Header: Melody Hazard is questioned by Murgatroyd. Detail from the detective comic Fugitives from Justice, Bindher.com.

Footer: Melody, bound and gagged, is lowered from the window of Tilly’s house by Brentford and Orly. Detail from Double Detective,

Melody rose early at the village motel while it was still dark. The storm had abated although rain squalls still blanketed the coast. During the night she had slept with a half formed plan of action in her mind. Now that she was awake the ideas were more developed and she was eager to set them in motion. She refined her strategy over breakfast when the sun, still hidden from terrestrial creatures by thick layers of cloud, had scarcely risen.

‘I need to go back to Tilly’s place. I don’t think that gang would dare try to abduct me in broad daylight. And anyway I’ll make sure the doors are locked when I get there.’

Brod looked doubtful but was silenced by the determination in Melody’s voice.

‘I know! It’s not been the safest house in the block, but as far as we know the members of the gang are scattered and they’ll be too busy thinking up ways of saving their own hides to bother with more abduction attempts. It’s also the best place to be if Mia wants to get in touch. She’s likely to phone where she thinks I might be. So it makes sense doesn’t it?’

After an awkward pause during which neither Bron or Oscar said a word, Melody dabbed her lips with the table napkin, pushed back her chair and rose. ‘I’d better get ready. It’s going to be a long day.’

When she returned to the breakfast table Melody’s hair was brushed out in a honey-gold mane around her face and shoulders and she wore a smart two-piece outfit in red that suggested the ‘fifties era. The narrow skirt fell to ankle length. Its matching jacket, cinched at the waist by a black belt, had large buttons that matched the triple string necklace at her throat, framed by a scooped neckline and white collar. Red high-heeled shoes graced her feet.

‘Like the outfit? Sergeant Jenn loaned it to me. She bought it for a costume party once but it wasn’t the right size.’

‘It fits ... very well,’ mumbled Brod through a mouthful of toast.

‘You don’t think it’s too old-fashioned?’

‘Not at all. Women wear what they like nowadays. Anything goes. Anyway, you’ve worn that style before. It suits you.’

‘The rain’s holding off, but I’d appreciate it if someone could take me in to the city.’

‘We’ll ask Sergeant Jenn. She has to report in at HQ anyway,’ said Brod, reaching for his mobile phone with one hand while buttering another slice of toast with the other. ‘We’d do it ourselves but we have to stay here. There’s a debriefing session with the old man at 8.30. We won’t be in the city ourselves till midday.’

‘That’s fine. I’ll take a taxi from there if it starts raining heavily.’

When the door closed after Melody, Oscar said, ‘You’re not trusting her out while the gang’s still at large?’

‘We’ll put Tilly’s house under surveillance,’ Brod replied uneasily.

*

In the end, the rain set in once more and Melody had to catch a taxi from the city to get to Tilly’s house. She had various food packages, bought on impulse because she guessed, rightly, that the house was out of food. Tilly was still away, on holiday in Hawaii at the joint expense of DORFIS and its US counterpart. But Melody still had to eat, and she guessed that Mia, should she turn up, would need a good meal and a friend to talk to, probably in equal proportions.

So it was late afternoon, darkness setting in early under the continuing storm, by the time Melody paid off the taxi driver and lugged her food bags up the steps to the front door. The house was in darkness until she set foot on the porch, when the security light came on, flooding the area with its soft glow, showing that there was no-one with doubtful motives lurking in the shrubbery.

Softly she stepped across the thick carpet of the main room into the kitchen, where she deposited the packages preparatory to putting them away. She looked moodily through the curtains to the grey and sombre sky, gave a mental shrug and crossed back towards the staircase and her bedroom.

The first thing Melody noticed as she entered the bedroom was that the curtains had been drawn, enclosing the room in semi-darkness. She switched on the light. There was a moment while her eyes adjusted to the brilliance of the halogen lamp in the ceiling. Then Melody froze, rooted to the spot in surprise and sudden apprehension. The drawers of the bedside table had been pulled out and thrown onto the floor and all their contents lay scattered: soft sweaters, silky slips, satin bras, pantyhose and stockings, silk scarves and handkerchiefs, small pieces of jewellery, note pad, two paperback novels.

Melody’s mind raced. When did this happen, a long time ago or was the intrusion recent? And, if the latter, was the would-be burglar still in the house? Had this happened independently of the criminal case in which she and her new friends were so closely involved? Was it a burglar who by a freak chance had decided on this house for his next ‘job?’ Or was it something more sinister?

The thoughts whirled through her mind, ending almost instantaneously on the one note that she could be in immediate danger. She heard no sound, but on a reflex Melody spun and faced the door through which she had just entered. No one was there. She let her breath out unevenly in a flood of relief that made her feel faint and a little sick.

