The Affair of the Ellsworth Women

by Frank Knebel

Chapter 2

Thursday, 5 November, 11.30 PM

(Not from Major Bosworth’s personal narrative)

THE FIRST thing that Julia Ellsworth became aware of as she drifted back to consciousness was the heat. Heat and then noise, the repetitious, rhythmic noise of machines thumping and squeaking over and over. She wondered where she could possibly be.

     She tried to open her eyes, but for some reason they would not respond. She tried again several more times before she finally realized that they had opened, but she could still see nothing. There was total blackness, a blackness to which her eyes seemed unable to adjust. Something was scratching her in the middle of her back, her bare back. Wondering what could be scratching her so low, she tried to move away from it without result. She hazily remembered that her gown had left a good deal of her back exposed, but not that much. Then she realized that her gown was gone and knew what caused her to be unable to move.

     Julia had been stripped to her knickers and bound to a post or upright beam of some kind. Her arms were behind her, wrapped about the pole, and her wrists crossed and tied together. There were ropes holding her to the post at a number of places around it and her bare torso: a little below her shoulders and slightly above her breasts, just below her breasts and above her elbows, near the middle of her ribs, and around her waist. She was seated on some kind of stool or backless chair with a square or rectangular seat, her legs bound together both above and below the knees and at the ankles. When she tried to move her feet, the girl realized that in spite of her nearly naked state she was still wearing her high-heeled pumps, the heels of which had been hooked over the one of the rundles of the stool as well as her ankles being secured to its legs. Either the stool had also been secured to the post or she was so well secured to it that movement was virtually impossible.

     Some kind of cloth had been stuffed into her mouth, secured there with a band of cloth tied about her head and between her teeth, and sealed with sticking-plaster. Her eyes were covered by a soft pad and likewise covered with plaster. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure that she could neither speak, see, nor move.

     Despite her lack of clothing, she could feel the perspiration on the skin of her face, neck, and torso. This had to be some kind of boiler room to be so warm on a cold night in an English November. But who would do something like this?

     A muffled groan came from nearby, just to her right and a bit below her, as though another prisoner lay on the floor. Julia realized that it must be her sister Daphne. Julia tried to call back to her, but there was no response. The moan had not been one of waking yet, though the girl could hear some kind of movement.

     Daphne Ellsworth had stirred in her drug-induced sleep, and the rubbing of her skin against the bare surface of a mattress on which she lay had drawn Julia’s attention. Daphne had also been stripped of all her clothing save her panties and her high-heeled shoes, and was as helpless as her sister, though secured in a different way. Her wrists had been bound behind her back and her body and arms circled with sets of cord in four places between her waist and her shoulders: at the waist, around her belly and lower arms near the elbows, just under her breasts, and just above, much the same as Julia had been bound. But Daphne was lying face down, her legs tied at the knees and her crossed ankles tied and drawn up behind her and anchored to one of the wraps of cord around her body. Bound as she was, she would be unable to stand, hop, crawl, or even roll over without great difficulty. In addition to being utterly immobile, the buxom blonde was gagged and blindfolded with cloth pads and sticking-plaster as her sister had been.

     “Melinda’s gone too far this time!” Julia thought bitterly, as she tried to work her hands free behind her. “We haven’t played any of these games for nearly a year now, and no one’s ever drugged anyone to kidnap them. Is this some kind of prank for my engagement, or is it about Daphne’s debut? Both, I suppose. But it’s really too much! And she’s certainly got the girls to do a prize job on these ropes! If Daphne’s as well tied as I am, I doubt we’ll ever get out of this.”

     The girl gave a desperate lunge, testing the ropes holding her to the post. A cackling laugh came from the other side of the room.

     “Well, one of our pretty ones is awake anyway, eh?”

     It was the voice of some aged crone. Julia froze. She knew most of Melinda’s character voices, and this was not one of them.

     “I ‘ope the girls didn’t make yer too uncomfortable, did they, dearie?”

     Julia protested inarticulately into her gag. The old voice clucked.

     “Tsk, tsk, tsk, is ‘at a fact? Ain’t that jus’ too bad?”

     Laughter rang out again. The sound of approaching footfalls froze Julia again. When the voice spoke again it was quite close.

     “Uncomfortable are yer?” the creature hissed. “I’ll bet y’are, wiv all them ropes on that sweet, tender young flesh!”

