Murder in the Telephone Exchange (27 page)

We strolled on leisurely through the Gardens, and came out at one end of the riding-track alongside the river; pausing to watch the horses and to comment on their riders. Presently, we caught a river ferry back to town, where I left Charlotte to roam about the shops. I continued along to catch a bus to the Exchange. It must have been some sort of charity day as stalls, displaying home-made jams and pickles, lined the streets. The city was crowded, especially around the circus, where grotesque dolls were being raffled. These appeal days are great fun if you have plenty of time in which to wander about, but when you are hurrying to work they are only a source of irritation as you get caught up in the throng.

The bus made a slow trip through town, steering a careful course between the traffic and the crowds that spread on to the road every few yards. Having once got a particular idea into my head, l wanted action. It was irritating to be held up thus, and made me feel fidgety.

Sergeant Matheson came out of the Exchange door while I was hunting for my pass in a handbag that I had sworn to clear out every day. He looked pleased to see me, and drew me away from the guard's hearing.

“You were right, Miss Byrnes,” he said excitedly. “It was in the dump-yard at the side of the building.”

“What was?” I asked, turning over letters in the endeavour to find that piece of blue cardboard. “I seem to have mislaid my pass. Will you vouch for me at the door?”

“The buttinsky! Don't you remember telling me this afternoon to look in that dump-yard?”

“Did you actually find it?” I asked in astonishment. “Well, well! What a fluke on my part!”

“Don't spoil it,” replied the Sergeant, grinning. “The chief thinks that you're nothing short of a marvel. In fact, you've been so clever throughout that he is beginning to suspect that you must have known more about the murder than you told us.”

“You told me that yesterday,” l pointed out. “You may inform him, with my compliments, that I stumbled on this business by the merest chance. The sooner I see the last of you both, the happier I'll be.”

“Well, we're pushing off now. Inspector Coleman is just clearing up a few matters inside. Are you really glad that it's all over?”

“Very,” I replied firmly, and held out my hand. “I like a quiet life. Good-bye.”

The Sergeant looked down at my hand with a serious expression on his face. “Won't you come to that basketball match with me?”

“No, thank you very much.”

“What about tea one day at that place we were yesterday?”

I shook my head. “Certainly not, You behaved like a cad.”

“Somewhere else then,” he pleaded. My heart melted. His expression was far from official at that moment.

“Give me a ring in a few weeks' time,” I suggested, “and I'll think it over. Tell me, was the buttinsky all—er—you know?”

“No. It was rusty but not from blood. She must have run a tap on it in an attempt to remove the stains. It's been a foul business.”

“Poor Dulcie,” I said sadly. “She was just a frightened kid. But I'm glad that it's turned out like this. At least it was short. Now come and tell that guard person that I can go in.”

We shook hands again in a friendly fashion on the steps, the Sergeant promising to call me in a week's time.

‘I doubt if he will remember,' I told myself. ‘Not that I care much, but he's a nice lad.'

I walked quickly along the corridor to the front stairs near the lift well, feeling as if my quest was rather futile now that the case was solved. But that old nagging something in my brain urged me to satisfy my curiosity. Things seemed at loose ends in my mind. I wanted to tie up all those ends neatly and then forget about the whole distasteful business. Although the actual murder had been solved, there were still several matters uncompleted; for example, the anonymous letters and the strange behaviour of Bill the liftman.

‘He must have written them,' I told myself, descending the stairs to the basement.

I had long since put down Mac's hand in the affair to the same as mine; namely, an inquisitive disposition and a desire to have a shot at amateur detecting. How stupid and foolish I was not to realize the accuracy of inspector Coleman's words when he talked about amateurs in the field causing accidents.

One or two mechanics passed me on the stairs. They glanced at me curiously. It was no place for a telephonist as the men had a locker-room in the basement. A passage ran down one side of the building. On my left were different rooms used for storing odd pieces of apparatus and filed dockets. Besides being lighted by electricity, there were a few skylights let into the pavement above. I could hear the muffled tread of people in the street outside. I turned a corner of the passage and nearly yelled in excitement. Even in the dim light I could see the definite outlines of a door behind stacks of empty wooden boxes piled high in front of it. On a cursory examination it looked as if it hadn't been used for years, but at least
I had found what I was looking for. A second entrance to the Exchange!

‘What a pity!' I said softly. ‘If Dulcie hadn't more or less confessed to the crime, I would have been able to break Bertie's alibi.' The boxes were only light, three-ply affairs, which could be moved in and out of position before anyone would notice a disturbance. As for the key to the door, Bertie would certainly know where that was; if he didn't already have it in his possession.

‘When Sergeant Matheson rings me next week,' I promised myself, ‘I'll tell him about it; just as a point of interest. I wonder how many people know of this exit.' I started to retrace my steps, intending to go round by the right-of-way and have a look at the door from the outside.

One of the doors, now on my right, opened suddenly, and a girl crashed straight into me. I caught her by the arms as she stumbled, turning her face up to the light. It was Mac.

“Hullo,” I said uneasily, mindful of the coldness between us. “Don't tell me that you've been making the big discovery too!”

She looked very pale, and was panting a little. I noticed a smudge of dirt on one cheekbone, and glanced down instinctively to her hands. They were filthy.

“What do you mean?” Mac asked quickly. Her eyes were raking my face.

“The hidden door,” I answered, pointing down the passage. I thought I heard her breath quickly indrawn in a sigh.

“Oh, that!” she said, following my finger. “It's been locked for years. Haven't you ever seen it before?”

“Nor heard of it. I fancy that there are not too many people in the Exchange who have.”

