The Mysterious Affair at Greenhampton

CHAPTER III

ACCOUNTS OF THE ELLSWORTH SISTERS

NEXT MORNING I was the early one in the household. I had retired at about eleven o’clock with Peugeot in his armchair still in the deepest cogitation. When George brought my juice and tea, I spoke to him about yesterday’s events, and made it clear to him that while Peugeot and I were out that he should answer the door rather than Miss Lime. Unemotional as always, he agreed. Miss Lime, looking quite restored, arrived just as I was finishing breakfast.

     Peugeot appeared just before nine o’clock. He said nothing about the case, but his manner indicated to me that he had enjoyed a fruitful exercise of his grey matter. After some fussing over Miss Lime, he joined me at the table and attacked his croissants and hot chocolate with more than the usual relish. When I finally asked, he refused any mention of the Ellsworth business.

     “Things progress, mon ami,” he said. “But I would not be so confident to say that everything is solved. More information is necessary.”

     The telephone rang. Miss Lime called for Peugeot.

     “Chief Inspector Sapp for you,” she announced.

     “Ah, bonjour, monsieur l’inspecteur en chef,” he cried into the mouthpiece. “Yes... I am so glad... Yes... We shall be there at ten o’clock precisely... Au revoir.”

     “The girls will give their statements at ten?” I asked.

     “Oui,” he replied. “And we shall be there, not only to hear their accounts, but to meet the beautiful Lady Brenda Ellsworth.”

     I must admit that the prospect of meeting the lovely stage star heightened my interest in the case even more. But what Peugeot intended to ask the sisters or hope to learn, he would not divulge.

     Ten minutes before the appointed time found us in the lobby of Mockridge’s Hotel where we met Sapp and Sergeant Wilson. After exchanging greetings, Sapp pulled out his notebook and informed Peugeot that he had an unusual crime to report.

     “It happened last Monday morning in a rooming house near the theatre district,” he began. “A landlady investigating some suspicious noises found two female tenants in their bedroom. They’d been bound, gagged, and blindfolded. Inspector Walsh had the case, and he put it down as a simple robbery attempt. The odd thing was that there appeared to be nothing stolen. The two girls, Cheryl Ford and Susan Noble, are both actresses, aged 23 and 24, rather new to acting, and sharing the inexpensive flat.”

     “One would think that a robber would know that young actresses would have very little to steal,” observed Peugeot.

     Sapp nodded.

     “That’s exactly what I thought. Unless, of course, one or both of them had a... patron, shall we say? And there’s no one like that we can find. One thing that was kept out of the papers was that the tops of the girls’ nightdresses were pulled down to expose... Well, you can guess what was exposed, I think. Rather like this case, isn’t it?”

     “What can it mean, Peugeot?” I asked.

     Peugeot did not reply. He brushed some invisible dirt from his sleeve and asked a question of his own.

     “Had these young actresses ever appeared in the same company with Lady Brenda Ellsworth, or Brenda Alexander as she is still called on the stage?”

     Sapp rubbed his chin as he thoughtfully regarded Peugeot.

     “I haven’t had a chance to find out yet, but I will.”

     “It is only my little notion,” Peugeot said off-handedly. “It may mean nothing.”

     “Still, it’s worth a look,” said Sapp. “Well, let’s get on with it.”

     Because of the events of yesterday, Sapp had increased the security for Julia and Daphne. A pair of constables stood watch in the lobby and another pair patrolled the corridor outside of their room. I wondered how many more were in the service area, stairwells, and other entrances. Our knock was answered by a woman constable. Another sat near the door.

     Daphne and Julia were sitting in their beds, propped up by many pillows. There was no sign of a doctor, but a private nurse was about, presently helping to clear away the girls’ breakfast trays. She was assisted by an attractive, dark haired woman of about thirty, whom we subsequently learned was Elizabeth, dresser and personal maid to Lady Brenda Ellsworth. It was that lady herself who commanded one’s attention upon entering the room.

