Murder in the Telephone Exchange (40 page)

I rolled over on to one side and propped my chin in my hand. “What do you think she replied?” I asked idiotically, bent on achieving a dramatic effect: “ ‘Only one of the cleaners.' ”

There was a dead silence. Charlotte was frankly gaping. I waited for my words to sink in. I thought Sergeant Matheson looked a shade disappointed, and hurried to enlarge upon the new theory.

“Let us go back to Wednesday again,” I suggested, starting to enjoy myself. “You remember that I told you how Gloria Patterson left us playing cards and I noticed the restroom door ajar. There was no sign of her when I looked out into the cloakroom, but there was someone else, and it was—”

“Only one of the cleaners,” my mother chimed in triumphantly. “Go on, Maggie, quickly.”

“It's funny,” I mentioned pensively, “that although there are a tribe of middle-aged charwomen around the building, you never seem to notice them. I suppose that they are like the case of the missing buttinsky, insignificant but important. Gloria comes back from her cocktail at the ‘Australia,' and with whom does she pause to chat? You know the answers, so I won't repeat myself in a tedious fashion. But there is one more instance where the same phrase fits in. It occurred that night I had tea with Mac and Dulcie Gordon. I dash off searching for the eavesdropper
and there I see Bill the liftman, quite overlooking the fact that with him is one of the cleaners locking up the cafeteria.”

“Was it the same woman each time?” demanded the Sergeant.

“I don't know about Gloria's friend. It was the other times.”

“Do you know her name?” asked the Sergeant with his pencil poised.

“Smith or Jones,” I replied after a moment's thought. “Something typically insignificant. Smith, I think.”

“That's a familiar name,” remarked my mother absently.

She looked up in surprise as Sergeant Matheson and I laughed together.

“We'll go into the matter,” Sergeant Matheson promised me, “but I rather fancy the liftman. However, as I said before, every possibility must be explored. Is there anything else, Miss Byrnes?”

“Yes,” I replied. “You're forgetting Bertie. My money is on him at the moment, and I can give you a good reason why. I told you that I had Gloria in the restroom last night. After she departed in rather an annoyed way, I settled down on the couch for a bit of sleep. It was cool and comfortable there, and the fact that my late antagonist would probably be occupying the dormitory did not urge me to leave. I rather think that I fell asleep. Anyway, I turned off the light to that object, leaving just the one globe in the cloakroom burning.”

“Maggie, dear!” protested my mother.

“I know, Charlotte,” I replied, “and never again. I thought that my last moment had come. And was I in a blue funk! I awoke with a jerk to find myself in complete darkness, but not alone. Someone had stolen into the room without realizing that I was there, and was making a call on the telephonists' phone. Now, here is what struck me as odd. Although I could hear someone talking the other end, the unknown caller made not one remark, and presently hung up the receiver and crept out again.”

“You have no idea who it was?” asked the Sergeant.

“It may have been Gloria again, but I'm not sure. I waited where I was. In fact, I don't think that I could have moved, I was so terrified. After a few minutes, I got out of that room as quickly as I could. Believe me, you won't see me going into it alone again. Then another brainwave struck me. I didn't know the caller, but at least I could have a shot at discovering the number that was dialled. I rushed down to one of the apparatus rooms on the first floor; incidentally, Sergeant, forgetting my qualms about using the lift. There I found a mechanic who proved most helpful.”

“Did you find out the number?”

“It is in my book, M something or other. From the initial letter I can tell you that the subscriber is somewhere in the west part of town. A friend of mine on the Information desk is trying to trace it, but I'm afraid that it'll
be a long job.” I looked speculatively at the Sergeant, who seemed to be brooding deeply.

“I hope that you're not thinking of ringing the number yourself,” I ventured.

He laughed shortly. “I was,” he admitted. “Whoever answers may be able to give us a line to work on.”

“I don't think so,” I murmured.

He glanced up sharply. “You've tried already?”

I nodded. “A man answered. He told me in no uncertain terms where to go. I certainly picked on a bad time. But I believe that 3 a.m. is not an unusual hour for babies to demand entry into this sorry world.”

“Maggie, darling!” said my mother distressfully.

“What on earth are you talking about?” asked Sergeant Matheson in bewilderment.

“Charlotte knows,” I said, grinning. “Trust a woman to catch on quickly. I thought that it would be less suspicious if I pretended that I was calling a doctor. I think it was swallowed. I didn't learn much, except that the unknown subscriber was a man. I wouldn't go using the same trick if I were you. He may become suspicious.”

“After that episode we'd better wait for your friend's result. Will she take long?”

“Not if she's lucky. It means wading through a list of automatic numbers in the City West group. It may be at the top. On the other hand, it may be at the bottom. They don't run in numerical order, you know.”

Sergeant Matheson glanced through his own notebook. “Anyway, I've got plenty to work on for the time being. I'll just compare these notes I've made with yours, Miss Byrnes. I gather that you've finished all you wish to say.”

“At long last,” I agreed. “Do you mind tossing me over an orange from the chest of drawers. My throat is dry after all the talking I've done. They're just behind you. Do you want us to shut up while you work!”

The Sergeant had placed the two notebooks side by side on my bedside table. “No, you may keep talking. I hope that I'm not keeping you.”

“Not at all,” declared my mother politely. “There is no particular time that you wanted to arrive at the dance, is there, Maggie?”

“We'd better go soon if I'm to get any dances before I go on duty. Would you care to come with us, Sergeant? I will be able to get you in without a pass. You will be able to see everyone who seems to be concerned in this affair unofficially, so to speak.”

“Thank you,” he replied with alacrity. “I'm very anxious to talk to Miss MacIntyre as soon as possible. I don't like the idea of an amateur
running about loose with information that should have been lodged in the right quarters long ago.”

