Murder in the Telephone Exchange Page 7

  “I’ve never had any dealings with the police, so I can’t tell you,” she returned virtuously.

  “Never mind, Mrs. Bates, dear,” I grinned from the telephone book. “I’ll tell you all about it in a minute. Just be patient.”

  I dialled quickly, and sat down on the edge of a table. Mrs. Bates passed to close the front door, not because of any draught that might be blowing, but in case anyone should pass and see me in pyjamas.

  I got on to Sergeant Matheson without any difficulty; it seemed as if he were waiting for me. He sounded as ill-at-ease as he appeared the previous night, so much so that I was glad television was still considered impracticable.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked quickly. “Anything new?”

  “Only routine stuff, Miss Byrnes. I rang to ask you to be at the Exchange at 2 p.m. this afternoon.”

  “Is that all?” I said in disgust. “Do you realize that you’ve got me out of bed?”

  He gave an embarrassed murmur.

  “My landlady is just as scandalized,” I assured him. “What do you want of me at 2 p.m.?”

  “Inspector Coleman wants to ask a few questions.”

  “What, more?” I interrupted.

  “Can you get hold of Miss MacIntyre. We want her, too.”

  “She’s coming to lunch with me. We’ll arrive together. Is that all you want?”

  “Yes, I think so. Er—how are you?”

  “Pretty fit, thanks.”

  “Did you take those aspirins?”

  “They worked like a charm,” I answered mendaciously, not wishing to disillusion him. “Do you mind if I go now? I must get dressed, or Mrs. Bates will be fainting with outraged modesty.” I thought I heard him laugh softly, and wondered if his eyes were twinkling as they had the night before. He was quite a lamb, but of course not in the same street as Clark.

  “Very well, Miss Byrnes. We will see you and Miss MacIntyre this afternoon.”

  “We’ll be there,” I promised, and hung up the receiver. I started up the stairs, but paused halfway to say over the banisters: “By the way, Mrs. Bates, will it be all right for Miss MacIntyre to come to lunch?”

  “I suppose so,” answered my landlady in a grudging tone. “Did you find your number?”

  “Yes, thank you. Sergeant Matheson wants Mac and me to be at the Exchange at 2 p.m. for further questioning.”

  She digested the information in silence and then asked suddenly: “What exactly happened last night?”

  “Last night,” I answered softly, “a very inquisitive, prying old woman was found dead with her face bashed in. A very nasty sight! If you want to know more, read the papers again. They always seem to know everything.”

  Mrs. Bates looked offended. “I’m not being merely curious, but I have the tone of my house to think of.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Bates, they won’t arrest me. I’ve got a watertight alibi.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of thinking that you committed such a dreadful crime,” she said indignantly. “You are one of the quietest young ladies that I have ever had.”

  “Thank you,” I replied dryly, thinking how uninteresting I must be. “Were there any other ’phone messages?”

  “Mr. Clarkson rang,” she said, looking very sour. “I believe that it was he who brought you home at such an unearthly hour.”

  “You asked him, I bet,” I accused her, grinning.

  “Well, what if I did? If you only knew how I lie awake at night worrying, when you girls are out with young men.”

  “Who else rang?” I cut in with impatience.

  “Miss Patterson, and it isn’t often that I run down one of my own sex, but that girl is an out and out liar.”

  “I find her most entertaining. There is no need to tell me what she wanted. I can guess.”

  “What did she want?” asked Mrs. Bates immediately.

  “Didn’t you ask her?” I inquired in mock surprise. “I imagine that she wanted to hear all the gruesome details, much the same as you do.”

  Mrs. Bates ignored this. “She says that she is coming to lunch.”

  “What!” I shrieked. “Who said she was? I haven’t invited her. Well, if she comes, she’ll have to pay for herself, for I’m damned if I will. The nerve of the wench! She knows I detest her.”

  “Please, Miss Byrne,” said my landlady, looking up at me with earnest eyes. “You must not hate anyone. It should be all love and truth between souls.”

  “Not between Gloria’s and mine. Anyway, you just called her a liar yourself.”

