Murder in the Telephone Exchange

by June Wright

  “I didn’t,” I protested. “It was your idea.”

  “So, obediently,” Clark went on, ignoring the interruption, “I betook myself down to the power-room, and spent the next half-hour or so running from the first floor to the sixth and back here to the seventh making noises like a sheep to ensure perfect transmission in order to please Miss Byrnes.”

  “My grateful thanks,” I said dryly.

  “I’m glad to hear them,” Clark retorted, “for when I returned to reclaim the rest of my dance, Mavis, Gloria and Jim, the bird had flown. In simpler parlance, Maggie had disappeared.”

  “Low trick,” commented Mavis, smiling at me. “Where did you get to, my girl, and with whom?”

  I started to become worried, and looked at Clark for guidance. He was sailing close to the wind. Did he want me to tell where I had been or not? He nodded slightly.

  “Be careful what you say, Maggie,” he said gaily. I caught the significance behind his words.

  “I had to get rid of him, somehow,” I began, imitating Clark’s light tone as I turned towards the others, “or else my toes would have been squashed to pulp.”

  “It’s funny,” Gloria interrupted, though not actually addressing me, “how some people can never learn to dance.”

  “There you are, Clark,” I said triumphantly.

  “I didn’t mean Clark,” Gloria snapped at me. I looked at her in such a bewildered way that she became embarrassed, and dropped her eyes.

  “Having got rid of him,” I continued, “and not seeing anyone rush me to complete the dance with them, I took the opportunity to move around to greet a few of my friends. Did I say ‘Hullo’ to you, Gloria?” I asked innocently, but she merely gazed past me disdainfully. This time I dropped my eyes. Not from any desire to avoid her glance, but rather to stop myself from staring at Clark when I remembered the horror which would be revived for both of us presently. With a strong effort, I kept my voice on a light pitch. My lips felt strained with the artificial smile I wore.

  “I wandered along to the stairs, and up to the trunkroom to give the girls on duty a cheerio.”

  Mavis looked troubled suddenly, and I felt my heart skip a beat. What had she learned?

  “I wouldn’t go telling anyone about that, Maggie,” she said hesitantly. “About being on the sixth floor, I mean. Bertie has forbidden anyone but those on duty to use the trunkroom floor.”

  “I am going on duty myself soon,” I replied. “But thanks for the tip, Mavis. Where was I?”

  “In the trunkroom,” said Clark promptly. “By the way, how is it that we didn’t clash there?”

  “You probably saw me first,” I retorted. “Miss Howden informed me that I had just missed you.”

  “That woman always reminds me of Sarah Compton,” put in Mavis absently. I glanced fearfully at Clark. She saw the swift look that passed between us, and put an arm through mine. “Sorry, old girl, I’d forgotten that you—”

  “Forget it,” I cut in gruffly, and took a further grip of myself. Gloria was very quiet, and I wondered if she was scenting something in the wind. Surely it was obvious to everyone. But the gay chattering and laughter still went on around me as I paused.

  “It was about 10.20 or thereabouts when I went upstairs to the cafeteria. I thought that I might find-Mac there “I stared down at my entwined fingers, and unlocking them, leaned my weight against the dais half-turned away from the others.

  Clark spoke very gently from behind me. “Did you see anyone on the eighth floor?”

  “Mrs. Smith,” I answered jerkily. “That’s—all.”

  “You came back to the dance-room without encountering anyone?”

  “Yes,” I replied, and my voice seemed to rasp in my ears.

  “Is that all, Maggie?” Clark asked very quietly.

  Slowly, I turned towards the room, and it seemed to my throbbing brain that a sea of faces watched me, waiting for my reply. I tried to pick out the emotions expressed on those nearest to me, to gauge my words, but my eyes had lost their focus. It was almost as if I had suddenly been struck blind.

  The crowd seemed to sway to and fro, and I put my hands to my head in a desperate endeavour to control my outraged nerves. As I stared at those people in front of me, I suddenly realized that their movement had not been a result of my disordered senses, but that they were making way for someone to pass. A combination of relief and apprehension threatened to overwhelm me as I saw the huge figure of a man coming straight towards the dais. It was Inspector Coleman from Russell Street Police Headquarters. Though his eyes were scrutinizing me keenly, his first words were addressed to John Clarkson.

