Murder in the Telephone Exchange. June Wright

      “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.”

      She turned towards the door sullenly.

      “Surely you realize that once the police know you were late off, they’ll question you. Then where will you be? If an untrained person like myself can see through your flimsy yarn, how will you fare with experts? That is all I have to say. You came to me for advice, and I have given it to you. Have you finished, Mac? I’ll dash up and get a hat. You two can start on ahead, but don’t you forget to see Mrs. Bates first, Gloria.”

      * * * * *

      They were nearly at the station when I caught them up. I hadn’t bothered to look up a train. Having travelled for years on that particular line to attend different shifts at the Exchange, I practically knew the time-table by heart. Mac and I both had monthly tickets, but we had to wait at the barrier for Patterson, who lived in the eastern suburbs, to buy a single to town. I found a vacant carriage, but the short journey was unbroken by any conversation. Gloria seemed subdued, and neither Mac nor I felt inclined for any more talk. It was only when we were crossing the river into the city that I asked Gloria: “Have you made up your mind? You can come with Mac and me to see the Inspector.”

      “I’ve nothing to say to him,” she muttered sulkily.

      “You’re a silly little fool,” I told her roundly, wondering why I bothered. “You’re certain to be found out, isn’t she, Mac?” I saw the strained look come back into Mac’s eyes. She nodded and turned to the window. I watched her averted head in silence.

      “Mac, Mac,” cried a voice in my brain, “why don’t you tell me what it is? What has filled your eyes with inexpressible sadness and lined your lovely skin?”

      We lost Gloria when we got into town. She must have slipped away in the crowd at the station. I was rather thankful. After all, whatever foolish game she was playing, it was none of my concern. I had vindicated myself of any responsibility that she might have thrust upon me by appealing for my advice.

      We boarded a west city bus that would take us right to the Exchange door. It was too hot to walk for pleasure, although the usual lunch-time crowds were milling at the street corners waiting for the green light. Wet or fine, city workers always take a constitutional down town between the hours of 1 p.m. and