  “Then I did a great wrong. Miss Patterson probably has her good points.”

  “Don’t talk such rubbish,” I said irritably, continuing on my way. “If Miss MacIntyre comes, send her up to my room.”

  I took a hot shower and then a cold one, but they were much of a muchness. The sun had been beating down on the water pipes all the morning. Back in my bedroom I began to tidy things up, clad only in a slip, when Mac walked in. Her face gave me what Mrs. Bates would have termed a “nasty turn.” It was ghastly, so white that it seemed almost blue as though with the cold, which was impossible that hot morning. Her brown eyes, which did not meet mine, were heavily ringed, and there was a line between her delicate brows that I had never noticed before.

  “Well!” I said slowly, tucking in the bedclothes. “It doesn’t look as though Clark’s medicine did you any good.”

  “I slept on and off,” she shrugged indifferently. “Want some help?”

  “Yes, round the other side, and toss over the bedcover,” I replied, following her lead. Whatever Mac had on her mind, she most obviously did not wish me to know. I felt hurt, of course, but what were friends for if they didn’t respect each other’s moods?

  “Inspector Coleman wants us at the Exchange at 2 p.m.,” I remarked presently, and saw those small hands pause a second in their smoothing of my folk-weave spread.

  “Oh?” said Mac casually. “What for, do you know?”

  “More questions,” I answered, trying to observe her surreptitiously. She turned aside to dust my chest of drawers.

  “What is it like out?” I asked, as Mac for no reason at all inspected an absurd dog that I had won at a charity fair in the city.

  “Hot as hell!”

  “No stockings,” I decided. “Do you think that I’ll pass all the old diehards?”

  “I’m not wearing them. Anyway, the only one who objected to bare legs was—”

  “Sarah Compton,” I supplied gently. There was silence.

  “Mac,” I said pleadingly, but she did not look around. The silver pin-tray that she was dusting fell to the floor.

  “Blast! Sorry, Maggie, I’ve scratched the wood.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I replied mechanically, bending with her to retrieve the tray. Our heads bumped.

  “Out of my way,” I commanded flippantly. At last her eyes met mine. Kneeling there on the floor I caught hold of her shoulders.

  “Mac, you silly, silly fool,” I said, shaking her gently. “What is the matter?” I looked deep into her eyes and thought that I could read fear. But they seemed so full of misery that I wondered if I had been mistaken. She shook her head without speaking.

  “All right,” I said, getting up, “if you won’t tell me, won’t you at least let Clark try to help you. He is a very nice person, Mac.” As I thought back on the previous night, I wondered if it were possible that she was jealous.

  ‘Damn this thing they call love,’ I said to myself, ‘if it divides such good friends as Mac and I have been.’

  She jumped up quickly, trying to smile. “Don’t be so imaginative, Maggie. I’m tired, that’s all. I didn’t sleep too well. Can you wonder after last night?”

  “No, indeed,” I said truthfully, omitting to tell her of my own sound slumber. As I took out a navy sheer frock from my wardrobe she started to chatter inconsequently.

  ‘My lamb,’ I thought anxiously, ‘you wouldn’t deceive a baby.’ I lent only half an ear to her sto
ry about Mrs. Bates and the salad she said she was ‘throwing together’ for our lunch. I ran a comb through my hair, and hunted in a drawer for lipstick.

  “By the way,” I cut in. “I have another guest arriving, but not at my invitation. Our cherished friend, Gloria.”

  “Patterson?” repeated Mac in genuine amazement. “What on earth does she want?”

  “I seem to have answered that question before,” I said with difficulty as I was concentrating on my lips. “I suppose she wants to be in on the news. I bet she was wild when she saw my picture in this morning’s paper.”

  It did my heart good to hear Mac’s laugh. “Don’t be too hard on her, Maggie.”

  “She’s a little fool,” I said, shutting all the drawers that I had delved into, “with no brain above clothes and boy-friends.”

  “Both of which are most necessary.”

