Read Online Murder in the Telephone Exchange by June Wright - Free Book Online Page A

correct meaning of the word, a gentleman. The lounge room where Clark left us was furnished with a taste for which it was hard to give a man credit. A plain mulberry-coloured carpet covered the floor, and the misty chintz that hung in the windows matched the deep lounge chairs where Mac and I had seated ourselves. A rather lovely mahogany escritoire stood in one corner of the room diagonally opposite a low table with slender, curved legs. On the cream-textured walls were two or three charming water-colours depicting Australian bush scenes.
    Clark came back presently with a tray of long, frosted glasses. He put it down on the table by my chair, and took one to Mac.
    â€œHold your nose, my pet, and swallow it down.”
    â€œWhat is in it?” I asked, peering into the amber depths. It tasted delicious, cold and fragrant.
    â€œThat is a very guarded secret,” said Clark gaily. “Only through many years of careful experiment has this drink been discovered. It’s my own invention,” he added, White Knight fashion.
    Mac fished for the floating lemon ring, and started to suck it.
    â€œI can taste soda water.”
    â€œA very minor ingredient. How do you like it, Maggie?
    â€œIt is delightful, but I’m very glad you’re taking us home,” I confessed. “I won’t trust my legs by the time I reach the bottom of this glass.”
    â€œYou’ll be all right. Have a cigarette?”
    â€œThat’ll put a few more minutes on to our stay. How I’ll get to work to-morrow, I don’t know. What say we drop out, Mac?” “Drop out” is another Exchange expression. Its obvious translation is to stay away from work on the excuse of illness.
    â€œI wouldn’t mind,” Mac agreed, “but what about John? In his responsible position, now that he knows our plans, he will be compelled by his conscience to report us.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t give us away, Clark, would you?”
    â€œI’d send someone out to your boarding-house to see if you were faking,” he threatened.
    â€œDirt mean!” said Mac. “Sarah Compton used to have that job.”
    â€œAnd didn’t she love it,” I cut in. “I’ll always remember the day she came to see me, prepared to be very triumphant, and ran into my doctor. It was the one bright moment of my illness.”
    â€œHush!” said Mac, looking troubled. “Don’t forget that she is dead, Maggie.”
    â€œI don’t care,” I said defiantly. “She was an abominable woman; everyone thought so.”
    Clark sat down on the arm of my chair, and swung one leg.
    â€œAll the same, sweetheart, I don’t think you’d better go around saying how much you hated her. People, including the friends we made to-night, might start thinking things.”
    â€œThe police? You mean that they might suspect me of killing her?” I asked scornfully. He nodded through a cloud of cigarette smoke, watching Mac turn an empty glass in her small, nervous hands. “But that’s ridiculous! I told that Sergeant person that I didn’t hate her enough to kill her. Anyway, I’ve got an alibi. We all have for that matter. We were all in the trunkroom two floors away from the murder.”
    Mac got up to collect the glasses.
    â€œDid Sergeant say when it happened?” she asked over her shoulder.
    â€œNot exactly,” I said slowly, frowning. “As the night was so warm, they didn’t like to make a definite time. But what does that matter? We were working all the time, and Sarah was actually in the room at least until a quarter to ten. I can prove that with a docket of mine that she queried. You probably saw it, too, Mac. I sent it along to the sortagraph.”
    Mac gave a tiny laugh, though she seemed far from amused. I thought it held a note of embarrassment, perhaps fear.
    â€œMaggie,” she said gravely, “would you swear that I was in the room all