It’s nerves. This must have been done a while ago. I might as well tidy up, but I’d better phone Brod first and report in, just in case it is important.

She started to walk towards the phone, when this time Melody did hear a sound. It was an indefinable rustling. Alert, she turned back to face the open doorway. There was no light in the passage outside the bedroom, but the glow from within where Melody stood managed to spill across the threshold. A figure was standing there where no figure had stood seconds before. Melody caught her breath. The rush of adrenaline, coming fast on the first shock of discovery, made her legs weak.

The figure stepped into the room. He was tall and portly, but his bulk was more a matter of being overweight; not of a naturally solid build like Brod, thought Melody. He wore a heavy blue serge suit that had an old-fashioned cut. And in his hand he held a large and very menacing automatic pistol that looked out of proportion to his body. Melody knew straight away that there would be no arguing with this man.

‘Wh- What ...?’ Melody’s stumbling exclamation was cut short by a peremptory wave of the pistol’s barrel. Slowly Melody raised her arms in a gesture of surrender.

The intruder chuckled. ‘Don’t utter a sound,’ he warned in a soft voice that made her skin crawl. Melody nodded assent and fought back an impulse to scream. ‘Good. I think we understand each other. Turn around.’ Melody obeyed mechanically. Her heart was pounding. From the corner of an eye she saw the man stoop and snatch something quickly from the floor. ‘Arms behind you. That’s right. Bring your hands together.’

He has to put his gun away. He’ll need both hands so he can tie me up, Melody thought. Maybe ...

But Melody’s plan to take advantage of a moment’s inattention was instantly frustrated. The cold snub-nosed barrel of the automatic was pressed to the back of her neck, making her stand completely still. She felt cloth being wound about her wrists, one of her own scarves. Her captor was dexterously tying her wrists together, using one hand. The scarf went around Melody’s wrists three times. She felt a single knot being made fast. The cold metal of the gun all the time pressed against her neck unwaveringly.

When the gun came away, her wrists remained held by the man’s other hand, the one that had so far done the tying. She saw the movement as he slipped the weapon into a side pocket of his jacket, then the scarf was jerked tight and, with both hands now, Melody’s captor tied off the second knot. He grunted as he pulled hard to make the doubled knot as tight as possible. Melody felt a fluttering end of the scarf against her fingers. She would need time to work on that in order to get free, and she guessed that she was not going to be allowed such a luxury.

Then a folded handkerchief was whipped across Melody’s face and over her mouth, and a double knot was bound at the back of her neck under her hair. She felt her head begin to throb immediately, so tightly was the gag tied. It hurt her lips, pressing them against her teeth. It was the sort of gag that could be slipped with a little effort. But to attempt to do so while her captor was present would be only asking for trouble. For more trouble, she corrected herself. Melody feared that she might pass out at any moment and was so weak that, when the man pushed her to her knees, she fell unresisting. With a soft nasty chuckle, he shoved her the rest of the way to the floor. Melody rolled onto her side and lay still, trying to appear as obedient as possible.

Her head was swimming and she was having difficulty breathing, although it was only layers of cotton handkerchief that covered her mouth. She looked up at her captor. He strutted about the room, in deep thought. Every so often he paused and turned over one item or another of Melody’s clothing with the tip of the expensive crocodile skin shoes that he wore.

Feeling disadvantaged and more helpless lying where she was on her side, Melody used her hands to push herself up into a sitting position. With one shoulder against the wall, she turned to face her captor. The move provoked an instant reaction from the man, who turned and hefted the automatic from his pocket.

‘Women should be in their place,’ he grated, his voice rising in volume with his anger, a distinct contrast to the silky but murderous tones he had used earlier.

Melody’s legs had not been bound, and she realised too late that this represented a threat to the man. She turned her face from him and lowered her head, trying to look submissive. That’s what he wants, she thought. Her heart was racing again and sweat broke out through every pore of her skin.

‘On your feet!’

He did not attempt to assist in any way and Melody had to push herself to her feet by pressing her shoulders to the wall. When she was standing, swaying slightly with the effort, he kept his distance.

‘Lie on the bed, face down!’ Melody obeyed. ‘This is beneath my dignity,’ her captor continued. ‘It’s a job better fitted for my worthless minions.’

As her ankles were crossed and bound tightly with another of her scarves, Melody thought suddenly: This is connected with the Duck’s Egg diamond. Is this man the shadowy Murgatroyd now become all too terrifyingly real, the arch criminal we have never seen, but who has Karl and Molly Fusil as his front troops, doing his bidding? She looked up. Murgatroyd, if that was his name, was putting the gun away in his pocket, a look of satisfaction on his plump face.

‘That’ll hold you. You’re the resourceful Melody Hazard. The titian hair gives you away. Oh yes, I know all about you. Well you’ve come to the end of the line. I’m taking over from my incompetent employees.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Time to make transport arrangements; such a nuisance having to do it myself!’

