Murder in the Telephone Exchange (30 page)

“Are these to be tried?” she asked.

“Don't be silly,” I said irritably, “It's going on for two.”

“Is it?” she asked in surprise, looking around for a clock, “I've been talking to that American I told you about, I haven't noticed the time, In fact, l was terribly glad when Clark told me to move, l simply couldn't get rid of the man.”

“What is it you've got that I haven't?” I asked, interested.

“Really, Maggie!” Gloria said, looking almost unbearably pleased. “Perhaps if you were a little more conciliatory,” she suggested, “you'd not lack boy-friends. You're quite attractive, you know.”

“Thank you,” I said dryly.

“But you don't make enough of yourself,” she insisted. “Wearing your hair straight back from your face like that makes you look hard. Then you're so blunt and matter-of-fact. Men don't like that.”

“I must take a course of lessons from you,” I suggested. My sarcasm went over her head as usual. “This Yank—was he the one you met at the ‘Australia' on Wednesday night?” I thought that if I had said the night of
the murder, Gloria's dim insight might have penetrated my little game. Putting it as I had, there was a chance she wouldn't connect my questions with anything else but a desire to learn more of the art of beguiling man. So far, so good. She had started a long dissertation on where she had met her American, what he looked like, and how much money he had. The saga included descriptions of numerous other conquests, matched by a different dress each time. I listened patiently, waiting for an opportunity to lead her carefully back to what I at least considered was the point.

“I suppose,” I remarked, putting out a feeler, “that he was the cause of you being late back from your tea-time?”

“Absolutely. He kept talking about what a sensation I'd be in the States, until I thought he'd never stop. I'm positive,” she added, pulling at the curls again and giving me a sidelong glance, “that he was leading up to a proposal. I think I'd rather like to live in America.”

“I'm sure you'd be a riot. But tell me, as you came up in the lift did you see anyone at all?”

Gloria appeared not to be listening, so intent was she on the rosy dream that I had abetted.

“I don't remember,” she answered abstractedly.

“Your rota was going down by the stairs to the trunkroom,” I prompted. “They saw you.”

“Did they?” she asked, surprised. “Why, yes, I believe some of them did pass me.”

“And you went on straight to the cloakroom to get your outfit?” I asked cautiously, hoping that she was not becoming suspicious.

“I had to take off my orchid as well,” Gloria explained. “That beast, Compton—”

“Quite so,” I interrupted. “Did you see anyone else hanging around the corridor?”

“Only one of—” She stopped abruptly, eyeing me. “I saw no one,” she snapped. “Isn't there any work to do here? Clark said that you were practically in a bag.”

“It's about time we started testing the lines,” I said with haste. In the endeavour to make her forget her suspicions and come back to her movements later on, we callously roused drowsy telephonists all over the state to get them to ring back on their lines to see if we got their signal. It was tedious work, and one that brought a large amount of abuse on our heads. I knew that Gloria would not have the gumption to realize that the testing was quite unnecessary at that hour. By the time we had finished her shallow brain had forgotten my pertinent questions.

“What about relief'?” I suggested on a brain-wave. “You can go first.
It won't matter if you're late back. Sarah Compton is not here,” I laughed heartily.

“How can you be so callous, Maggie!” Patterson replied, opening her eyes wide. “Poor Sarah. I'm sure she didn't mean to be so snappy with me that night. We were great friends as a rule, you know.”

‘Oh, yeah?' I thought. Sarah didn't have a friend in the world, and certainly not in the Exchange; barring Bertie perhaps, after his amazing story. Even then it seemed a hit-and-miss affair.

“I suppose you wanted to ring up your Yankee friend that night?” I suggested, “And you couldn't get into the restroom to use the telephone.”

“I had to go all the way over to the public box in the other building,” she answered indignantly. “You really think that Sarah would have understood.”

“Too bad! She made you work overtime just for that. You're sure that the restroom door was locked?”

“I tried it several times, and so did Gerda. I told you that.”

‘Well, that's settled,' I thought. The door must have been bolted some time between 7 p.m. and when the reliefs started. But the fact that it was locked worried me. It seemed so very unnecessary. It wasn't as if Sarah had been murdered already, and the killer wanted to delay the discovery. She had been very much alive at that time; sitting on the roof playing ‘peepo's' with me. No, there must have been someone or something in that room that had to remain unseen until the right time. A very large object, or more probably a human being, that required a whole room in which to stay hidden. It might have been the murderer who locked himself in the restroom, but how was Compton able to walk straight in later on? It was either unlocked then, or else Sarah had a key.

I shook my head again, puzzled. Putting myself in the role of a murderer, I could not see myself staying two or three hours cooped up in a room waiting for my victim to approach. It was definitely unreasonable. No murderer, however cold-blooded he or she might be, could remain quietly in one place for all that length of time. It did not fit in at all well with my conception of the killer. It was a fast crime. One that was planned and executed by a swift-moving brain; a brain totally dissimilar to poor Dulcie's.

‘Unless,' I thought wearily, bent on looking at the situation from every angle, ‘she was so subtle that her quiet demeanour was just the work of a skilled actress.'

But I couldn't see the same girl who had fallen headlong into a trap laid by Compton being so clever.

‘Anyway,' I told myself. ‘Dulcie is out of this altogether. I am working
from the angle that she is innocent.' The only fact of any benefit that I had gleaned from my careful questioning of Gloria, if one could call it a fact, was that she had seen someone in the vicinity of the cloakroom on the night of the murder.

‘Only one of—' and there she had stopped. I repeated the words two or three times audibly in the endeavour to finish the sentence, but gave up in despair.