“I have to come down here after dockets,” Mac explained carelessly.

“Indeed! Perhaps you can tell me if those boxes have been disturbed lately.”

Mac walked on ahead hurriedly. “I haven't been down here for some time now. Anyway, I doubt whether I would have noticed.”

“Precisely,” I nodded, satisfied. We climbed the stairs in silence.

“What have you been crawling around in the dirt for?” I asked curiously.

“Looking for some dockets. What are you doing here at this hour? I thought you were on all night.”

“So I am. I was snooping. I say, isn't it foul about Dulcie?”

“Awful,” Mac agreed in a precise little voice. I frowned. Somehow, for the first time since I had known her, Mac had sounded insincere.

“The mater is in town,” I informed her. Her face brightened.

“When did she come down? Give her my love.”

“Only this morning. Don't you remember that I told you that I had forgotten to read her letter in all the excitement. It was rather a surprise when she arrived. She wanted to—buy a garden hat,” I finished hurriedly.

“Buy a garden hat?” Mac echoed, and then laughed gaily. “How like her. She's a darling! Will I see her at all?”

“She might be coming to-morrow night, if I can manage to cadge a leave-pass from Bertie. How is he to-day, by the way?”

Mac shrugged a little. “As moody as ever. I think the suicide rattled him.”

“You can't blame him. It is rather grim. I'd better go up and see him at once. Is Clark on duty yet?”

“He changed over to the all night with Bancroft,” answered Mac coolly. “Didn't you know?” I felt elated and tried not to show it. I turned away to press the lift bell.

“He didn't tell me,” I said lightly. “He'll be a good boss to have for the dog-watch. I'll be able to catch up on a few hours sleep.”

The lift came down to the ground floor. I bade Bill “good day” as we entered. He answered my greeting quietly. As we ascended I made another search in my handbag.

“I can't find my pass anywhere,” I explained to Mac, as she watched my fumblings casually. “Wait a bit, this looks like it.” I separated a little red engagement book and a letter to retrieve it. The pass had been caught between them. As I moved it to a more conspicuous place, my eyes fell on a small stub of a pencil. I brought it out thoughtfully, and tapped Bill on the shoulder on impulse.

“I think you dropped this,” I suggested, watching him closely.

He looked down at my hand, and then straight up into my eyes. “It doesn't look like one of mine,” he said, bringing the lift to a standstill. “Indelible, isn't it?”

“That's right. Are you sure that it doesn't belong to you?”

Bill opened the doors, and Mac stepped out. “Quite,” he answered curtly. I did not press him further, and put the pencil back into my bag. After all, it did not matter much, now.

Mac had gone through the glass doors to the trunkroom without a backward glance. I could see her straight little figure walking down the room to the sortagraph as I waited by the Senior Traffic Officer's table for Bertie. He was over at the Sydney boards. When he saw me the frown deepened between his eyes. He came hurrying back to his desk.

“Where have you been?” he demanded. “You should have been on an hour ago.”

I stared at him uncomprehendingly for a minute. “But I am on all night, Mr. Scott.” He slapped papers about on his desk. I moved aside out of range.

“You changed with Miss Patterson,” he barked.

“No, I did not,” I contradicted. “l wanted to, but you wouldn't let me. Didn't she turn up to-day?”

“She's not here. She's not on the sick-sheet, and your change is in the book.”

“I know nothing about it, and I certainly didn't sign the change.”

Bertie gave me a sharp glance under his bushy brows. He pulled out the book, and flipped over the pages. “You see?” I pointed out gently. He stared at the page.

“Well, where is Miss Patterson?” he demanded. Some of the edge had gone out of his bark.

“I couldn't tell you. I suppose she'll turn up to work all night.”

He banged the book back, and started to open and shut drawers fiercely. “It's disgraceful!” he remarked vehemently. “Too many mistakes like this are occurring. There's to be no more changing until further notice, do you hear?”

‘They could hear you out in the street,' I thought acidly, not game to tell him that he had given the same order two days ago, and hence the mix-up. I had come up to see him to beg a favour. I put on what I hoped was a winning smile, and asked prettily: “Mr. Scott, my mother is in town for the week-end. Could it be possible for her to come to the dance?”

“The dance,” he repeated blankly. “What dance?”

“The charity social to-morrow night,” I replied patiently. The telephones were ringing on his desk. I hoped he would give me the leave-pass before he got off the track again.

“That'll be all right,” he grunted. “I'll write out permission, and leave it here on my table. You can pick it up to-night.”

“Thanks, awfully,” l said gratefully. “If Miss Patterson comes in tonight, what will we do?”

“You'd both better work all night, I suppose,” he replied irritably, picking up a receiver. “Don't worry me now.”

I had got what I wanted, so I left without a word. It was obvious that he was in a foul mood, perhaps because of the knowledge he knew I held about him; not that he had any need to worry. I had no wish to spread his story around the Exchange. Bertie was a good man to work for, and as such he would remain to me. After all, his private affairs were none of my business. I would never be able to treat him with that respect and admiration, as had been my wont. I longed to tell him about my discovery
in the basement in order to observe his reaction. As I had thought with the pencil that Bill had dropped, what did it matter now? Compton and her murderess were both dead. The mystery of the anonymous letters and other troubles that she had left in her wake would remain. But there was no need to stir up the murky depths that Sarah's death had left to lie stagnant. They might evaporate in time.

I found Charlotte crossing from one corner to another with the traffic lights, and laughed.

“I couldn't remember which one you said,” she excused herself. “People must have thought l was mad, but I didn't want to miss you. Did you get what you wanted?”