The man turned on his heels and left the room.

It has to be Murgatroyd, thought Melody, he almost said as much. And here I am, bound hand and foot and gagged, in my own room, while he makes preparations to abduct me.

Melody strained at her bonds, her fingers trying to reach the knot, but it was too cunningly placed against her wrist. And pulling at the loose ends of the scarf seemed to have no effect. And time was running out with every second that she spent in useless struggle. Murgatroyd would be back at any moment.

*

Mia Chantal looked wearily about her. She was not blindfolded, but she could not see. The place where she was incarcerated was in total, claustrophobic darkness. She was lying on a thin mattress and the aching cold of the room, a cellar of some kind, was penetrating even the heavy overcoat that she was wearing. Mia’s unknown captor had not touched the ropes that trussed her from her ankles to her shoulders, and the gag was still in place, as tight as ever over the headscarf.

She remembered the car coming to a bumpy stop, then the lid of the trunk opening and a cloth bound over her eyes before she had a chance to see her captor’s face. She was carried somewhere. Mia had a confusing sense of moving up and down stairs. And there were temperature changes, a progressive cold striking her forehead as they appeared to descend. She was lowered roughly to a mattress and rolled over onto her face. The loops of nylon rope were untied from her wrists and the plastic ties cut away. But it was too brief a taste of freedom. Her wrists were crossed and glued together under at least half a dozen layers of what felt like duct tape of some sort. The ripping sound it made sent a shiver along her spine.

The blindfold was removed, but before she could focus her eyes her captor disappeared and a door slammed shut. For a moment she saw stone walls, then the light went out. Mia drifted back into semi-consciousness.

*

Meanwhile, Melody was frantically trying to think how she could get out of the mess she was in. Even if she slipped her gag, she knew that no one would be likely to hear her cries. It was more likely that Murgatroyd would hear, and silence her more roughly. Melody looked around the room, hoping for inspiration.

It did not take long in coming, and she mentally kicked herself for not having noticed earlier. In a corner of the room, on the floor, stood the phone. It must have been obscured by something, maybe the table where it had once stood before being knocked over during the search.

Melody began to inch her way towards the phone, bracing her hands on the floor. She was surprised to find how difficult it was to move, but on an impulse she rolled over and over across the carpet until she came up against the small table where the phone had stood. It now lay half off its cradle. She pushed it with her chin and listened. There was no dial tone. Propping herself with difficulty onto her elbows, Melody followed the cord with her eyes and saw with a stab of disappointment that it lay unconnected close to the wall socket from which it had been wrenched. She manoeuvred across the floor and with shaking fingers plugged the cord into the socket. Now it should work! But no, the phone remained dead.

By the time Murgatroyd re-entered the room, Melody had pushed herself part way back towards the wall where he had left her, a sheen of sweat glistening on her face.

But Murgatroyd’s sharp eyes missed nothing. ‘Where were you going?’ he demanded curtly. His eyes swivelled towards the wall where the table and phone stood. Then he chuckled. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He walked to the phone, tore the cord from the wall socket, and almost flung it at her. ‘You’ve run out of options my lovely ...’

‘Perhaps not all options,’ said a quiet voice from the doorway. ‘No, don’t go for your gun, old fellow. Mine’s already in my hand, and pointing at you.’

A figure stepped from the shadows at the door. It was Rupert Orly, looking as tall and suave as ever. And in his hand nestled a small Browning automatic pistol. Behind him followed Cuthbert Brentford, and on his heels came Jasmine Morris. None of the trio looked as they had during their escape from the Casa Medroso. Brentford and Orly wore smart pinstriped suits, and they were dry, their hair glossed and waved. Jasmine was the only one who still showed some effects of her ordeal in the chateau and the muddy escape that had followed. Her blonde hair, through dry, was straggly and her eyes were very wide, darting from side to side as though she was still in the throes of hysteria.

Murgatroyd watched the interlopers impassively. Melody’s skin crawled. Please be careful, Orly, she thought desperately. This man’s a snake. But it was no use trying to call a warning with the tight gag covering her lips.

‘Well well, and what is this all about?’ asked Murgatroyd coolly.

‘Shut up,‘ snarled Jasmine.

Melody’s heart seemed to stop beating. No Jasmine, you don’t talk to this sort of man like that! She did not like the girl, but she also did not want to see her commit suicide. Using the distraction, Melody began to slip her gag.

‘What do you think you‘ll find here?‘ Murgatroyd chuckled. But his eyes were narrowed dangerously.