‘I'll wait until she comes back, and then see if I can get some more out of her,' I promised myself.

The door at the end of the country boards opened suddenly, and Gloria came in on a bound. Her face was as white as paper. Tears of stark terror were rushing down her cheeks. She looked like a child who had awoken from a nightmare.

‘Now what?' I thought, not without some interest. I watched her cover the shortest distance between two points in record time; the farther point being Clark. She clung to him like the proverbial ivy. I could not hear the exact gist of her stumbling words, but it was obvious that she had received a tremendous fright. Clark removed her clutching hands firmly, and led her back towards me, his brows raised in comical despair. I grinned at him sympathetically, guessing that Gloria's experience was not as overwhelming as she had made it appear.

“Ghosts!” Clark whispered in mock awe. “I have to lay a ghost.”

I glanced down the boards, and as all seemed quiet, asked if I might tag along. “I wouldn't be out of it for worlds. Laying ghosts is one of my favourite pastimes. Where are they, Gloria?”

“We don't want you,” she snapped, her spirits evidently reviving.

“Gloria, how can you! Clark isn't an adequate enough protection for you, are you, Clark?”

“You can come and look after me. Now, Miss Patterson, where is the phantom?”

“It isn't a laughing matter,” Gloria said earnestly, leading the way up the stairs. “I tell you I saw Sarah Compton in the restroom.”

“What!” I exclaimed, running ahead.

“Maggie, come back,” she shrieked. I heard Clark laugh.

The corridor was as black as pitch at that hour. The eighth floor was seldom used by all-night telephonists. Only one shaded light hung at the top end of the passage near the lift. l began to regret my impetuous dash. I slid my hand along the wall until the cloakroom door-knob came under my fingers, and fumbled for the light on the inside. As I pressed it, a slamming noise came from the inner room. I jumped like a frightened rabbit. But the voices coming up the stairs encouraged me to walk boldly to the
restroom door, which stood open. The noise sounded again, and I peered cautiously into the room. A huge white object billowed out to meet me. I fell back, readily understanding Gloria's terror.

“Are you there, Maggie?” asked Clark, coming round the lockers with Gloria shrinking behind him.

“Is this your ghost?” I asked her scornfully, switching on the light and indicating the long dust-blind which eddied to and fro in the night wind. Clark swore gently as Gloria peered gingerly over my shoulder. He took himself off in disgust.

“I thought it was Sarah's ghost,” she remarked naively, “and it's only the blind.”

“Only the blind,” I echoed thoughtfully. “Either you have a very guilty conscience, or else you wanted to attract notice, Gloria. Now which is it? Come and sit down, my pet, and tell me all about it. Yes, sit there.” I pushed her into the arm-chair at the foot of which Mac and I had found Sarah Compton's sprawling body. There could not have been a better position in which to place her. I had made up my mind to attack her directly.

“Do you realize,” I went on brightly, seating myself near the door. “that you must be in the same chair as Compton was before she was killed? The police say that she was seated when she received the first blow. Now, isn't that interesting?” Her eyes were dilating. Her hands closed convulsively on the arms of her chair as the blind flapped again. John said later that I used poor Gloria badly, but as I pointed out to him, I had to start on my inquiries somewhere and what I discovered was of great value to clearing up the mystery.

“Now, Gloria,” I began. “Will you tell me whom you saw on Wednesday after you came back from the ‘Australia' ?”

Her tongue passed over her lips before she replied stubbornly: “I saw no one. Just who do you think you are, Byrnes? Have the police given you the authority to go round asking questions? I am going back to the trunkroom.”

“Oh, no, you're not,” I said, standing up and moving across the doorway. “Not if I have to hold you here by force. I am very strong, you know. Sit down.”

She sank back, trying to assume a nonchalant attitude by crossing her exquisitely shod feet.

“There is also another matter that will hold you here by moral force. I suppose you realize I could sue you for making slanderous statements about me; first of all, to the police themselves, and they would be very excellent witnesses, my child; and secondly, your very uncalled for remark to-night. If you wish to blame anyone for this discomfort you may
blame yourself. You are the direct cause of me making these inquiries. As you probably gather by now, I am most dissatisfied with the decision the police have come to about Sarah's death. I may have agreed with them, had you not passed that remark. It started me thinking. Do you follow?”

Gloria nodded. Her wide blue eyes were like those of a bird fascinated by a snake, which simile though apt, I considered as very derogatory to myself. I had made up my mind to be without mercy until I had got what I wanted.

“On Wednesday night,” I began my questions, “after you had put your precious orchid away and did the less important thing of getting your telephone on, did you go straight to the trunkroom?”

“Yes,” she answered after a slight hesitation. I sighed.

“No good, Gloria. If you want to make a success of lying, you must answer quickly. Not too fast, of course. I have it from your rota that you took a considerable time to rejoin them. What held you up?”

“I won't tell you,” she said promptly, drawing out a cigarette case.

“It does give confidence,” l agreed, helping myself to her case without invitation. “But I am forced to remind you of my little threat unless you answer my question. I would get such good damages, Gloria. Suppose I ask you again. What made you late?”

“I was talking,” Gloria replied sulkily. She knew she was cornered. Her only way of escape was either bluff or skilful lying. I was on the alert for both.

“To your unknown friend? Was that all? Are you sure that you did not go up to the roof, and better still to the lift cabin?” Gloria looked disdainful as she shook her head.

“All right. Perhaps this might stir you up. What does the name Irene Patterson convey to you?” I certainly dropped a bombshell of some sort. I had expected defiance or sullenness to this question, but not the sudden paling of her skin and then the hot blood that flowed under it in swift succession.

“Evidently something,” I remarked. “Well?”