Murder in the Telephone Exchange (10 page)

‘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 story 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.

“Why should it be? They can't stop it now that all the tickets have been sold.”

“I daresay,” I said, annoyed that I had started another argument. “But don't forget the slight disturbance that we had last night. Those policemen have come to stay; that is, until the truth has been discovered. We might dance over important footprints.”

“Don't be so silly. No one would want to go near the restroom.”

Mac raised her eyes quickly, her small fingers crumbling at some bread. “Why do you say that?” she asked in a quiet voice. I looked at her in astonishment, wondering at what she was driving. Gloria seemed surprised, too.

“My dear Gerda,” she said loftily, “who would want to go near a room where a murder has been committed?”

“You can stop the ‘my dear'-ing,” I interrupted. “What's up, Mac?”

She was leaning across the table. I could see her eyes boring into Gloria's.

“How do you know where the crime was committed?” she asked, her voice suddenly clear and hard.

“Good girl,” I thought, “you've got something there.”

Patterson looked confused. “Why—why, I just heard.”

“Where did you hear it?” I put in quickly.

“I read it in the papers.”

Mac sat back again. “I read two morning papers before I came out, and in neither of them was there any mention of the exact place where the body was found.”

Gloria's eyes darted around the room. “You told me yourselves,” she whimpered.

“We most certainly did not,” I declared emphatically. “Now think up another one.”

“Leave her alone,” interrupted Mac, passing a hand over her face wearily. “It's not our job to try and trap her.”

“You're not trapping me,” Gloria cried. “I've got nothing to hide. I remember now. One of the girls rang and told me.”

“No good,” I said, shaking my head. “They wouldn't know any more than what the papers printed. Who was it rang you, anyway?”

Gloria got up from the table. “I—I won't tell you.”

I shrugged indifferently and folded my table-napkin. “Have it your own way, my pet,” I said, “but if you are a wise person, which I very much doubt, you'll take my advice and go straight to Inspector Coleman.”