Jasmine did not reply. Instead, her eyes lit up when she saw Melody on the floor with the silks and satins scattered about her and, oblivious to the danger Murgatroyd represented, she darted across to the door of the built-in wardrobe. As she passed Melody, Jasmine gave her a sly look and disappeared inside. In the room the tableau waited in baited silence. Orly stood rock-still, his pistol at waist height, its barrel pointed steadily at Murgatroyd’s mid-section.

Melody could hear the click of coat hangers as Jasmine rummaged through her things. Murgatroyd must not have done the wardrobe in his search, she thought. There came a stifled cry of triumph followed several seconds later by a wail of frustration. Then Jasmine reappeared, fuming with anger. She held some garment of Melody‘s that she threw away behind her, casting it back into the wardrobe with a wild flailing of her arms.

‘It‘s not the right one! It’s not there!‘ she screamed. ‘It‘s not there. Where have you put it? Tell me!‘

‘Look out, you little fool!’ cried Orly.

It was too late. In the instant that Jasmine blundered between Orly and Murgatroyd, the latter drew the big automatic from his pocket and fired. But the round did not hit Orly, not because he stepped aside in time, so as to bring his enemy in sight once again, but because the shot was aimed elsewhere.

There was a loud pop and the ceiling light went out, plunging the room into temporary darkness to their eyes although it was only twilight outside the house. Confusion, as they say, reigned. Orly crouched to one side, seizing Jasmine by the collar of her blouse and pulling her down next to him. Brentford threw himself across Melody, his weight driving the breath out of her. There followed a louder crash.

‘Ye Gods,’ panted Brentford, levering himself to his knees and thereby giving Melody instant relief. ‘The blighter’s gone through the window.’

‘And taken most of it with him,’ observed Orly, scrambling to the gaping hole that had once been the bedroom window overlooking Tilly’s back yard. ‘That had to hurt!’

‘Can you see him?’

‘No old chum. The bird’s flown the coop. That shot will startle the neighbourhood. Which reminds me, we really ought to be going too ...’

‘Get these bonds off me won’t you?’ cried Melody aggrievedly, the gag now hanging limp around her throat. As Orly set to work to untie the scarf at her wrists, Melody added, ‘Don’t worry about the police. I’ll tell them we’re together and that we surprised a burglar ...’

‘Who had a gun.’

‘Yes, who had a gun. But thieves do, don’t they?’

‘Unhappily, my dear, they do indeed,’ Orly agreed as he helped Melody to her feet.

‘I feel sick. I must use the bathroom.’

‘Can we be of any assistance dear lady?’ asked Brentford.

‘Y- Yes, please. I think I need a change of clothes.’

Melody walked unsteadily towards the door of the en suite bathroom, looking daggers at Jasmine who was sitting disconsolately on the floor where Orly had placed her.

‘Have you a preference, my dear?’ asked Orly in a muffled voice as he investigated Melody’s wardrobe.

‘N- No. Something simple I think. Thank you.’ Melody reached her arm from within the bathroom, took the dress proffered by Orly, and closed the door. Then she reopened it immediately.

‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’

‘Uhh ...’

‘I need a bra and a pair of panties. That tan set by the corner of the dresser will do.’

Orly retrieved the two flimsy articles from where they lay on the floor and handed them in to the bathroom, held delicately between finger and thumb. Melody took them from his hand with a friendly wink and closed the door. Orly cleared his throat and looked at Brentford who chuckled. Jasmine paid no attention. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her knuckles pressed against her mouth in deep thought.

*

How I could use a hot bath, thought Mia. She rolled over onto her other side, for the hundredth time, with no appreciable relief to her aching limbs. The room where she lay remained dark. If it did indeed have windows they were so firmly sealed that no glimmer of light could get through. It felt as though she was enclosed in one of Karl’s leather bondage helmets, except that there was no stifling pressure over her eyes and head, only the itching pain of the gag between her teeth. It pulled at the corners of her mouth and made them feel chafed and raw. Mia felt as though she was enclosed in one of Molly Fusil’s packing cases, except that no soft edges pressed against her, only the ropes that trussed her arms so tightly to her body that they were numb and useless.

Mia tried to call for help but she could produce only a faint croaking sound. It was the simplest of gags, yet her mouth had dried out and her jaw was immobilised. And who would hear her anyway through those walls many feet thick?

With a sob, Mia rolled onto her face. She closed her eyes tight shut and waited. Her mind drifted once again. There was no act of conscious volition but she moved, something moved, from out her body and she was hanging above a large dwelling of some kind. There came again the feeling of incredible freedom and well-being, and at the same time she was aware of a thin tenuous thread that connected her to her body far below. There was a consciousness of a kind. Then, with an abrupt wrench like the first time, she was back in her body, aching in many places, numb in others, especially in her arms and hands.

So that’s it, she thought dreamily. That’s where I am, how strange! And Mia Chantal slipped once more into welcome unconsciousness.

