Murder in the Telephone Exchange (57 page)

“You'd better own up,” I told her shortly. “You gave yourself away when you made to take that pencil. Who are you, and why did you write those letters?”

Mrs. Smith raised her tear-stained face. It was contorted with anger, and her eyes were full of hate. “Damn you!” she choked. “Damn you to hell, you prying smart alec! You'll get what she got. You're just the same; poking into other people's business. And won't I laugh when I see you dead, all battered and the blood streaming out of your face! I'll laugh, do you hear? Laugh!”

She was horrible to listen to, before Sergeant Matheson closed her mouth with his palm. I shrank trembling into a chair.

Mrs. Smith spluttered and clawed at his hand, but the Sergeant didn't release his grip. His face was very grim as he looked down at his victim.

Inspector Coleman said sternly: “Will you be quiet? Or must we lock you up until you cool down?”

Her eyes darted around the room. I flinched as they rested on me for a moment. Gradually the flush went out of her cheeks, and she made a sign with one hand. Sergeant Matheson removed his.

“I'll tell you,” she said quietly. “But first, I'd like someone to be here.”

“Your lawyer?” asked the Inspector, and she gave him a startled look.

“I don't need a lawyer, I didn't kill those women.” Inspector Coleman folded his hands on the table in front of him, and watched her dispassionately.

“I didn't!” she cried shrilly. “Don't look at me like that. I swear I know nothing about the murders. I only wanted Bill here.”

I covered my eyes with one hand. It had been inevitable, of course. Bill was mixed up with her somehow, but I had shrunk from the direct
truth. Roberts was called in, and came back presently with the liftman. Bill stood in the doorway, his grave eyes, usually so bright and laughing, going slowly from one to the other. I couldn't meet them when my turn came.

“Milly!” he said, coming forward. “What has happened? Have you come to your senses at last?”

“That girl has found out,” she replied grudgingly. “I suppose that I'd better tell the police now.”

Bill took a chair quietly, facing me from the opposite wall. It was hard trying not to look up, but I dared not read the reproach I knew would be in his eyes.

“I am Millicent Smith,” the woman began in a low, unsteady voice. She seemed calm now, and I felt very thankful. Outbursts like the one that had fallen on my head were very wearing to the nervous system. “But I did know Irene Smith. She was my sister.”

She paused. My brain slipped ahead, fitting in various facts and different incidents. I longed to speak, to ask her questions that would cement the theory that I had evolved in my brain, but one brief glance at the Inspector made me hold my tongue. He would brook no interference at this stage of the game.

Mrs. Smith went on: “We were both telephonists here, many years ago. Sarah Compton was too. Irene was only a year older than me, and very attractive, while I,” and her lips twisted a trifle, “was always plain. No one ever noticed me. In fact, very few realized that I was Irene's sister. She and Sarah became very friendly. But it didn't last when Dan Patterson appeared on the scene. He was only a mechanic, but he was one of the best-looking men I have ever seen. Irene and Sarah both fell in love with him. That was what made them quarrel. He chose Irene, and they got married before he sailed overseas to the war. Sarah did everything she could to stop their marriage. She was mad with jealousy.” Here Mrs. Smith raised her head, and I saw a little smile flicker around her mouth. “She needn't have hated Irene so much.”

“I told you that Dan was a very attractive man. He was spoilt by all the attention that the girls at the Exchange gave him. Everyone more or less fancied themselves in love with him, Irene included. I think that the only one who really did love him was—myself,” Mrs. Smith dropped her head, and I had to lean forward to catch what she was saying. “I used to stay with Irene while Dan was in camp. One week-end he got unexpected leave when my sister was in the country staying with friends. He was very upset to find her away. I think he realized then that I was in love with him. But he didn't care for me. I was there in his home, and he was bitterly
disappointed to find his wife gone.

“He went overseas before he knew what had happened. Irene was wonderful to me. She had always protected and mothered me. She promised that when my baby arrived she would adopt it and pass it off as her own. Dan and the rest of the world would never know. But Sarah Compton found out somehow. It has always puzzled me how she did.

“Irene died from influenza before Dan came back from the war, leaving me in her home with the adopted baby who was really my own daughter. Then Sarah wrote to Dan, telling him the true facts of the story. I never saw him again. He wrote once, giving me the deed of the house, and now and then money would arrive, but I never knew where he was. He said that if he received any communication from me, he would tear it up before reading it.

“After a while, when my little girl went to school, I got work again, as a domestic. I dared not go back to Central, fearing that Sarah had spread the story around. Strangely enough, she had not. She was biding her time until the proper occasion arose, and she could revenge both Irene and myself.” Mrs. Smith paused again. The silence of the room was only broken by the scratch of the Sergeant's blunt pencil. Her voice was hard as she continued.

“The time came when my daughter started work at the Exchange.”

“Is Gloria Patterson your daughter?” asked Inspector Coleman quietly.

She nodded. “You see, Irene had adopted her legally, so her surname was that of her father. When Gloria started at the Exchange, I obtained a position as a charwoman to keep an eye on her. It was Bill who recognised me after all these years, but I knew that he would not give me away.”

Inspector Coleman turned his head, his brows raised inquiringly.

“I was a mechanic with Dan Patterson,” Bill explained, “and went overseas with him. He received Sarah's letter on the boat coming home, and told me what had happened. He got off the boat in South Africa.”

The Inspector returned his gaze to the woman in front of him. “You say that the liftman was the only one who recognized you. What about Miss Compton?”

“I don't think she did at first. Of course, she knew who Gloria was. Anyway, she made no move to attack me openly, but started to play a cat-and-mouse game with my daughter. Gloria told me, and I swore that I'd never let Sarah Compton break up my life again. You see, had Dan not heard that Gloria was my own daughter, he probably would have married me.