     I have seen many beautiful women upon the stage, but none, I think, who possessed the most perfect qualities of a desirable woman than Brenda Alexander. Her face, framed by shoulder length brown hair (without a hint of auburn), was radiant; oval shaped, with a flawless rosy complexion, high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, good-humoured green eyes, and ripe lips that seemed made to smile. As with most people one had seen only on the stage, she seemed smaller than expected in real life, but her figure was still exquisite. This morning she wore a dark suit, though the jacket had been removed and hung over the back of the writing desk chair. Her white blouse was open at the neck, and fit closely around her full breasts before tapering to her trim waist girt in a wide black belt. Her dark blue skirt hung to just below her knees, showing graceful, well-shaped legs. Her hands were clasped behind her back as she supervised the care of her step-daughters in an apparently light-hearted fashion. They had evidently been joking among themselves, for the face that turned to us was still laughing quite beautifully. Unlike many stunning actresses who strive for the quality of ice or marble, Brenda Alexander was a creature of the earth. I was glad to see that this was a real-life quality that shone through on stage rather than an artifice put on to seduce male theatre-goers over the footlights.

     She turned in our direction. There was something in the smile she cast upon us that made her seem quite familiar, as though she were greeting some particularly welcome old friends.

     “Chief Inspector Sapp,” she said warmly, yet without the artificial effusiveness that some theatre people employ. “I remember you well. You lectured on crime prevention at our village hall last year.”

     Sapp removed his hat and took her extended hand.

     “So nice of you to remember, milady” he replied. “I’d like to introduce Major Allen Bosworth and Monsieur Henri Peugeot, England’s finest private detective.”

     Lady Ellsworth’s spell had to be powerful indeed to move Sapp to such extravagant praises of Peugeot’s abilities.

     She took my hand with gentle firmness and fastened me with a gaze that was very friendly and, again, strangely familiar. Her eyes were almost hypnotic.

     “Major Bosworth, I very much enjoy your books and stories of Monsieur Peugeot’s cases. There will be many more to come, I hope.”

     “One is due out in a month or so, I believe,” I answered. “I’m so glad you enjoy my accounts, but Peugeot deserves all the credit.”

     It might have been my imagination, but as Brenda Ellsworth turned to Peugeot, I seemed to notice a shadow of concern pass over her features momentarily. She greeted him in the same manner as she had Sapp and me.

     “Monsieur Peugeot, it is very gracious of you to come,” she said.

     Peugeot took her hand and raised it to his lips.

     “It is I who am honoured to meet you, Lady Ellsworth,” he replied. “I have often admired your performances.”

     “Thank you, monsieur. But it seems rather silly to make a fuss over a job that requires one to dress up, make faces, and play make-believe in front of people.”

     We all laughed heartily at her self-effacing humour. She watched us with an expression that obviously enjoyed our amusement while at the same time denied that she had said anything amusing.

     Lady Ellsworth insisted that we all sit down in the extra chairs she had had brought in, then bade Elizabeth to send for tea for us, including Sergeant Wilson and the WPCs. When this was done, we settled down to hear the stories of Julia and Daphne.

     Julia Ellsworth began by describing their visit to our rooms the previous morning. After leaving us, they had done some shopping and lunched with Lady Ellsworth before returning to the hotel at half past one. Josephine had already finished most of the packing of their trunk, so they had sent her to her own room across the hall to do her own packing while they bathed. Julia had begun running the water when there was a ring at the door. Daphne, already partially undressed, had put on her dressing-gown and gone to answer it.

     “I looked through the peep-hole and saw a woman in a light blue dress and a white hat, Monsieur Peugeot,” said Daphne, taking up the narration. “As you had said your secretary would be dressed as such, I opened the door.”

     “Did you get a look at the woman’s face, miss?” asked Sapp.

     “No, I didn’t, Chief Inspector,” she replied. “Her head was turned away and partly hidden by the brim of her hat. But since we were expecting her, I had little reason to look.”

     “We had not met your secretary, Monsieur Peugeot,” added Julia, “so we would not have known her face.”

     “Of course not,” nodded Peugeot.

     “No sooner had I turned the key and begun opening the door than it was swung violently into me by the woman and, I think, three accomplices,” Daphne continued. “Two of them were dressed as hotel housekeeping staff and the other in some kind of dark clothing, but I saw very little. They grabbed my outstretched arms, and the woman in blue forced some sort of cloth wad into my mouth.”

     Peugeot turned to Sapp.

     “We’ve determined it was a bit of linen torn from some hotel sheets,” said the officer. “The same thing was used to gag all of them.”