*

‘That’s a lot better,’ said Melody as she re-emerged from the bathroom. She now wore a bright orange dress in a silky fabric that clung to her body with every movement, causing Brentford and Orly to catch their breaths in collective admiration. Under their gaze, Melody walked to the chest of drawers where, kneeling, she packed a handful of flimsy underclothing into a small wicker basket that she kept for used clothes. With a shudder, she included the bra handed to her earlier. In Murgatroyd’s vile hands, it had sustained a thin tear and, more obviously, the clasp by which it fastened was broken and lost. The horrible man must have taken out his rage on the innocent undergarment. Melody decided to go braless rather than wear the soiled thing. Anyway the silky fabric of the dress was opaque and offered sufficient modesty. It also felt good on her skin whenever she moved.

Melody got to her feet and turned. The atmosphere had become quiet, charged with something that she could not at first identify. The three people facing her - Brentford, Orly and Jasmine - were unnaturally still.

‘What is it? Is something wrong?’ Melody asked, sensing the increased tension in the air.

‘Well, ahh. It’s this way dear lady ...,’ Brentford began. But he stopped, tongue-tied.

‘You see,’ continued Orly for his friend, ‘We have decided that you must come with us.’

‘Wh- What do you mean?’

‘In- In a sense, my dear, we are abducting you,’ said Brentford uncomfortably. He coughed in embarrassment. ‘It’s, ahh, Jasmine’s idea. And, ahh, she has a point. And, ahh, she suggests that we - uhhh - secure you. Temporarily. For your own good. Ahhh, to make sure that you don’t create an unseemly scene. Uhh, for our own good really.’

Jasmine turned to the bed and picked up several loops of cord. She tested one length between her hands. ‘I found these in the laundry,’ she giggled.

‘Am I to be bound again?’ Melody asked indignantly. ‘But that’s absurd! Not after ...’

‘You got it first time, Honey,’ interjected Jasmine in an imitation of Molly Fusil so poor that Melody could not hide a smile.

‘... all we’ve been through.’ Melody finished. She appealed to Brentford and Orly. ‘I thought you were our friends!’

‘Of course, my dear,’ said Orly. ‘You know us.’ He blushed and lowered his gaze.

‘Come on,’ exclaimed Jasmine, ‘Let’s not waste any more time. Hold her arms while I tie her hands behind her.’

It was a general order to both men, who remained where they were, however, looking more uncomfortable than ever.

‘There’s no need for me to be held,’ snapped Melody. She turned her back to Jasmine and presented her arms behind her, crossing her wrists. ‘This is silly. If you really want me along, I’ll come. There’s no need to go to the trouble of tying me up.’

‘We’ll untie you as soon as we reach our destination,’ Orly said brightly.

‘I can’t wait,’ muttered Melody ironically. ‘Hey! Be careful, you clumsy girl. There’s no need to be rough.’

‘She is cooperating,’ said Brentford to Jasmine in a low voice.

Jasmine ignored him and continued to twist the cord repeatedly around Melody’s wrists. The girl did it hurriedly, and this gave Melody time to clench her hands into fists, stiffen her forearms, and breathe in several quick deep breaths to make the blood pulse through her limbs. Just like Brod taught me, she thought affectionately. The crossover ties felt effective, but as soon as Jasmine was done and Melody relaxed her hands and wrists she could feel some slack in the bonds.

‘Let’s do her legs as well,’ ordered Jasmine, ‘and around her arms too.’

In a short time, Melody’s arms were trussed to her back, the cord passed across her shoulders and around her upper arms, then made snug several tines about her waist so that her wrists were pressed into the small of her back. A separate length of cord was used to tie Melody’s legs together over the skirt of her silk dress, below and above her knees. Her ankles were bound together with the only piece of rope that was left over. All the time this was being done, Orly supported Melody, holding her upright and reassuring her that she would not fall. When Melody’s legs were secured, she was lowered to the edge of the bed where she sat unsteadily, glaring defiantly at her three captors.

Jasmine turned to Brentford with a change of mood that Melody thought should fool no one. ‘Brenty Darling, do go and get the car ready. Bring it as close to the house as you can. We’ll take her out the back way and round the side so’s the neighbours won’t notice.’ Cuthbert Brentford hesitated. ‘Do it for me, Cuthy,’ Jasmine wheedled. ‘Think what we can do with all that money.’ Brentford looked at Melody. ‘She won’t be harmed,’ Jasmine added in tones dripping with insincerity. ‘We’ll leave her tied up where her friends will find her.’

Brentford shrugged. ‘Righty-ho. You have appealed successfully to my profound love of money.’

‘I say, I’ll come too,’ said Orly. Need to look over the route we have to follow out of here.’

The two by now not so lovable rogues departed, leaving Melody alone with Jasmine.

