came forward. “I can assure you, Alice, that I have a perfectly good reason for being here.... It simply occurred to me that I might be able to learn a little from a quiet look round.”

      “Of course.... Yes, of course. I—” Alice stopped, seemed to be trying to get possession of herself. “You’re wondering what I’m doing here, I suppose?” she asked abruptly. “You must be! You’re wondering what on earth I could be doing in the dark.”

      “You are at perfect liberty to do whatever you wish in your own home, Alice. Certainly I did think I heard you go up to your room....” Maria stopped, studying Alice’s attire. “But you must have done! I never heard you leave again.”

      “No, these boudoir shoes don’t make a sound.... As a matter of fact I came down to sit and think. Remember how I told you I do that sometimes? Often, especially at night.... Associations seem to be so near at night. One can nearly feel the other world always so close to us. But you’re thinking I’m very foolish? Such a strong-minded woman as you can have no time for such silly in­dulgences, perhaps?”

      “My dear Alice, you sound as though you owe me an explanation for every little foible. I think your sentiment is a very laudable one.... You were very fond of Ralph, weren’t you?”

      Alice nodded absently. “Something went out of my life when he died. I have nothing but the memories.... But that means nothing to you, Maria, and I expect you want to be left alone so you can look around. Just do whatever you wish. The house is yours....” She turned to the door, glanced back. “I’ll say good night, then.”

      “Good night, Alice.”

      The door closed and Maria glanced about her,