     A finger reached into the set of ropes that ran under Julia’s breasts and pulled on some of the cords. The other coils tightened, digging deeper into her skin. The helpless girl groaned.

     “Seven generations of Ellsworfs ‘ave ‘ad their way wiv the folk ‘round Greenhampton,” the voice continued.

     The pressure on the ropes around her chest continued. Julia could feel the face of the speaker come to within inches of her own. She tried to shrink back, but her head bumped into the pole right behind her.

     “But now I’ve got my way wiv a couple o’ Ellsworfs!” the hag whispered gleefully.

     The finger released the ropes, easing the pressure on Julia’s chest. Now it strayed to her right breast. A long fingernail played over her nipple. Julia mewed into the gag and tried to turn away. The crone continued softly:

     “Don’tcher worry, dearie. I won’t make yer suffer fer too long.”

     Julia shook her head frantically. A torrent of gagged protest came from Daphne below. The woman stepped back from Julia. Her voice now came from lower on Julia’s right, as though she were bending over Daphne.

     “So yer awake too, my little bird wiv the plump breast? Well, I’ll find some way ter entertain yer too.”

     A gagged squeal came from Daphne. The woman straightened up again, Julia judged from the sound of her next words.

     “Yes, m’ dears, we’ll ‘ave a nice bit o’ sport togever, fer a while, anyway. But after that, I’m afraid I won’t ‘ave much use fer yer. Nor will anyone else.”

     The cackling laugh rang out again, its quality made more ominous by receding across whatever room they were in.

     “Right now I’ve got ofer fings ter attend to. But never fear, m’ little birds, I’ll be back so’s we can talk some more. Enjoy yerselves ‘til then, my good ‘igh born ladies.”

     The sound of a few more steps was followed by the throwing of some bolts and the opening and closing of a door. Then a key turned in a lock. The rhythmic mechanical noise began again, and the girls were alone.

     Once more Julia struggled with the ropes and could hear Daphne’s grunts of exertion as she did the same. It did not take long for her to realize that it was useless. She had been secured by someone with considerable expertise. As she stopped to catch her breath, Julia tried to work out who might have taken them prisoner and for what reason. It was evidently someone who had long held ill feelings toward the Ellsworths. But was the woman who had spoken to them the leader or an underling? And was it even a woman? A man with a relatively high voice could probably disguise it to sound witch-like. But, no, from the unmistakably female fingernail that had tweaked her breast and nipple, she knew that there was a woman involved. Probably more than one, since the speaker had referred to ‘the girls’ who had bound them. Were they the woman’s daughters? Try as she might, Julia could not think of any matriarchal figure, or patriarchal for that matter, in the Greenhampton area who could possibly have any animus to her family.

     Regardless of whether it was incomprehensible or not, the danger was real and immediate. They had to find some means of escaping their bonds. Thoroughly fastened to her post, Julia had no way to search for anything sharp with which to cut their bonds, and due to the blindfold, she had no idea how securely Daphne was bound. It stood to reason that her sister was also blindfolded, but she might be able to move about, even if only by slow crawl, if she were not anchored to anything. Julia tried to make herself understood behind the gag, but it was useless. And Daphne’s gagged moans of reply kept coming from the same area just below Julia and to her right, so the girl was probably not able to move much.

     Julia tried flexing her body to find slack somewhere in the unyielding network of cords, but had no success. She tried a frenzied, all out effort, but only succeeded in winding herself. As she caught her breath, Julia tried to think of the useful escape techniques she had picked up during her time in the informal club of young women that had played at restraint in the past year and a half.

     “If I can free my hands everything else will follow,” she told herself. “And the best way to do that is to remain calm and use small movements to avoid exhaustion.”

     She concentrated on her wrist bindings, as hopeless as it seemed. Near her, Daphne was struggling also. Julia wondered what ordeal their captor had planned for them and how much time they had.

     “The police are on their way,” I informed Peugeot as I made my way through the crowd that had gathered outside the door of the ladies’ powder room in the Frankland Hotel. “They’ve called for Chief Inspector Sapp, and he’ll be in charge of the case. Richard has the hotel manager on the telephone to a doctor, and the manager’s already sent the porter out to find a constable.”

     Peugeot nodded gravely, turning his gaze back to the door of the powder room.

     “Your good wife and Lady Valerie are attending to the young woman now,” he said. “Miss Lime, Madame Oliphant, and Mesdemoiselles Shaw and Riddle are assisting them. She did not seem to be injured in any way, but she was extremely upset and still somewhat disoriented by the drug that was used on her.”