“I wrote to Sarah, asking her to meet me one day so that I could beg her not to give Gloria away, but she did not reply. Not once did she come
openly to me. If I tried to catch her alone, she would look blankly at me and walk away. I got desperate, and eventually confided to Bill the state of affairs. The lift was his idea, really. Knowing Sarah the way we did, we realised that she would never be able to withstand her curiosity. On Wednesday evening I hid myself in the lift cabin. I knew the shift that Sarah was working, and that she would probably use the lift at some stage or other if I waited long enough.”

Mrs. Smith glanced at me. “This girl was with her. I saw them on the roof together, and heard her say that it was time to go back to the trunkroom. I waited until they were nearly at the stairs before I showed myself. I wanted Sarah to see someone, and come up later to investigate. As soon as I heard the power starting, I opened the trap-door in the cabin and dropped a letter through. It contained a warning that I hoped would further induce Sarah to come back.”

“And did she?” asked the Inspector swiftly. I sat up tensely, conscious of an approaching climax.

“No,” muttered the woman, and her face became sullen again. “I waited for hours, but she didn't come.”

The Inspector's voice was as smooth as silk as he asked: “You didn't see her again?” Mrs. Smith shook her head.

“Then how is it,” he demanded loudly, “you could give us an accurate description of what Sarah Compton looked like when dead?”

Millicent Smith was an awful fool if she hadn't seen that coming, She gasped and her eyes widened with fear.

“You saw Miss Compton when she was dead in the restroom,” declared Inspector Coleman. Her mouth formed words noiselessly. Her eyes never left the Inspector's face.

Bill said slowly: “You'd better tell them, Millicent.” But still she made no reply, and Bill went on: “When Sarah Compton failed to go up to the lift cabin, Mrs. Smith decided to go and look for her.”

“What time was it?” demanded the Inspector.

“I asked her that,” Bill said with a troubled frown, “but she didn't know. It must have been after 11 p.m., because she said that the floor was deserted, and I know that there is usually a staff coming off duty at that time.”

Inspector Coleman turned to me. “You and Miss MacIntyre worked the late shift, didn't you?”

“That's right. We were delayed in the trunkroom until about ten minutes after the hour.”

Bill looked at me puzzled for a minute, before he said: “That was why Mrs. Smith missed you. Do you want me to go on, Millicent?”

The woman croaked out something unintelligible.

“Her search for Sarah naturally took her to the cloakroom,” continued Bill, “She saw her lying on the floor of the restroom and was terrified, especially as she realized that she had no business being in the building at that hour. She hurried down the back stairs and out of the building without raising the alarm.”

“Did you see anyone?” asked the Inspector.

Mrs. Smith shook her head. “I heard voices coming up the front stairs. That was why I used the back way.”

‘That was Mac and myself,' I thought. ‘Therefore it must have been after eleven when you found Sarah.'

Inspector Coleman asked: “Does Gloria Patterson still live with you? Was she in when you got home?”

A look of deeper fear came into her eyes. “I don't know,” she replied. “But I am sure that she was. I didn't want to upset her, so I didn't look in her room. I swear that Gloria knew nothing about it until I told her in the morning.”

I nodded, satisfied. So Mrs. Smith was the aunt with whom Gloria lived. No wonder she could tell me where the murder took place when she came to see me the following morning.

Inspector Coleman reached for his brief case, which stood against one leg of his chair. He opened it and, extracting a creased piece of paper, passed it over to the woman in front of him.

“You have already confessed to writing anonymous letters,” he remarked. “Is that one of yours?”

Mrs. Smith unfolded it slowly, a look of bewilderment coming into her face. “No,” she replied in a low voice. “I know nothing about it.”

I guessed. rather than saw. that it was the one that I had suspected Dulcie Gordon of writing.

The Inspector frowned down at his clasped hands. “Mrs. Smith,” he began. “I have to warn you that your position is very unsatisfactory. You have no alibi, either for the murder of Sarah Compton or Gerda MacIntyre. Moreover, you have confessed a motive for desiring the death of Sarah Compton.”

“I didn't kill her,” she whispered. “I swear that she was already dead when I saw her.”

The Inspector ignored her desperate defence. “Did Miss MacIntyre ever approach you during the days between Miss Compton's death and her own?”

“Only once,” she replied quickly. “She came up to the kitchen last Saturday night. It was to ask me something about the supper arrangements.”

“The murder was committed not far from where you stood,” said Inspector Coleman grimly. “Do you still say that you heard no outcry?”

Mrs. Smith hung her head without a word. I felt my body becoming more and more tense.

“Mrs. Smith,” went on the Inspector. “Does the name Atkinson convey anything to you?”

“I know no one of that name,” she muttered. “Why do you ask?”

“That,” returned the Inspector coldly, “is my affair. Perhaps you will be able to help us on this point. Will you give us a fairly accurate description of Dan Patterson?”

“I can't remember,” she replied, and her breath came in pants.

The Inspector turned to Bill without a word.

“He was tall; over six feet,” Bill said. “Straight features and fair-haired. I think that his eyes were a blue-grey.”

“Thank you,” said the Inspector. “Would you know him again if you saw him?”

“Yes,” replied Bill quietly. “He has the mark of a shrapnel wound on his left arm.”

Inspector Coleman thanked him again. He made a brief sign with his hand to Sergeant Matheson, who arose.

Mrs. Smith's voice rose to a scream. “What are you going to do? Where are you taking me?”

I closed my eyes to shut out the sight of that ravaged face, but I could not stop the sound of the Sergeant's voice, repeating that monotonous formula “—and anything you say will be used in evidence against you.”