Murder in the Telephone Exchange. June Wright

one. Thanks. And a match, please?” I drew a long breath. “Are you ready? Shall I go fast or slow?”

      “Medium,” he suggested. “I’ll take it down in my own particular brand of shorthand, but I want to absorb all the facts.”

      I looked at my cigarette a moment in silence, mentally gathering myself together.

      “I’ll begin by answering your first question more fully,” I began. “Sarah Compton was a prying old busybody. Hundreds of people, not only in the Exchange but outside, that is if she behaved anything like she did here, must have had her in the gun. But I don’t know of anyone who would want to murder her for her inquisitiveness. You see, I have provided you with a motive for the crime already.” I flicked the ash from the cigarette and drew again. “I disliked her intensely myself; why, I won’t tell you. That’s my business! But I will say that the reason I detested her was not enough to make me even want to, murder her. I might have scratched her face, considerably, but bashed it in, no!” I wished I had not said that now. My stomach felt squeamish, and I fought against nausea. “When did it happen and how?” I asked, desiring a breathing space.

      Sergeant Matheson looked up from his notes.

      “That’s for you to help us find out, Miss Byrnes. Medical evidence is rather vague as to the time. The body was still warm, but then it is a hot night. We dare not give an accurate time. As to how—two blows were struck with some heavy instrument, as yet undiscovered; one on the temple, the other directly in the face. What time did you last see Miss Compton?”

      I frowned in concentration. “The last time that I actually saw her,” I said slowly, “would be about five minutes to eight. I had finished the relieving—letting different girls have a short break,” I explained in answer to the question in his eyes, “and then Compton sent me to work the principal Sydney board. We were very busy. In our game you rarely lift your head during the rush period, but I can remember her querying me about various dockets. I think that the last I heard of her would be about twenty to ten. I can check up with the time on the docket, if you like.”

      He made a note in his book.

      “However,” I continued, “someone else is certain to have seen her after that. I was only one of many in the trunkroom.”

      “Can you think of any reason why she left the room?” he asked. “Surely it is not usual for a monitor to absent herself during the busy time?”

      “Yes,” I said promptly. “I told you that she was a busybody. Someone had locked the restroom door, which is quite against the rules. I’ll bet you anything you like to name that Compton had her nose on the trail, trying to find out who it was. As a matter of fact, I was the chief suspect in that little affair; being the late telephonist, everyone jumped rashly to the conclusion that I locked it.”

      “Why rashly, Miss Byrnes?”

      “Because I didn’t go near the blasted room after 6.15 p.m. I kept my telephone outfit with me while I had tea in the lunchroom, so that there would be no need for me to return to the cloakroom. After tea I went up on to the roof for a cigarette. Oh!” I ejaculated, pausing.

      “Go on, please,” said Sergeant Matheson quickly. “What time would it be?”

      “About a quarter to seven. What I was going to say was that I had an alibi concerning that door, but not now. She’s dead,” I finished blankly.

      Sergeant Matheson looked interested.

      “You met the deceased on the roof?”

      “Don’t use that word,” I said in an irritated voice. After a gruelling night’s work, to be kept from your well-earned rest by a murder inquiry was a little trying on the nervous system. Heaven knew what I would feel like in the morning!

      “I will tell you in detail,” I said resignedly. “I was smoking a cigarette and enjoying the hot night air, when I heard someone in a corner playing games with me.”

      Sergeant Matheson looked at me sternly.

      “It’s quite true,” I protested. “I’m not trying to be funny. Compton was playing ‘peepo’s’ with someone, and I was the only one on the roof. At least I thought that I was. I’ll tell you more about that in a minute. Compton was sitting at one side of the lift cabin. You’d better go and inspect that later, by the way. When I went round it to see what was up, she was reading a piece of paper. There’s no use asking me what it was,” I interrupted, observing him take a breath. “It was nearly dark. You’ll probably find it in her handbag. She put it there when she saw me. Then we talked for a bit.”

      “What did you talk about, please, Miss Byrnes?” asked the Sergeant, writing furiously.

      “This and that,” I answered airily.

      “Was the conversation friendly?”

      “Most. She barely said a thing, while I pursued an amiable discourse on the view. After a while, we started to go back to the stairs. Here is something that may be of interest to you. Just as we were at the door, Compton said that she saw someone go into the lift cabin.”

      I paused for effect, but the Sergeant only asked in an expressionless voice: “Did you?”

      “No,” I said, feeling unreasonably annoyed. “I thought that she was imagining things. But there must have been someone, because a note was thrown down into the lift at us.”

      “The lift?” he asked, puzzled.

      “We took the lift down to the trunkroom,” I continued impatiently, “only we didn’t arrive. It got stuck or something. Anyway, some fool of a person hurled this letter at me. I gave it to Compton.”

      “Why did you do that. Miss Byrnes?”

      “Because,” I said, raising my eyes to heaven, “it had her name on it.”

      “Did you see what it contained?”

      “No, but I wish I had. The note will probably be in her handbag, too. I caught the words ‘spying’ and ‘Compton’ on it before I handed it to her.”

      Sergeant Matheson looked at me thoughtfully.

      “Why did you say that you wish you’d read the letter?”

      “Because,” I replied, speaking very slowly, “it had the effect of changing her from a very insignificant, commonplace telephone employee into a snarling animal. She looked insane. I was scared stiff when I saw her face. The lift had stopped at some floor, so I got out and ran like mad. But I don’t think that I need have worried. She had forgotten my existence.”

      A slight smile flickered across the Sergeant’s face.

      “There was nothing amusing in the situation at the time,” I remarked crossly. “If I hadn’t bumped into Mr. Clarkson, I’d be running still.”

      “What floor were you on during your marathon, Miss Byrnes?”

      “I haven’t the faintest idea,” I confessed, and his brows rose. “Clark will be able to tell you. What’s the time? Can’t I go home now?”

      “No, not just yet. You must finish your statement first.”

      “I’ll miss my last train,” I complained, “and I suppose, murder or no murder, I’ll have to be on duty to-morrow.”

      “Arrangements will be made to get you home. Now, Miss Byrnes, what did you do when you met Mr. Clarkson?”

      I pushed my hair back, and sighed. “I clung on to him as though he was the proverbial straw. I tell you I had got a terrible fright. He soothed me down, and after telling him about Sarah I walked up the back stairs to the trunkroom.”

      “Did Mr. Clarkson go with you?”

      “No. He went to look for Compton.”

      “Miss Byrnes, what made you walk up the stairs instead of going with Mr. Clarkson?”

      “I