‘What do you think you can gain by this, Jasmine? Neither of us know where that Duck’s Egg diamond has got to. So why do you keep telling every robber, thief and white slave trader you meet that I have something to do with it?’

Jasmine smirked secretively. ‘I have my reasons,’ she replied in a haughty tone. ‘And I’m also not finished with you yet.’

Jasmine Morris knelt to the floor and scooped up one of Melody’s larger silk scarves, the brightly patterned one that was her favourite. Quickly she folded it over several times lengthwise into a bandage three or four inches wide and tied a knot in the centre.

‘Oh no,’ Melody remonstrated wearily,’ there is absolutely no need for you to do this. I won’t ... glggg.’

‘Cry out? No, you won’t. And you won’t talk either,’ hissed Jasmine as she stuffed the knot into Melody’s mouth between her teeth and jerked the silk tight behind her head. ‘They’re English public school twits,’ Jasmine added as she made a double knot tight at the back of Melody’s neck, ‘but you might just put a couple of ideas into their dull brains ...’ She can talk! thought Melody. ‘No, you’re much too dangerous if I let you free to yap your mouth off when those two get back.’

Jasmine surveyed her handiwork, her arms akimbo in a fair imitation of Molly Fusil who she was obviously emulating. ‘One thing I learned when I was bound and gagged,’ she said in confiding tones, ‘is that those gags didn’t really work. We could still make plenty of noise if we wanted to, only no one was around to hear us, or the walls were too thick. ‘With that knot between your teeth, for instance, you can still make some sense.’

‘Iph phaph lll yph mmph ph-phhay?’

‘See what I mean? Of course, I can’t understand every word you’re "thaying," but those two gullible men might.’

Jasmine turned and busied herself on the floor, her back to Melody. When she rose to her feet and renewed attention to her prisoner, she held another scarf that had been folded into a bandage, but this time without the gagging knot in the centre. Melody sat patiently while the additional muffling silk was bound tightly across her mouth. I guess I have to expect this, Melody thought, as she looked with distaste at the girl, who was obviously enjoying herself.

But Jasmine did not stop there. A second silken bandage was bound tightly over the first. Then, to Melody’s astonishment and increasing discomfort, another muffling scarf was bound in place over the second one, followed by another and another. When Jasmine had finished, Melody’s face was sealed beneath five scarves and the multiple layers of silk that they added up to. Melody’s nostrils flared and she shook her head angrily. Jasmine laughed gleefully and topped up the multiple gags with a plain white silk scarf which she tied very tightly. The soft material clung to Melody’s face and she found that the combined pressure of the scarves made her gag impossible to move. When Melody tried to speak, all that came out was a muted grunt.

Jasmine nodded approvingly. ‘Now you’re really quiet! I don’t have to worry that you’ll talk your way out of this. Those tight silk knots stretch and they’ll be almost impossible to undo.’

When Brentford and Orly re-entered the bedroom, they betrayed no surprise at seeing that Melody had been gagged. But both men refused to meet her gaze.

‘The Merc’s parked by the curb opposite the house next door,’ said Brentford. ‘The building is in darkness. So nobody’s home.’

‘Let’s go then,’ commanded Jasmine.

‘But, Miss Hazard ...’

‘You’re two strong men. Carry her!’

‘Ahh. Right. Yes. Orly old chum. You take her shoulders? I’ll take her legs.’

‘My pleasure.’

Orly’s strong arms supported Melody effortlessly while Brentford bent and gathered her legs behind the knees. They were halfway to the door when a sound drifting up from the front garden made them freeze immobile at the threshold.

‘Someone’s coming,’ said Brentfod in a sibilant whisper. ‘The constabulary?’

‘We shan’t wait to find out,’ grunted Orly.

‘Quick,’ Jasmine cried, the window.’

‘Ahh, indeed?’ said both men in unison.

Apprehensively, the two friends carried their helpless burden to the window, made wider by Murgatroyd’s precipitous exit, and looked cautiously at the garden below.

‘How shall we manage this?’ whispered Orly.

‘Support the dear lady while I jump. It’s not far.’

And, with amazing agility for such a portly man, Brentford vaulted over the windowsill to land softly in what was destined to become a flower garden. Then, between them, Brentford and Orly lifted Melody out of the window. There was a touchy moment when Melody, lowered backwards and head first, feared that she would be let go to drop helplessly. Bound as she was, she had no means of breaking such a fall. But she found herself gathered in Brentford’s arms, equally as strong as those of Orly and, when that worthy carefully let her feet go she landed mostly against Brentford’s chest, her feet sinking into the soft soil.

‘Good girl,’ muttered Brentford under his breath, ‘Nil desperandum.’