     Peugeot nodded and turned his cat’s gaze back to Daphne.

     “I resisted as well as I could, but it was hopeless,” the girl continued. “They were too many, and they had taken me completely by surprise. A hand was pressed over my mouth to prevent me from expelling the gag, and I was dragged back to my bed. The gag was sealed with sticking-plaster and more was placed over my eyes. They removed my dressing gown, slip, and my brassiere.”

     She cast her eyes down and paused for a moment. Lady Ellsworth sat on the bed beside her and laid a comforting hand on her arm.

     “It’s all right, Daphne dear,” she said gently. “You must speak frankly to Monsieur Peugeot and Chief Inspector Sapp.”

     “We understand, miss,” Sapp said kindly.

     Daphne looked gratefully at Brenda, then to Julia, who smiled at her. Daphne brushed an unseen tea from her eye.

     “I’m all right,” she said bravely. “I can go on.”

     “My hands were drawn behind my back,” she continued, “and bound with merciless efficiency by one of the gang, while another bound my ankles and knees. I was firmly held by the others, so I believed my only hope was to make enough noise to warn Julia. But the plaster was too well applied, and when I increased my efforts another of the gang added a hand over my mouth to muffle me further.

     “A long rope was passed around my body and arms just below my breasts and drawn quite tightly. Several turns were made so my arms were pinned firmly to my back and sides. As a final measure, my feet were pulled close to my wrists and bound there with a short cord. I was unable to move in any way save some rolling from side to side. No sooner had they finished when I heard the bathroom door open, and Julia called my name.”

     Lady Ellsworth patted Daphne’s hand when she finished her narrative. Elizabeth brought Daphne a glass of water. Lady Ellsworth reached her free hand to Julia’s bed and took her hand also. As Daphne drank, Julia continued.

     “With the noise of the running water, I heard nothing of what had happened. When I finished filling the bathtub, I realized that my favourite scented soap was in my case in the room. I opened the door and called to Daphne. When I received no reply, I drew on my dressing-gown and stepped out to fetch it myself. I had taken no more than three steps into the room when I was set upon by these women.

     “They seized my arms, thrust a gag into my mouth, and threw a pillowcase over my head. Despite my determination to resist them, and not fall captive again, I was finally forced to submit. My gown was taken from me, and I was stripped to the waist. After binding my hands behind my back, they removed the pillowcase to press sticking-plaster over the gag. Just before they covered my eyes as well, I caught a glimpse of Daphne on the bed, so I knew what was planned for me as well. I was forced to sit on the bed while my ankles, knees, and arms were securely tied. There was nothing I could do. I was laid face down on the bed beside Daphne and also bound en crapaudine, as I believe it is called.”

     She nodded slightly to Peugeot with a faint, embarrassed smile as spoke the last sentence.

     “Once we were rendered helpless, we could do nothing but await their pleasure,” Julia went on. “After a short conference, some or most of them left. I believe that only one woman stayed to watch us.”

     Her account went on to describe the capture of WPC Meredith and the summoning and subsequent capture of Josephine, the maid.

     “When they had us all at their mercy, I expected that Daphne and I would be carried off to some dank hideaway, but, to my surprise, nothing of the sort happened. They had a whispered conference among themselves, something about the plan not working now, and then simply left, save for the woman in the blue dress, the same one who had stayed behind earlier, I think.”

     Julia’s voice became more heated.

     “This woman was no mere sentry, gentlemen. Though she checked our bonds to make certain we were still securely tied, she also seemed to take delight in taunting and tormenting us.

     “ ‘Our people know how to deal with woman prisoners,’ she said. ‘Especially such young and pretty ones as you.’

     “Then she began a routine of poking and pinching and alternately, all Victorian propriety aside, stroking and caressing us in a most improper way. All areas of our bodies were touched by her though our breasts received much of her attention. I know that she did these things to Daphne as well because of the sounds of distress she made.”

     Daphne raised her flushed face and looked at us, from one face to the next. Unable to speak, she merely nodded then quickly looked down again.

     I felt my hands clenching in outrage over the ordeal suffered by these two lovely girls.

     “This went on for some ten or fifteen minutes,” said Julia. “After the woman left, we struggled in our bonds for a few minutes. Then we heard the door being broken in.”

