Murder in the Telephone Exchange (41 page)

“I see that you've brought your policeman boy-friend, Maggie. What will Clark say?”

“Shut up,” I replied without heat. “This is my mother. Charlotte, these are a few of the poorer class of telephonists. You know, the ones who give you wrong numbers.”

There was an indignant outcry. I retired to a corner and got busy with a comb and hand-mirror. Charlotte chatted with one or two for a few minutes before we rejoined Sergeant Matheson. He was still standing where we had left him, but John Clarkson was there too. I was struck by the insignificant figure the former cut beside Clark. I wondered if it was only the rhythm of the dance that made my heart beat faster as I approached
them. Clark looked around, smiling.

“Mother,” I said, taking her elbow. “May I introduce Mr. Clarkson, one of our traffic officers. Sorry we're so late. How's everything going?”

“Fine,” Clark replied, shaking Charlotte's hand. “I believe that you're giving me a stroke a hole to-morrow, Mrs. Byrnes.”

Charlotte eyed him cautiously. “I don't think I will now. You look as though you can play.”

“He's pretty feeble,” I told her.

Clark laughed. “A dance, Maggie?”

“Sorry,” I answered regretfully. “I've promised Sergeant Matheson. But will you do something for me? Find Bertie and introduce him to my mother. She is anxious to meet him.”

“I didn't say so,” Charlotte protested.

“Yes, you are,” I insisted, going into the danceroom with Sergeant Matheson.

He danced remarkably well for a policeman. He laughed when I told him so, and asked if there was any reason why he should not.

“None at all,” I replied, following an intricate corner turn which I was sure that he made solely for my benefit. “I have always suffered under the delusion that one of the qualifications for the Force was flat feet.”

“You forget that I worked in the country for some years,” he reminded me. “If you can't dance there, you're a social outcast.”

I felt as if he had won that round and made no further comment. Curious glances were directed towards us as Sergeant Matheson swung me down the centre of the room. I began to regret my last-minute invitation.

‘I'll never hear the end of this,' I told myself. ‘It didn't matter so much asking him, but I should have known better than to have a dance with him.'

The Sergeant's voice broke in on my thoughts. “You look like royalty,” he remarked, smiling.

“That's very nice of you. But why?”

“You seem to have done nothing but bow and wave since we arrived. Do you know everyone here?”

“Practically,” I nodded, looking round his arm. “I haven't seen Mac anywhere. I wonder if she is off duty yet?”

“Probably she's changing,” he suggested, as the music stopped. “Thank you, Miss Byrnes. I enjoyed that very much.” He led me down the room to where my mother was sitting and talking to Bertie. The Senior Traffic Officer rose abruptly as he saw me approach.

“Good evening, Mr. Scott,” said the Sergeant pleasantly. “It looks like a successful night.”

Bertie eyed him with transparent hostility, and muttering some excuse left us.

“He's scared of you,” I said softly to Sergeant Matheson. He followed the Senior Traffic Officer's figure with his eyes as Bertie passed from group to group and finally went to sit with a faded-looking woman the other end of the room.

“That must be his wife,” I remarked, directing surreptitious glances towards the Scotts. I saw Bertie offer his arm, and the pair of them went out of the room.

“What did you think of him, Charlotte?” I asked.

“Very nice, dear. Is he always so fidgety? He made me tired to look at him.”

“He's a nervy person,” I answered, turning round in answer to a touch on my bare arm. “Oh, hullo! What do you want?”

“The next dance, please,” Dan Mitchell replied firmly. “Where have you been all night?”

“We've only just arrived. Mother, this is Dan Mitchell.”

“How do you do?” she asked gravely. I motioned to Sergeant Matheson to come nearer. “This is my friendly mechanic,” I said significantly, as the two men shook hands. The boy's eyes gleamed as I spoke the Sergeant's name.

“I'm glad you're here, sir.”

“Not so loud,” I warned him. “Mother, did you see Mac at all?”

“Only for a minute. She was going to the cloakroom to change.”

“You're a good detective,” I informed the Sergeant. “No, I am sorry, Dan, but I think that this is Mr. Clarkson's dance. Go and find someone else.”

The boy's face fell. “But I thought you said—” he began. “The next one,” I promised, looking around the room. “Go and ask that girl in blue over there. She's a good dancer, and such a nice person.”

Dan went off grumbling a little. I seated myself one side of my mother.

“I promised to tell him a few facts to-night,” I explained to the Sergeant across Charlotte. “Do you think that I should now?”

“He's the one who helped you to trace that call, isn't he? I suppose that it's only fair to give him some of the dope. Is he a trustworthy lad?”

“I think so. What would you say, Charlotte?”

“Such a nice fresh look about him,” she commented. “What did you say his name was again?”

“Dan Mitchell. Didn't I introduce him distinctly enough?”

“No, it's not that,” she answered slowly. “I wanted to make certain of his name. You said Dan, didn't you?” I nodded impatiently. “That's not a
very common name, is it, Maggie?”

I had been looking towards the door watching the dancers come in. “It appears as though I have been left flat,” I remarked lightly. “What did you say, Charlotte?”

“It doesn't matter,” she replied. I was surprised to see Sergeant Matheson was staring at her thoughtfully.

“Thank you, Mrs. Byrnes,” he said. “It might be worth going into.”

“Probably a coincidence,” Charlotte said apologetically.

I glanced from one to the other. “What on earth are you two talking about?” I asked, puzzled. “Here's Clark at last. Hullo! Did you want this dance with me? If not, I'm a wallflower.”

“I'll spare you that humiliation,” he replied, holding out one hand. As I slid into his arms, he bent his head to whisper: “What's bitten your friend of the Force?”