  “I don’t agree,” I declared firmly. “Look at Mrs. Bates. Not a male around the place, and the same old black garment year in and year out. A worthy example to all.”

  Mac laughed again, and I made a mental vow to pursue this banal conversation to its utmost.

  “Maggie, you do talk the most utter rot. Come and see what she has got for lunch. When I last saw her she was chopping lettuce and singing the most awful songs.”

  “Those are hymns,” I corrected, opening the door, “all based on truth and love. She even loves Gloria.”

  “She must be mad,” said Mac frankly.

  We walked down the hall to the stairs.

  “Is that you, Maggie?” called a voice from the lower hall.

  “Oh, lord!” I said softly, as we went down. “She is here already. Hullo, Gloria, to what do I owe this honour?”

  To my horror, Patterson started to weep. Her round babyish face broke up in typical fashion: mouth awry and tears pouring out of wide open eyes. I threw Mac a resigned look, and tried to speak kindly.

  “What’s the matter? Do you feel sick?”

  She continued to sob, but burst out presently: “Oh, Maggie, I’m so scared.”

  It sounded like an act. I raised one eyebrow at Mac who shook her head gently. As I considered Mac a shrewd judge of Gloria’s emotional performances, I inquired in what I thought was a sympathetic but firm voice: “What are you scared about? And why come and tell me about it?”

  “I thought that you’d be able to help,” she sniffed, lifting her head. “You are always so—so sensible.”

  What a vile epithet! First Mrs. Bates practically informed me that I was like a cow in a paddock, and now I was sensible!

  “You speak as if I wear skirts six inches below the knee. Come on now, what’s the matter?” I asked briskly.

  Gloria looked around her, throwing Mac a rather watery smile. “Do you think,” she whispered, “that we could go some place where we can’t be overheard?”

  “There’s only Mrs. Bates in the kitchen,” I said impatiently.

  Everyone else is at work. But we can go into the lounge-room.”

  I led the way down the hall to the first door on the right.

  “Now,” I said, as we seated ourselves on Mrs. Bates’s fat leather settee. Gloria looked at me earnestly.

  “Will you swear that you won’t tell anyone about what I’m going to say? You too, Gerda?”

  Mac nodded, but I said with caution: “That all depends on what it is.”

  Gloria became very agitated. “Oh, very well,” I agreed, “I swear.”

  Gloria settled herself comfortably. She seemed quite happy now that she had our attention. I thought grimly of all the things that I would do to her if this was just an act.

  “You remember last night,” she began.

  “Will I ever forget,” I declared, closing my eyes.

  “Maggie, please listen. I don’t mean the—the murder, or rather I do, really.”

  “Just what do you mean?” I asked. “Now take a deep breath, and start at the beginning, but don’t take too long. I want my lunch; which reminds me, I hope you realize that the cost of yours is not going on my bill.”

  “Of course I do,” she said indignantly. “Let me tell you that I cancelled an engagement to have lunch at Menzies’ to come and see you.”

  “I have already said that I was honoured. Get on with your story, and see that it’s a good one.”

  “Maggie,” she said, raising one hand solemnly, “I swear that everything I’m going to say is the truth.” I forbore any comment in the hope that she would get to the point more quickly.

  “Last night,” she continued, “Compton abused me for being late back from relief, and said I was to work overtime. Do you remember?” I nodded briefly. “When 10.30 p.m. came, and all the girls on my rota went, I thought that I’d better stay just in case Compton saw me. So, by the time that I left the trunkroom, all the others had gone home. There was not a soul in the cloakroom, and the restroom door was still closed.”

  “Was it locked?” I asked quickly.

  “I didn’t try it. But there was an atmosphere in the cloakroom that I can’t describe. As you know, I am considered psychic, and I felt then that something was going to happen.”

  I heard Mac sigh, but frowned myself. Although I did not wish to couple my brain with Gloria’s, I had to admit to sharing that feeling all night.

  “What time was this?” I inquired.

  “It couldn’t have been much after 10.35 p.m. That was when I signed off.”

  “Yes, I noticed that. Go on.”