  “You’ve done a good job,” he said approvingly. “On behalf of the Department, I want to thank you for the service you have rendered.”

  I watched the ghastly smile fade from Clark’s lips and his face become white and set, and wondered how he had deceived people by his hearty manner in the first place. It had been so obvious to me that I couldn’t understand why others had not called out their alarm. Inspector Coleman turned to me, and I shifted my gaze dumbly.

  “You’re all in,” he said curtly. “Go and sit down somewhere.”

  I passed my tongue over my lips. “Work!” I exclaimed disjointedly. “I should be on duty.”

  “Go and sit down,” he repeated, and his voice was kind. “I’ll arrange to have you relieved for tonight. You’re in no fit state to work.”

  I felt an arm go around me gently to lead me away, and looked dazedly into my mother’s face.

  “I’d forgotten you, too,” I said confusedly, thinking of the way in which I had run to John Clarkson with my terrible news, instead of to Sergeant Matheson who was the more suitable person. Inspector Coleman’s voice called after us, “I’d like her to stay in the room, if possible, Mrs. Byrnes.”

  Charlotte nodded, making for a small alcove formed by one side of the dais and two walls. I was away from staring people there, but I could see the Inspector’s back as he stood on the platform, and hear his words, I gripped my mother’s hand hard, as he began in his cold, distinct voice.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I think that you have by now realized that something very serious has happened. I don’t intend to mince words. I will give it to you straight. A second murder has taken place.” He paused to let his words sink in.

  “Why hasn’t someone screamed or fainted?” I asked Charlotte, puzzled. “Don’t they realize what has happened?”

  “Hush,” she replied, pressing my hand.

  I watched that big figure as the Inspector went on to introduce himself. “I understand,” he said, “that all you people here in this room have, at some time during the course of the evening, had occasion to be on other floors of the building. I want all those who can prove that at no time tonight have they been on the eighth floor to step aside.”

  “He’s dividing the wolves into packs,” I remarked softly to Charlotte, feeling calmer. The crowd shifted and shuffled themselves. I was surprised to see how few were left standing in the centre of the room.

  “You people who have moved aside, please realize that you will be questioned individually. If any one of you wants to change his mind about his decision, please do so at once.”

  They looked up at him in silence, but they caught the underlying warning in the Inspector’s voice. One or two seemed scared as he continued to look down on them piercingly. Suddenly a lad stepped forward, aided and abetted by a nudge from a junior telephonist at his side.

  “Do you mean those who were actually on the eighth floor,” he asked hesitantly, “or do you count those who used the eighth floor landing as well?”

  “I don’t follow you,” said the Inspector curtly. “Will you try and make your meaning clearer?”

  The boy reddened and shifted his feet. “I mean,” he spoke up bravely enough, “that quite a few of us went up to the roof during the evening. Some went by the lift. Others walked up the stairs.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Inspecto
r Coleman, nodding. “No, I only want those who actually were on the floor, not those who passed on their way to the roof.”

  A small sigh went up from the group in the centre of the room, and a few more stepped aside.

  “There are not many left,” I remarked, peering across my mother. The awful feeling of numbness was passing and I was beginning to take an interest in the proceedings. But I didn’t dare let my mind wander to Mac, trying to visualize the terrible affair impersonally. In that way I would be of more use to the police. Charlotte must have sensed my reviving spirits and removed her arm from my waist. She still held my hand. I counted up the people in the isolated group in the middle of the room. They were directly under the gay paper bell that—

  ‘One, two,’ I began swiftly and silently, heading away from that absurd ornament which was so dangerous to my peace of mind. “That’s a coincidence,” I said to Charlotte. “There are eight people who visited the eighth floor.”

  “Very remarkable,” she agreed placidly. “Do you think that Inspector Coleman will be long? I’d like to put you to bed.”

