Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 7, No. 9, September 1962

Julie was disgusted with herself for believing Mary even for a second. She picked up the telephone, asked the switchboard girl for an outside line, then dialed. Mrs. Turner’s line was busy.

“Well, what did you expect?” Mary said. “She’s busy talking to her lawyer.”

Julie pressed, the intercom buzzer and waited for him to switch it on.

“Yes, Julie...”

“Your wife’s line is busy, Mr. Turner.”

“Oh? All right, thank you.”

“Shall I try her again in a few minutes?”

“No, don’t bother. It’s not very important...”

Julie was thoughtful as she slipped paper into her typewriter and began almost automatically to compose a monthly statement to a client. She wondered, as she often did when life gave her a glimpse of private lives, what her own future would be. Would she marry someone in all good faith only to learn one day that she hardly knew him at all? Could one trust one’s feelings...?

Absorbed, Julie did not even notice the two strangers approaching her desk. It was shortly before lunch time. She was typing, and then there was a man’s overcoat sleeve and an open hand showing her a wallet with a police badge.

That was the first time she saw Sergeant Ruderman.

“I’m very sorry I startled you. I guess you didn’t hear me over your typing. I asked if I could speak to Mr. Turner, please.”

There was another detective with him, somewhat shorter, older. She looked from one to the other. Then she nodded decisively. “Will you come this way please?”

She led them to Mr. Turner’s office. She did not follow them inside. Somehow she knew why they were here.

When they emerged with Mr. Turner, she could almost feel what he was feeling. She had never seen him so pale.

“Julie, Mrs. Turner has had an accident. I’ll be out—” He looked questioningly at the detectives. “I’ll be out the rest of the day.”

“An accident? Is it very serious?”

He nodded briefly. “The maid found her—”

Sergeant Ruderman stepped closer. “I’ll explain it to your secretary, Mr. Turner. You’d better go with Detective Wilson. I’ll be along later.”

When they had gone, he asked Julie to step into Mr. Turner’s office. He closed the door and offered her a chair. She knew by the slight narrowing of his hazel eyes that he had somehow read her involuntary feeling of resentment when he, in turn, chose the chair behind the desk.

“Mrs. Turner is dead, isn’t she?” Julie asked.

He merely inclined his head, watching her.

“How did it happen? When?”

He showed little expression. “The maid let herself in around ten o’clock this morning. That’s the time she comes in every day. She found Mrs. Turner in the bathtub. Evidently, she had struck her head and... You don’t really want to hear the details, do you?”

Julie turned away. “No... Of course it was an accident, wasn’t it?”

“That’s the way it appears. Julie, you spoke to Mrs. Turner on the phone this morning, is that right?”

“I did not. Who told you that?”

“Mr. Turner did. He said you called her this morning.”

“Yes, he asked me to. But I didn’t speak to her. The line was busy at the time.”

“I see. Yes—” The detective’s lips quirked with spontaneous humor. “That is what he told us. What time did Mr. Turner arrive at the office, by the way?”

“Nine o’clock. A few minutes after nine perhaps.”

“And what time did you call Mrs. Turner?”

“Nine-twenty, I think.”

“And Mr. Turner did not leave the office since he arrived this morning?”

She was pleased at having stumped the interrogator. “He was here all morning,” she said loyally.

“Well, that’s good.” He, too, seemed pleased. “We’ve determined that she died somewhere around nine o’clock. Whether it was before nine or after nine... that’s in question. However, none of the phones in her apartment were off the hook when we got there, or when the maid got there. And you say her line was busy at nine-twenty. So the probability is that she was alive at that time and had an accident a short while afterward.”

He smiled as he walked Julie to the door. “I don’t exactly apologize for taking you away from your work. It was a pleasure, I assure you.” His expression became earnest. “I admit I did have a kind of feeling... Julie, what was their relationship? Were they getting along?”

She almost said it then, all that had happened. He seemed such an easy and trustworthy man to talk to. But she stopped herself. He noticed all of these transitions, she was sure. As he held open the door, his expression was one of doubt and puzzlement. She knew he did not believe her murmured answer that she knew nothing about the Turners...

That was why tonight he had waited for her outside the building and then brought her to Bill’s Diner. Yet even he could not fathom how much she had learned in the last two days about that unhappy marriage. Mr. Turner, himself, was totally unaware that she had spoken to his wife and knew so much. Would anything be gained by offering this information? It would only hurt Mr. Turner.