     Sapp allowed the girls a pause while teacups were refilled. Brenda Ellsworth said nothing, taking the girls by the hand in turn, comforting them entirely with her warm, sympathetic expression.

     ‘I hope, Chief Inspector, that you will not question the girls too long,” she said gently. “They have been through a good deal, and we must catch the 2.10 from Waterloo.”

     Her voice had not been in the least peremptory, and her expression remained calm and friendly, yet I think we all had instinctive notion that we must obey.

     “Of course I shan’t keep anyone too long,” Sapp said deferentially. “But I do have a few questions, and Mr. Peugeot may have some, too. Then we must see Josephine.”

     “We quite understand,” she said graciously.

     Sapp turned to Daphne and Julia.

     “Did either of you notice anything about the way they talked to one another in either of these conversations of theirs?” he asked.

     “Two of them had foreign accents,” Julia replied promptly. “German or Austrian, perhaps.”

     “Oh, yes,” added Daphne. “They spoke very quietly and they were across the room nearer the policewoman, but I’m sure they were foreign.”

     “Did they actually speak in German?” asked Sapp.

     The girls looked at one another.

     “Not that I recall,” answered Julia. “They may have said things that we didn’t hear though.”

     Daphne only shook her head.

     Sapp returned to the woman in the blue dress. Neither girl was able to describe her, beyond her being young and slender.

     “She was a bit taller than I am,” offered Daphne, “but not quite as tall as Julia.”

     Sapp and Wilson wrote in their notebooks.

     As their questions continued, Peugeot rose and strolled about the room, straightening any items that offended his notions of orderliness and symmetry. At the door that opened onto a small balcony he spent some little time, looking about curiously. When Sapp had finished his questioning, he returned to the group, brushing a bit of lint from the back of a chair as he passed.

     “Tell me, mesdemoiselles, had it ever occurred to you that this gang was made up of women?” he asked quietly.

     The girls looked at one another again. Daphne looked down as Julia turned to Peugeot.

     “You know, Monsieur Peugeot, I don’t believe that it ever did,” she said. “But thinking back, it seems likely that all of the attacks upon us were made by women.”

     Peugeot nodded thoughtfully, watching the girls with his cat’s-eye gaze. Daphne kept her eyes cast down.

     That was about all we could discover. Our brief interview was interrupted by the arrival of a young woman asking for Lady Ellsworth.

     “That will be Miss Riddle with our train tickets,” explained Lady Ellsworth. “I asked her to exchange our original tickets when all this happened.”

     Sapp had the woman constable admit her. The new arrival was probably an attractive young woman, though it was rather difficult to judge. She was smallish, not unlike Brenda Ellsworth in stature, though her figure, for good or ill, was disguised by a shapeless, bulky pullover of rust colour. Instead of a skirt, she wore baggy dark brown slacks, which, at the risk of sounding old-fashioned, I must say I find quite unsuitable for a woman in public, unless for riding or shooting. Her auburn hair was mostly pulled back behind her head, save for a few unruly strands which kept falling over her forehead. Spectacles with thick tortoiseshell frames completed her outfit, which declared her to be a member of the small, but ever growing, non-conformist theatrical set more clearly than if she had been preceded by a town crier.

     “I’d like you all to meet Melinda Riddle,” said Brenda. “Miss Riddle is a talented actress in the company that has been performing Murder at the Manor at the Cranmer for the last few weeks. In fact, she was my understudy.”

     “With Miss Alexander, an understudy is practically unnecessary,” Miss Riddle said modestly, in a noticeable Canadian or American accent. “She missed only two or three performances, and I think those were out of kindness to give me a chance.”

     Lady Brenda looked fondly at Miss Riddle.

     “But she has a much bigger part coming up,” she said proudly. “She’s going to be third female lead in a new play starting in September.”

     “I understand that you were ill last night, mademoiselle,” said Peugeot. “I trust that you have recovered.”

     “Yes, I’m quite well, thank you. Just a passing upset of the stomach.”

     “Perhaps it was something you have eaten?” persisted Peugeot. “One cannot be too careful with the digestion. One must guard against the oysters, though we are now safe since there is an ‘R’ in the month.”