  “I’m all right now,” I declared stoutly. “We’d better wait until he gives us leave. After all, he can’t keep us here all night. Where’s Sergeant Matheson, I wonder?”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. I knew at once where he would most likely be. Charlotte gazed at me anxiously.

  “You know who it was?” I asked in a shaking voice and she nodded.

  “I saw Sergeant Matheson coming out of the cloakroom,” she replied. “I was one of the first batch to go to supper. He called me aside and told me.”

  “That horrible game of Clark’s!” I exclaimed wearily. “Didn’t you suspect something then?”

  “I thought it was odd,” Charlotte answered, “or perhaps I should say that I considered it bad taste; being so close to the other—”

  “I understand what you mean,” I interrupted. “But he did it for a purpose.”

  “I realize that now. It was very clever of him.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it?” I agreed, “Inspector Coleman was very pleased. It has narrowed his job down considerably.”

  I watched the Inspector as he moved amongst the people on the floor, his big frame towering over all except Clark.

  “He’s taking down statements,” I said with my superior knowledge of the working of the police. A thought suddenly occurred to me. “I needn’t worry about Dulcie any more. This second—business proves that she had nothing to do with Compton’s death.”

  “Poor, foolish child,” said my mother sadly. There was a depth of feeling in her voice. “She knew something, but wasn’t brave enough to tell the police. I wonder why?”

  “Are you talking about Dulcie?” I asked, puzzled.

  Charlotte turned round to look into my eyes gravely, but without saying a word.

  “Mac?” I queried, my voice quivering again.

  She inclined her head slowly. “Margaret,” said my mother suddenly. She only used my full name when she was in deadly earnest. “I want you to promise me that if you know anything that you have hitherto not mentioned, to go straight to the Inspector and tell him. Do you understand? I am commanding you, and although you are over-age I am still your mother.”

  I continued to look straight into her eyes. “I swear by everything that I hold precious that whatever knowledge I am conscious of, the Sergeant learned this evening.” We stared at each other in silence until Charlotte caught me by the hand again.

  “My dear,” she cried softly. “I’m so afraid.”

  “Afraid! You!” I said, smiling, “What are you scared about?”

  “That something might happen to you as it has to your little dark friend. Be very careful, Maggie.”

  “Sure,” I answered, trying to sound cheerful. “I value my own skin more than you, you know.”

  “I doubt it,” she said dryly. “You’re as headstrong as your father. By the way, I don’t know what the darling will say when he learns about to-night.”

  “I hate to think,” I remarked. “Thank heaven, to-morrow is Sunday, and there’ll be no screaming headlines in the papers. Otherwise he’d be down on the first train to drag us home.”

  “I’ll ring him in the morning,” Charlotte declared, looking up as a shadow fell across us.

  “How are you feeling, Miss Byrnes?” asked Sergeant Matheson.

  “Fine, thanks,” I answered carelessly, his solicitous gaze irritating me a little. “I think that I’ll be right for work now. If Inspector Coleman doesn’t want me, I’ll go.”

  “You’re not going to switch to-night, Maggie,” said my mother firmly. “I forbid it.”

  “You’re behaving like the heavy parent to-night. I know what you want to do to me. Put me to bed with a couple of aspirins. Is that your suggestion too, Sergeant?” I asked slyly.

  “No,” he replied promptly. I felt as if the wind had been taken out of my sails. “If you’re really feeling better, Inspector Coleman would like to see you for a few minutes.” He looked doubtfully at Charlotte.

  “You go home and take the aspirins yourself,” I advised her, getting up carefully. My legs seemed fairly safe, but I marked time once or twice to test them.

  “Yes, do, Mrs. Byrnes,” the Sergeant said, as my mother showed signs of protestation. “I’ll bring your daughter home. You needn’t worry about her.”

  “All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “But no work, Maggie.”

  “I promise,” I said. “Where is Mr. Clarkson?”

  “He’s gone to the trunkroom. Inspector Coleman told him about you.”

  “I hope that it won’t make him short-staffed, dropping out suddenly like this,” I said, worried. “He’s in no fit state to work himself.”