‘I’m coming,’ cried Jasmine from above. She climbed gingerly over the windowsill and lowered herself till she was hanging by her hands, her feet describing wide and indecorous arcs in the air. Then she dropped, spinning as she fell, straight into the freshly turned and untrampled soil close to the wall. Jasmine, came to her knees and stood fuming, her face and the front of her body covered with garden soil and stray weeds.

‘You- You fools,’ she spluttered. ‘Why didn’t one of you catch me?’

‘I tripped and couldn’t reach you in time,’ said Orly.

‘And I was holding Miss Hazard here,’ explained Brentford unctuously.

‘All right, all right, let’s get out of here.’

By the time they reached the shadows around the car, they could hear the sounds of voices in the house and saw glancing flashes of torch-light until several rooms on the upper floor lit up.

‘Put her in the trunk. Now!’ said Jasmine.

‘But ...’

‘No, Brenty. I want this woman to suffer, d’you understand? She has to tell us where that diamond is.’

‘But she doesn’t ...’

‘Don’t argue! Just do it!’

Within seconds, Melody found herself enclosed in the stuffy confines of the trunk. It’s the same as before, she thought. She wriggled herself onto her side and took up as comfortable a position as possible as the car sped off with a lurch. The headlights were not switched on till a block and one corner had been put between the kidnappers and Tilly’s house, but Melody could know nothing of that. She was bound, gagged, and in darkness again. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this, she thought unhappily.

*

‘They were too late,’ said Oscar Holme, ‘Whoever was in the house got clean away.’

‘Hmm. If Melody Hazard was there, it’s a fair bet that she’s been abducted,’ observed Clive Devereau seriously. ‘Our surveillance report was tardy by scarcely two minutes. But that was enough. Are there any clues to the route they took?’

‘None. Once the vehicle entered the main thoroughfare it’s anyone’s guess where they might have turned off.’

‘I’d opt for the dockyard area again,’ said Broderick Clifford. ‘It’s been the regular haunt for different branches of the gang. Or separate gangs. First the old tenement slums on this side, then the warehouses on the other side of the river. Melody described those places. At least as much as she knew. She was kept blindfolded every time they moved her from one location to another.’

‘The surveillance crews are working on it,’ added Oscar. ‘The areas are rabbit warrens, but they’re finite for all that. Something’s bound to break.’

‘In the meantime all we can do is play the waiting game as we’ve been doing since this affair started,’ said Devereau thoughtfully.

‘Hmmm,’ agreed Brod. ‘And if someone is holding Melody, there might be a connection with Mia Chantal’s disappearance. They’re very resourceful women, and some of the gang members have already helped her in the past.’

‘We can only hope that both of those young women have opportunities to escape similar to those that came providentially before. It’s only a matter of time before we pick up the gang members, but a lot can happen before then.’

‘What worries me,’ said Brod, ‘is where Murgatroyd, Molly Fusil and Karl might be holed up. They’re far more dangerous than the other two groups. They play for keeps and it’s only a matter of good luck that nobody’s been killed before now.’

‘Hmm hmm,’ Oscar coughed discreetly, ‘Chief, is there any news about the other factor?’

‘None that I can reveal at this stage,’ replied Devereau grimly. ‘Rest assured that matters are being attended to. It’s a case of "need to know."’

Brod and Oscar nodded in unison. As well-versed DORFIS operatives, they knew better than to enquire too deeply into some elements of the case before other personnel behind the scenes had completed their investigations. They imposed that rule upon others and were themselves bound by it.

*

Melody felt as though she was stifling under the multiple layers of silk that bandaged her face. They muffled any sound she tried to make around the knotted gag that remained firmly fixed in her mouth behind her teeth. The gag pressed on her tongue, making her mouth feel swollen and dry. She was glad that no additional packing had been put in place to fill the back of her mouth. That would have been sheer horror with the very tight muffling bands.

She felt faint and still a little sick from the shock of her brush with Murgatroyd when she knew she had stared death in the face. And now she was a bound prisoner of Jasmine Morris, of all people. Brentford and Orly, whom she had taken to be her allies, appeared ambivalent on the matter. She well knew that their motive was to recover the Duck’s Egg Diamond for themselves, if its whereabouts should ever be revealed, but holding her as a hostage to their greed had obviously been initiated by Jasmine. And what meaning was there in the reassuring mutterings and strong arms of the two men? Brentford and Orly were good at playing double games. We’re all good at that, Melody corrected herself, remembering how Mia Chantal had persuaded them to take herself and Melody as prisoners for Molly Fusil in the plan to rescue Jasmine, and how that plan had eventually succeeded. Melody had allowed herself to be bound and gagged along with Mia. Letting myself be bound and gagged! And more than once. Doing it to myself as well, in order to save Tilly. I’m a sucker for punishment, she thought ironically. Melody closed her eyes against the dark of the trunk’s interior and tried to relax in her bonds. At least the cords at her wrists allowed some play. That was her trump card. If she was left alone for a reasonable time, Melody was confident that she could free herself.