     Miss Riddle and Lady Ellsworth regarded Peugeot with puzzlement. Daphne covered her mouth to hide a smile.

     “I ate no oysters yesterday,” Miss Riddle said slowly and awkwardly, as though confused. “And there won’t be an ‘R’ in the month for another six weeks.”

     Peugeot became very foreign in his manner.

     “Ah, oui, c’est vrai,” he smiled with a shake of his head. “Il est juilliet, n’est-ce pas? I have been, as you say, not present of the mind. Pardon, pardon.”

     Melinda Riddle smiled with condescending graciousness. The Ellsworth sisters stifled their giggles. But Brenda Ellsworth regarded Peugeot with a curious, almost apprehensive look.

     “Well, thank you for bringing the tickets, Melinda,” she said. “We’ve not been able to attend to things properly with all this.”

     “I was glad to help,” she replied.

     In the custom of theatre people, Brenda Ellsworth embraced Miss Riddle before walking her to the door, where she embraced her again. One of the woman constables let her out.

     Peugeot crossed to the Ellsworth sisters and was examining Daphne’s wrists. He shook his head sympathetically.

     “They were very thorough, these ruffians,” he said kindly. “They wrapped your wrists many times with the ropes.”

     He turned to Sapp.

     “One can still see the marks, faintly, it is true, but plainly visible.”

     Sapp ambled over for a cursory glance at Daphne’s wrist.

     “There never was any doubt they’d been tied, since we cut them loose ourselves,” he said. “Our experts couldn’t find anything about the ropes or knots to help. Common sashcord and standard reef knots.”

     Peugeot finished with Daphne’s wrists. With a bow and a s’il vous plâit he took up Julia’s wrists for a look.

     “Still, one must examine all the evidence one can,” he replied simply.

     “I’m sure that you must have many more questions for us, Monsieur Peugeot,” Lady Ellsworth began as she re-crossed the room.

     “I think that my friend Chief Inspector Sapp has conducted the interview admirably,” said Peugeot. “I have nothing of importance to ask now, and I know that you must be impatient to return home. Perhaps if Major Bosworth and I came to Greenhampton tomorrow you would be available?”

     “How gracious of you, Monsieur Peugeot,” said Lady Ellsworth. “Of course you must stay at Ellsworth Manor and try to clear up this business.”

     Her warm smile was all embracing, all conquering.

     “Then I think I shall have a word with the faithful Josephine so as not to detain these ladies,” he said to Sapp.

     Brenda Ellsworth escorted us to the door. Peugeot followed Sapp and Wilson and delayed things with several bows and hand kisses. Lady Ellsworth extended her hand to me and smiled, her deep green eyes fixed upon me.

     “I look forward very much to seeing you again tomorrow, major.”

     Despite the spell of those eyes, I remember replying something and followed the others into the corridor.

     The door of Josephine’s room was standing open. She was quite a pretty girl of twenty-three or –four with large blue eyes to go with her dark blond hair and buxom figure. Having been attacked and bound on successive days had quite shaken her. Two woman constables had been stationed with her since the previous evening. One of the constables presently on duty was the plucky Jane Meredith.

     Peugeot greeted them with his usual courtesy and asked Josephine to describe the attack upon her on Friday night. She said that she had been reading in her room at about nine o’clock when there was a knock on the door. She had asked the identity of the visitor, and a rather muffled female voice replied that it was housekeeping. When Josephine had opened the door, a blanket had been thrown over her head, and she was dragged back into her room. Her uniform had been removed, she was quickly and efficiently bound, and when the blanket was removed she was gagged, blindfolded, and hooded. Once she was secured, her attackers had carried her into her mistresses’ room, which they seemed to have had no difficulty in entering. She had been placed on the bed and left. The warning note had been left, unknown to her, on the dressing table. It had all happened so quickly that she was unable to describe any of her assailants.

     “I will not trouble you long, Mademoiselle Josephine,” Peugeot said graciously. “I have only three or four small questions to ask. First, aside from hearing a woman’s voice, could you say whether this gang was made up of men or women?”

     Josephine did not hesitate.

     “They were all women, sir. I’m sure of it.”

     “You are certain that you are not being influenced by the woman’s voice you heard?”

     She shook her head.