  “Did you?” asked Gloria, as if I had done something particularly bright. “Where was I? Oh yes, I was just getting my orchid out of my locker. That beast Compton, though I suppose I mustn’t say that now that she is dead, told me not to wear it at the boards. Then I heard someone coming down the passage. Who do you think it was?” She paused dramatically. Mac and I sighed together. Gloria was that type of person who, when she rang anyone, invariably asked: “Can you guess who is speaking?”

  “Well, who was it?”

  “Sarah Compton!”

  I sat up with a jolt and heard Mac’s quick indrawn breath.

  “Now look here, Gloria,” I said sternly. “You’re not making any of this up, are you?”

  She seemed so frightened that I believed she was in earnest. Sarah, alive at 10.35 p.m.! Mac, Mac, what was worrying you?

  “Continue,” I said, trying to be calm. She looked a little shamefaced.

  “I hid behind the lockers, and she came into the cloakroom.”

  “Why did you hide?” Mac asked. It was the first time she had spoken.

  “I didn’t want her to see me,” Gloria answered defiantly.

  “That,” I remarked, “is obvious. But why didn’t you want her to see you? You’d worked your overtime.”

  She remained silent, looking sullenly down at her hands. “Good Heavens! another mystery,” I thought.

  “All right, we’ll let that pass. What happened next?”

  “I stayed where I was. I thought that I’d slip out later when she had gone. But she didn’t go. She went into the restroom.”

  “Did she just open the door, or did she have to use a key?” I demanded. That restroom door had me puzzled.

  “I don’t know,” Gloria confessed. “I didn’t actually see Compton go in, as I was hiding behind the lockers. I only heard.”

  “Well, think! Do you remember hearing a click? Anything like a door being unlocked?”

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t like to say.”

  “Go on,” I repeated.

  “Well, that was all,” she replied. “As soon as I knew that the coast was clear, I left.”

  “If that is all,” I remarked practically, “what are you so scared about? All you have to do is tell Inspector Coleman everything you have told us.”

  The tears welled into her eyes again, and she looked genuinely upset. “Oh no, no, I couldn’t do that,” she whispered.

  “Why not? If you don’t, I will.”

  “Maggie, you wouldn’t. You promised.
”

  “Pull yourself together,” I advised. “I don’t see why you are making such a fuss. It all seems perfectly simple.”

  She gazed at me piteously, “Don’t you understand?” she whispered again. “They’ll think I murdered Compton.”

  “And did you?” I asked brutally.

  Her eyes met mine, wide with horror. “Maggie, how can you? I don’t know anything about it.”

  “You seem to have been hanging around quite a bit,” I pointed out. “I just wondered. Furthermore, my pet, as a statement your story appears to have a few gaps. You’d better fill them in when you tell it to the Inspector.”

  “I tell you—” she began, but I waved her aside and got up.

  “Not interested, are we, Mac? All we are concerned with now is food. Come along, my children.”

  “I don’t know how you can bear to eat,” declared Gloria with a shudder, “I didn’t have any breakfast after I saw the headlines.”

  “Are you sure that it was the first you knew of it?” I asked, bending to retie my shoe-lace.

  “Shut up, Maggie,” interposed Mac.

  “I’m glad that someone sticks up for me,” said Gloria, gratified.

  “I wasn’t,” answered Mac in her calm way, “but all this bickering spoils my appetite. Are Mrs. Bates’s salads as good as ever, Maggie?”

  We went down to the dining-room. Gloria, despite her protestations, made an excellent meal. But Mac barely touched her plate, and I started to worry again. I knew that I had absolutely no chance of persuading her to confide in me. Mac, for all her sweetness, could be as obstinate as a mule. However I comforted myself with the reflection that Clark might be able to do something. Gloria seemed to have forgotten her worries, confident that I would not break my promise. It was absurd that she would not tell Inspector Coleman the truth at once, as they would be certain to find out sooner or later. Her story was very thin, to say the least.

  She had started chattering about our charity dance which was to take place the following Saturday. I roused myself to inform her that quite likely it would be cancelled now. Her eyes widened in surprise.