“Why?” I asked, craning my neck. Sergeant Matheson was staring across the room. Presently I saw him say a word or two to Charlotte and get up. He wended his way around the edge of the dancers until he came to stand before a blonde girl, sparsely clad in gold satin.

“Gloria!” I said violently.

Clark glanced down at me quickly. “What's the matter, my sweet?”

“Take me down to the band end of the room,” I ordered. “Sergeant Matheson is starting to dance with Patterson. I want to hear what they are saying.”

“You can't do that, Maggie,” Clark protested.

“Oh, can't I? If that girl is going to start telling lies about me again, I'll slap her face.”

“You're jealous,” he said, with amusement.

“Indeed I'm not,” I said indignantly, looking straight up into his face. His eyes held mine for a moment searchingly. Then he gave a short laugh and whirled me round as the Sergeant had done.

“Stop, Clark,” I begged, laughing. “I've got to work soon, and I won't have any breath left with which to talk.”

“Poor Maggie,” he said, easing into a slow waltz. “It's a damn shame we're on duty. I tell you what I'll do. I'll get one of the boys to transmit the music to the trunkroom. We won't feel completely deprived of the party.”

“With Bertie and the others here!” I exclaimed. “We wouldn't have a chance.”

“I can get them to put it on a line,” Clark explained. “How would that be? At least we could listen in.”

“Can it be done?” I asked doubtfully.

“Of course. You wait here and I'll dash downstairs. I won't be long.”

“I'll go and sit with Charlotte,” I called after him. He nodded before disappearing into the crowd.

“Bored, darling?” I asked my mother.

“Not at all. I have just finished a dance with such a nice man. Poor fellow! He only had one arm, but it didn't seem to embarrass him a bit.”

“That would be Bill,” I remarked, holding a hairpin between my teeth as I adjusted the bow I had been wearing.

“I thought it might be,” she nodded calmly. “Who is that beautiful girl Sergeant Matheson is dancing with?”

“Gloria Patterson. I thought you said that she was nasty and spiteful.”

“She looks as if she could be,” commented my mother. “Such a pity with that face and figure. Where are you going, Maggie?”

“I thought that I'd have a hunt for Mac now. Clark has gone downstairs to fix something up for me, but I'll be back before he returns. Will you be all right for a while?” Even as I spoke, Mr. Stornham from the Engineers' Branch came up to ask her for a dance.

‘I suppose that some of these old codgers aren't game to ask the younger girls,' I thought. ‘Charlotte is being rushed. Good for her, anyway.'

I watched her for a while, and waved cheerily from the doorway before making my way along the passage to the cloakroom. As I opened the door the noise that issued forth was like the monkey cage at the zoo.

“Is Gerda MacIntyre there?” I yelled above the din. The abrupt silence that fell was almost ludicrous. But Mac was not there. The chattering and giggling started again as I withdrew. The corridor was almost empty, and I returned to the danceroom to rake the dancers for Mac. There was still no sign of Clark, and the waltz the band was playing was nearing an end. My mother's partner was bowing her to her seat. I saw, with some amusement, Sergeant Matheson remove himself gently from Gloria's clinging hands. He must have had two dances in succession with her, and I wondered what he had discovered to be brave enough to do that. As I stood there in the doorway, girls rushed by me to the cloakroom to attend to that ever-important and all-absorbing matter, one's make-up. I caught one or two by the hand, but none of them had seen Mac for some time. The only information that I gleaned was that she had been in street clothes when she came off duty, and the suggestion that she was probably somewhere changing.

“Did you look in the cloakroom?” I was asked. “She left a case there earlier. It had her evening dress in it.” That reminded me of my own bag. I retraced my steps.

“Hullo, Maggie,” the girl Hemingway said. “Is my hair right at the back?”

“Marvellous! Do you mind moving over while I pull my case out?”

“I believe you're staying the night here,” she remarked, sitting on the edge of a table.

“By compulsion, and not of my own desire,” I replied, getting down on my knees. “Of all the nights that there should be a dance, I would be on the dog-watch. Hullo, what's this?”

“What's which?” Hemingway asked inanely. It was amazing how a simple dance went to some people's heads.

“That is Gerda's case you've got,” she informed me. “Now we know who has the taking ways around here. What do you think you're doing?”

On impulse I had snapped open the lid. The first thing that met my eyes was a pair of tiny gold sandals. I sat back on my heels, frowning.

“That's funny,” observed Hemingway. “Mac can't have changed after all. I thought she finished at 9.30 p.m.”

“Haven't you seen her since?” I asked swiftly.

“I haven't,” she replied, “but I believe that she looked into the dance-room for a moment. I wonder—”

“Don't,” I said shortly, closing the case and shoving it back into place. I got up slowly. “Don't say anything about this, Mavis, will you? Not until I tell you.”

“All right,” she agreed in surprise. “What are you looking so serious about, Maggie?”

“I'll tell you later,” I said over my shoulder.

I hurried down the corridor, encountering severe looks as I bumped from one person to another in my desire for speed, and into the dance-room. There I was compelled to go slowly. The floor was packed. Gradually I worked round to where my mother was sitting, my eyes ever searching the shifting couples.

“Hullo, darling,” she called, patting the seat beside her. “Will you be able to wait for supper? They are calling the supper-dance next.”

“Charlotte, where's Sergeant Matheson?” I demanded, ignoring her question.

She looked at me sharply. “I haven't seen him for some time. Maggie, has anything—”

“Never mind,” I cut in. “Did Clark come back?”

“No, not yet. Maggie, where are you going?” she asked, half rising.

“Stay here,” I commanded her abruptly.