     “You see, sir, when they grabbed me and later when they carried me into Miss Julia’s room, I struggled with them quite a bit and pushed myself against their bodies. I could feel that they had... well, female parts, sir. There’s no mistaking that.”

     “Certainment. Bien. And how many were in this gang?”

     “I’d say only three, sir. When I was struggling with them, it seemed that there must’ve been a dozen, but I don’t think anyone left after they tied me up, and two of them carried me across the hall while one opened the doors and kept watch.”

     Peugeot turned to Constable Meredith.

     “And you, mademoiselle. How many do you think there were?”

     WPC Meredith said with certainty:

     “I saw only three.”

     Peugeot nodded and returned to Josephine.

     “Did you notice anything about them: the way they talked; their hands; anything?”

     “They had rather soft hands, sir. I noticed that when they were carrying me. No hard work nor dishwater for them, sir. And their fingernails were long enough for me to feel. Even though they got the ropes on me quick and smart, the one tying my feet seemed to be a bit slow in doing the knots. Her nails might’ve made her a bit clumsy. I heard her muttering about it.”

     “And how did they speak?”

     Josephine wrinkled her brow in thought.

     “One was from Wales, I’d say, and the other two from somewhere in the West Country.”

     Peugeot turned to Constable Meredith again.

     “Two of the ones who attacked me were Germans, Mr. Peugeot. The woman in blue had no particular accent.”

     “They would appear to be very different people,” mused Peugeot.

     He smiled and bowed to them both.

     “Thank you most kindly, mesdemoiselles,” he said, kissing their hands in turn. “You have been most helpful. By the way, have either of you been in to see Mademoiselle Julia or Mademoiselle Daphne today?”

     They answered that they had both been to see the sisters.

     “They asked for me to come and see them,” added WPC Meredith. “They seemed very interested in what you and the chief inspector asked me yesterday.”

     Josephine then added an intriguing detail.

     “I thought it odd that you were here yesterday, sir, because of what that woman sent me out to buy.”

     “And what was that?” asked Peugeot.

     She took a small shopping-bag from her writing table and passed it to Peugeot. Inside were a sharp pocketknife, a tube of lip salve, and a copy of my book about one of Peugeot’s most famous cases, Murder on the Suez Canal.

     “Beaucoup de l’audace!” muttered Peugeot.

     Despite being tweaked in such a fashion by the gang, Peugeot recovered his good humour readily. He bade the two young women goodbye in his most affectedly foreign manner, including more hand kissing and bowing.

     Sapp and Wilson remained at the hotel to escort the party to Waterloo Station. Peugeot and I hailed a cab. Instead of telling the driver to return us to Blueheaven Terrace, Peugeot asked for the Cranmer Theatre.

     “Though Lady Ellsworth’s play has just closed, I need to make some inquiries there,” explained Peugeot.

     “It seems a shame to waste such an extraordinarily fine afternoon,” I observed. “Just the day for eighteen holes.”

     “Perhaps it would be well for you to do just that,” my friend said thoughtfully. “I enjoy not the golf, but need to exercise my grey matter.”

     “Aren’t you going to say anything about what we’ve learnt?” I asked. “Surely by now you’ve formed some definite theory.”

     “You have at time noted that I often keep my little notions to myself. I think that it is well that I do so now.”

     “Well, I think we can rule out the idea of Lady Ellsworth as the wicked stepmother behind a plot to kidnap or terrorize her daughters,” I noted. “She’s very fond of them.”

     “It is unwise to base such firm judgments on outward appearances,” he cautioned. “Even the wisest judge of character may be deceived by a skilful actress, and acting is, after all, the lady’s profession.”

     “You think her behind this?” I asked, incredulous.

     “I do not say that, but we must use care in accepting people or events at face value.”

     When we arrived at the theatre, Peugeot went to the box office while I waited to be sure that he gained entry. He stood so long at the entrance that I thought he had been turned away. I got out of the cab and went to the doors to find him engrossed in looking at publicity photos and playbills displayed in glass cases on either side of the doors. He showed particular fascination with one showing Lady Brenda being menaced by a gang of theatrical toughs.

     “These photographs are most interesting, Bosworth. Do you not agree?”

     I scanned them, but could see nothing in particular.

     “Looks like some kind of potboiler to me,” I said.