I glanced at him uneasily. “You don't think—” I began hesitantly. He looked at me straightly without a word. “Come on, Charlotte,” I said quickly, “Let's get going at once.”

CHAPTER VIII

We were all very quiet during that drive into the city, and I gripped my mother's hand in a way that I had not done for years. She returned the clasp, although her face, when I looked into it, seemed as placid as usual. The traffic lights on the city side of the bridge held up the taxi that Sergeant Matheson had ordered so munificently. I was in a fever of impatience. I had only one idea fixed in my mind, and that was to find Mac.

‘Nothing can happen to her at the dance, surely,' I told myself. ‘Why, everyone will be there. All the Heads of the Department and the Engineering Branch. There's nothing to worry about.'

The Heads! I had told Sergeant Matheson that Bertie was one of them.

My mother remarked casually: “It's astounding how long those lights take to turn green when you're in a hurry,” and I knew that she, too, was eager to reach our destination.

The car swung around west away from the traffic in the heart of town. Presently it mounted the hill steadily to the Exchange building. Cars of all descriptions were lined up in the parking area outside. There were even a couple of mechanics' motorcycles standing cheek by jowl beside the Superintendent of Telephones' limousine. As the wind rose and fell, I could hear the faint thud of a percussion instrument and a drift or two of dance music.

“We will make a spectacular entry,” I said lightly, following my mother out of the car. “We seem to be the last. Have you got that pass I gave you, Charlotte?”

“I think so,” she replied, letting her long skirt fall as she opened her handbag. “Yes, here it is.”

“Come along, my children,” I said briskly. “I believe that it is our friend, Mr. Ormond, at the door. Do you want a word with him, Sergeant?”

“I'd better tell him who I am. I'll follow you in a minute.” “He'll probably ask him about Bertie on Wednesday night,” I whispered to my mother, guiding her along the dim passage to the lift. “What did you think of my theory?”

“About Mr. Scott departing and then coming back? Quite good, dear, but not likely if he knew about that door in the basement.”

We paused outside the lift, and I pressed the button. The sound of the music was stronger now that we were in the new building. The dance was in full swing only seven floors above our heads. The rhythm of the three-piece band that we had hired made me tap one foot, and forget momentarily my original urgency to see Mac. The atmosphere of the Exchange seemed charged with gaiety and utterly devoid of the tension of the past few days. It would be rather absurd to go rushing up to Mac and dragging her aside for serious conversation. The lift settled at the ground floor. It was empty.

“Is that the place?” asked Charlotte, pointing above her head.

“It is,” I replied, running my finger carefully down the row of buttons. When the lift had started on its way, I turned to her, saying: “Let's forget everything, and have a good time for a while. I'm heartily sick of deducing and theorising. I mean to enjoy myself for the next hour or so. How do you like the band?”

“They sound quite good,” she replied cautiously. “Am I expected to dance?”

“Rather. They'll line up as soon as they see you. But I want you to meet Bertie first.”

A shutter fell. I glanced at the indicator quickly. “That'll be Sergeant Matheson. Shall we go back for him?” I jammed the emergency stop without waiting for her reply. The lift came to a standstill.

“Damn! I hope I haven't messed up the works. No, we're all right. She's on the move.” I looked over my shoulder at Charlotte. “Did I give you a fright?” She did not seem to hear me.

“Mother,” I called softly.

She started. “What, darling? I was thinking.”

“What about?” I asked her.

“Nothing, really, Maggie. are you sure that nice boy is married?” she asked hopefully.

I grinned unashamedly at her transparency. “I think so. Gloria Patterson told me, and she usually knows these things. A careful reconnaissance of whether a man is married and how much money he has is Gloria's first move in the game.”

“Such a pity,” Charlotte said regretfully. I frowned at her warningly as I opened the doors for Sergeant Matheson.

“Hullo,” I greeted him. “Did you fix things up?”

He nodded. “I thought you said that you were not going to travel in this lift again even with a policeman,” he said grinning.

I laughed back at him. The music must have had the same effect on him as it had on me. His ordinary-looking face was alight with expectancy.

“Don't bring the subject up,” I begged. “Let's enjoy ourselves for a change. I hope you realize that to-night's affair is going to cost you half a crown, not to mention odd sixpences for raffles, with which you'll be pestered.”

“I'll charge it to Russell Street,” he returned blithely. “If you notice any change in your next year's assessment, you'll know who to blame. That's a jolly band you've got here,” he added, opening the doors at the seventh floor.

“We were just passing the same remark. Do you dance?”

“A little,” he replied modestly. “May I—”

“Sure. Wait here until I run and put this case away. I had to bring a change of clothes. I can't go home to-morrow morning in this rigout. Do you want to powder your nose, Charlotte?”

“If you think that it's necessary, dear. Where do we go?”

“Follow me. You stay near the door, Sergeant. We'll only be a minute.”

“What a crowd of people!” said my mother, as I cleaved a passage to a small room the other end of the corridor. It bore the title of Ladies' Cloaks. Several voices greeted me gaily. The spirit of carnival was in the air. It was expressed by the lighthearted chatter around us, the beat of the slow foxtrot that the band was playing, and the flimsy frocks of the girls, which whirled and mingled against the dark background of their partners. Nobody seemed to be remembering those grim happenings that had taken place only three days previously, and I made a mental resolve to forget them too. After all, having delivered whatever knowledge I held into the Sergeant's hands, I was no longer responsible.

The cloakroom was like an oven, and crowded with telephonists repairing their make-up. As I have mentioned before, news spreads quickly in the Exchange. I was chaffed immediately.