  I hesitated, wondering if I should mention that Clark had been very friendly with Mac, and that the shock of her death must have been terrible. I saw the Sergeant looking at me curiously, and held my tongue.

  “Good night, Charlotte,” I said, bending to kiss her. “Be careful going home, and don’t worry about me. Don’t forget that I’ve got the promise of a police escort.”

  * * * * *

  I waited while she collected her coat and bag, and then put her into the lift with several others. Their quiet demeanour was not in keeping with the gay frocks. One lad wore a forgotten paper cap on the back of his head. The effect was grotesque in the face of the shocking end to the revels.

  “Where is Inspector Coleman?” I asked. Sergeant Matheson waited until the lift indicator showed that it had stopped at the ground floor, and then pressed the button.

  “Where are we going?” I asked fearfully.

  “The Inspector is in that little room we used before,” he answered. With his head thrown back, he followed the progress of the lift by the indicator lights. I made no comment, steeling myself for the ordeal of passing the cloakroom door. Sergeant Matheson must have sensed my inward agitation, and said awkwardly, holding out one hand: “I’m terribly sorry about all this. It should never have happened. I blame myself.”

  He seemed so upset, that I took his hand warmly.

  “Don’t,” I replied in a husky voice. “It’s as much my fault as yours. I didn’t take the position seriously enough. I thought that she—Mac was jealous, and that was the reason why she was so secretive. You see, she and Mr. Clarkson used to be—” I threw out my hands helplessly, not looking at him.

  “I understand,” said the Sergeant slowly. But I wondered if he did, as he added: “Poor chap!”

  We walked side by side down the corridor of the eighth floor. I asked him jerkily, pointing to the closed door of the cloakroom: “Have they—I’d like to see—Mac for the last time. Do you think it could be arranged?”

  He put one hand under my elbow. “Better not,” he advised gently. “She was lying face down when you found her, wasn’t she?”

  I nodded, and the horrible realization dawned on me why I must not see Mac. Sergeant Matheson paused for a m
inute outside that little disused office.

  “Look here!” he said seriously. “If you’re really not fit enough, the Inspector will wait until tomorrow. Would you like to go home right away?”

  ‘Home!’ What a sweet sound it had, even though it meant to me in town a rigidly-run boardinghouse. How wonderful it would be to sink into bed, and relax and sleep until my strained nerves and body regained their freshness, and I would be able to look at Mac’s death in such a way that would not make me quiver all over at the very mention of her name.

  ‘Time!’ I thought suddenly. ‘Time is important. Who was it said that to me centuries ago?’

  “Well?” said the Sergeant with anxiety. I raised my head. As I did so, two uniformed ambulance-men came out of the cloakroom bearing a stretcher, I received a quick impression of something white before Sergeant Matheson grabbed me by the shoulders.

  “Look at me,” he ordered roughly, and I obeyed. I heard the men’s footsteps go heavily along the corridor, and stop outside the lift. Then the gates clicked and the whirr of the automatic came to my ears as they descended with their ghastly burden. I gazed and gazed into the policeman’s face until I knew each contour and feature by heart.

  “I’m ready,” I said huskily. “Shall we go in?”

  Inspector Coleman glanced up for a brief moment at our entry, and then resumed his writing.

  “Take a seat,” he said casually, as if I had come to apply for a driver’s licence during ordinary office hours, instead of presenting myself to be questioned about a murder at nearly midnight. However, his prosaic attitude did much to calm my inward turmoil caused by the scene that I had just witnessed. It was with real gratitude that I heard him suggest to his subordinate to find some coffee and sandwiches for me.

  “Get Roberts to fix it up,” he said.

  “Is he here again, too?” I asked stupidly. It was as if they had never left, so familiar was the sight of the sprawled papers on the desk before me, and the ever-alert gleam in the Inspector’s eyes. My mind flew back to that other time when I had sat before the two men. Mac had been with me, cool and detached. It had been hot then, just as it was now, but the sun had been blazing through the drawn blinds and the flies had been troublesome. Now the windows were dark, and moths and flying beetles battered themselves in vain against the panes.