     “You are most assuredly correct. Still, it might have been enlightening to see it. It is regrettable that we did not.”

     Leaving Peugeot to his investigating, I took the cab home, then drove my own car to my club. I enjoyed a fine, hot afternoon in the open. I had hoped that the fresh air and exercise would clear some of the cobwebs from my brain so that I could make some sense of the Ellsworth affair. But every time I tried to focus my thoughts on the case, the confusing and contradictory aspects of it and the hypnotic vision of Brenda Ellsworth and her scarcely less beautiful stepdaughters kept me from making much headway. Though I returned home refreshed, I was no nearer the solution.

     Peugeot did not return until just past seven o’clock. George served us a delicious dinner, which Peugeot enjoyed with his usual relish.

     “Ah, mon ami,” he said expansively. “Is it not a shame that there are only three meals in the day? Only three occasions in which to enjoy the food which le bon Dieu provides.”

     “I wish you’d provide some answers about this case,” I said rather crossly. “I’ve seldom seen such a tangled business.”

     “Mon cher Bosworth, you consistently fall into the trap. When the case makes no sense to you as you look at it, you must assemble your facts with order and method and look at them from a different direction.”

     “And what would that be?”

     “At first we have a case that seems to point to abduction, since the family involved gives us an almost endless supply of motives. The family is rich. Is this an attempt to get ransom? Sir Garrick is in Intelligence. Is it an attempt to force him to do something disloyal, either by acts or to conceal something he knows or not to act on it? Lady Ellsworth is Brenda Alexander of the theatre. Is this an attempt to keep her from appearing or to cause the play to fail? Or perhaps to allow the talented understudy to go on in her place?”

     “Surely you don’t believe that!” I said derisively.

     Peugeot smiled.

     “It is quite the melodrama that, is it not? No, I do not believe that for a second, though, since the understudy had the auburn hair, I might think that you would.”

     “Theatre people!” I snorted. “They’re all very well for entertaining us, but too many of these younger ones go around looking like advertisements for jumble sales.”

     “Ah,” Peugeot said sagely. “You have noticed on of the most important facts about the young lady. Did you notice her voice?”

     “I don’t know how well she’ll do in Shakespeare or Shaw with that American accent. She needs more time here.”

     Peugeot shook his head.

     “Ah, my friend,” he sighed. “You see what I see and hear what I hear, yet you do not see the significance.”

     I was perplexed and somewhat annoyed by my friend’s enigmatic utterances.

     “I don’t see what you’re getting at, old boy. The Riddle girl goes about like an unmade bed, but what does that mean? Only that she hasn’t learnt much from Lady Ellsworth.”

     Peugeot smiled dreamily.

     “Vraiment, elle est une belle femme,” he murmured. “I would not like to see her turn her talents to murder, Bosworth. She would do it very well, indeed. And if she were caught, she would convince the jury that murder was the proper thing to do. She would be free comme ça!”

     He snapped his fingers

     “Come now,” I protested. “You don’t think there’s a murder here, do you?”

     He shook his head.

     “Probably not.”

     His eyes narrowed.

     “But whatever is here,” he continued, “Lady Ellsworth figures very importantly in it.”

     I was intrigued.

     “Did you learn something at the theatre?”

     “I learned many things, some of no importance. The play Murder at the Manor had a run of six weeks beginning on Thursday, the 30th of May. This run was extended for one week, ending yesterday. Performances were given every night except Sundays, when matinee performances were given, and Mondays, when there were no performances. Further, the young actresses Susan Noble and Cheryl Ford, also bound by this gang, have appeared at least twice in the same companies with Brenda Alexander, though not in this most recent play.”

     I waited for elucidation, but it became clear that Peugeot did not intend telling me why he thought these facts were relevant.

     “What should I do to work out this business?” I asked.

     He smiled his most patient and irritating smile.

     “First, I would look at the publicity photographs displayed at the theatre; second, study the fingernails of young women; and third...”

     He laid his hand gently on my arm and looked earnestly into my eyes.

     “Do not over-idealize women, my friend. Love them and honour them, but understand them as human beings.”

     Having said that, Peugeot went to his desk and took out a pack of patience cards. For the rest of the evening he occupied himself in building card houses, and would say nothing of the case.