The gentle rocking of the car helped her relax, and Melody descended into what became a trance-like state. She suddenly had a mental picture of Mia calling to her. In the dream, Mia was bound, a little like herself. Melody could taste the gag that had been thrust between Mia’s teeth. It felt different from the knotted silken bandages that coerced her own mouth. Where are you Mia? Can you tell me? The reply came not in words but with a fragmentary mental image. It seemed to be a place with which Melody was familiar, but she could not identify it. Then the image faded and Melody was alone in her mind again, lying folded uncomfortably on her side, gagged, trussed, and helpless.

I must have slept, thought Melody as she felt the vehicle decelerate sharply to a halt. She lifted her head but there was nothing to see in the inky confines of the trunk. She felt the car rock slightly; people getting out. The next moment there was the sound of a key in the lock and the lid of the trunk was raised, allowing in the faint but welcome light of distant street lamps. Melody was gathered under her arms, lifted gently from the trunk, and put on her feet. She looked about her. All she could see were the vague outlines of a warehouse. So we’re in the docks area again.

‘Don’t untie her legs,’ said Jasmine peremptorily. ‘Carry her in.’

Melody was lifted between Brentford and Orly and carried through a narrow door in the side of the building. The footfalls of her three captors echoed in the vast space as they crossed the cement floor, guided by the thin light of a pencil torch held by Jasmine. At the other side of the building they came to another door that led into what had once been a dispatch office. Jasmine threw a switch and the narrow place was filled with light. The room was bare except for a deal table against one wall. Two posts, evenly spaced, supported a structure of some kind. A fly-specked calendar two years old emblazoned with a large bosomed woman was tacked to one post. Jasmine indicated the other pillar.

‘Stand her up against there and tie her arms around it.’

Melody’s heart sank. It would be harder to get free with her elbows pulled back, separated from her body by the post. It would be even more difficult if her wrists were re-tied more tightly. She clenched her fists as Orly drew her arms behind her and held her breath as the cords were twisted snug about her wrists again. As Orly bound her hands, Brentford anchored Melody to the post with additional remnants of rope taken from the floor, tying her at the waist, at the knees, and the ankles. Her legs remained bound as they were before. Another length of rope was passed twice around her upper body, above her bosom then at an angle between her breasts, crossing the body ties already there.

Melody’s three captors stood in a half circle around her. She faced them bravely, her chest heaving against the tight new bindings and the ever-present struggle to breathe through the thick silks smothering her mouth.

‘What do we do now?’ Brentford asked with a worried frown.

‘There’s no need for you boys to be here,’ snapped Jasmine. ‘Get lost!’

But Brentford and Orly lingered. ‘What are you going to do to the lady?’ asked Orly.

‘And, if she does know something about the diamond after all, and tells you, what guarantee do we have that you will tell us?’ added Brentford.

Jasmine’s face coloured. ‘All right, stay if you like. But don’t get in my way.’

She walked to the deal table where she had just placed her shoulder bag, extracted something from it and returned to face Melody. Jasmine now carried a short leather riding crop with a thin nasty-looking tassel. Brentford and Orly looked appalled. Melody’s skin crawled and fear began to clutch at her throat.

‘This little item stings like anything,’ said Jasmine softly. She played the whip end across Melody’s face, followed the contours of her neck to the cleft between her breasts highlighted by the rope there, and stroked each of Melody’s full breasts through the thin silk of her dress. Melody was not wearing a bra and the feel of the whip produced a very unpleasant sensation in her nipples, which were already tender from the friction of the carpet on which she had been lying in the car’s trunk. She turned her head aside and mmphed faintly through her gag.

Jasmine laughed shrilly. ‘Think you’ll talk now? Maybe I’ll encourage you with a short preview of what it will be like when I really get down to business.’

The girl raised the whip, held it poised a foot from Melody’s left breast, and with her wrist gave it a light flick. It was enough. A searing pain coursed through Melody. She screamed through the gag, it was a faint strangled sound, and her body arched against the post. Her eyes watered.

‘Oh my dear gal! Don’t!’ cried Brentford.

But he stood rooted to the spot in horror. It was Orly who took a pace towards Jasmine who had raised her arm again, this time moving the whip end a little further from Melody in order to deliver a sharper more stinging strike.

‘That’s enough! Cruelty is so unbecoming in one so young.’

The voice was familiar, but Melody had never have believed that she would feel relief upon hearing it again. In the doorway stood Molly Fusil, aka Molly the Gun, a Luger automatic pistol in her hand. Flanking her on either side stood Johnny Montague and Hudson, their faces grim and determined.

To be continued ...

Chapter 22

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