     “I thought I smelt a hint of something rather overpowering in there.”

     Peugeot nodded again.

     “Ethyl chloride, I believe, a most powerful and quick-acting anaesthetic. Fortunately it seems she inhaled a rather small amount of it, though quite enough to disable her temporarily. Her assailant must have removed her uniform and impersonated her while Mesdemoiselles Julia and Daphne were in them lounge.”

     “Then Julia and Daphne have been …” I began, but trailed off.

     Peugeot’s grave expression turned directly to me.

     “Similarly drugged and kidnapped, I fear. The door on the far wall which leading directly to the alley would provide an excellent means of getting them away from the hotel without being seen.”

     “Do you think that this relates to the threat in that note Richard showed us?”

     Peugeot gave a slight shrug.

     “I cannot say so without any doubt, but that is the greatest probability.”

     The front door of the hotel swung open and the porter entered followed by two uniformed constables. He led them directly to Peugeot and me.

     “I found these two constables nearby, sir,” the man explained, “and brought them here straightaway.”

     “You have been most efficient, monsieur,” said Peugeot with a bow.

     He turned to the constables and explained that a woman employee of the hotel had been assaulted, two other young women were missing and believed kidnapped, that Chief Inspector Sapp was on the way, and that he, Peugeot, had taken all care necessary to preserve the evidence inside the room. One of the men looked sceptically at the diminutive foreigner, but the other, whom I vaguely recognized, touched his helmet in salute.

     “I’m sure it’s all been done right, Mr. Peugeot,” he said. “If the Chief Inspector’s on his way, we’ll just keep the hallway clear for him. I’d imagine you’ve sent for a doctor?”

     Richard Ellsworth and the hotel manager had joined us during Peugeot’s explanation. The manager answered the question.

     “I’ve sent for Dr. Carruthers, one of the doctors on call for the hotel, Constable. He should be arriving any time now.”

     The constable saluted him politely, and then the two of them moved the onlookers back to keep the entrance clear. The manager, seeing that all was in order, turned to leave.

     “One moment, monsieur, if you please,” said Peugeot. “I have a question or two I should like to ask you.”

     The manager looked at Peugeot curiously and little disdainfully.

     “This is Henri Peugeot, the well-known detective, Mr. Evans,” explained Richard.

     The manager bowed slightly to the young baronet.

     “If you wish it, Sir Richard, I shall be delighted to assist in any way I can.”

     The man looked anything but delighted.

     “You are too amiable, monsieur,” said Peugeot politely. “What can you tell us of the young woman who attends the ladies room?”

     The manager cleared his throat.

     “Her name is Grace Wilkins, sir. She has been employed at the Frankland for some eighteen months now. I believe that she gave her age as twenty on the form she filled out at the time of employment.”

     “You have found her work to be satisfactory?”

     The manager made a slightly disapproving face.

     “You know how it is with women of that class, sir. We expect a certain amount of dishonesty and sloth from them, but Miss Wilkins has been faithful and punctual in her attendance, sufficiently clean and neat in appearance, and is polite in dealings with our patrons.”

     “There have been no complaints about her?”

     “She has had one or two minor disagreements with one of the chambermaids on the staff. That is not to be unexpected though, sir. The maids are sometimes envious of someone whose tasks they perceive to be less arduous.”

     Peugeot nodded thoughtfully, as though weighing the man’s words with Solomon-like consideration. I, on the other hand, would have been glad to deflate the man’s insufferable snobbery with a well-aimed kick to the seat of his striped trousers. Peugeot finally bowed to him.

     “I thank you, monsieur. You have been of great assistance. When the police arrive, they will probably wish to know some of the same things.”

     The manager bowed and returned to his office.

     We turned back to see the porter opening the front doors again, this time for our old friend Chief Inspector Sapp. Several men in plainclothes, either detectives or evidence experts, and four more uniformed constables followed in his wake. Brenda had pushed open the door of the lounge, and when Sapp saw her and the two of us he stopped, a look of irritation crossing his long, ferret-like face.

     “Blimey! Here we go again!” he muttered.

     Some months after the Greenhampton case, Peugeot and I had been obliged to admit the truth about the affair to Sapp. Though he had taken the news well that there had been no crime involved, he had warned us that the wasting of police time was no jesting matter.

     “So what do we have here, Peugeot?” he said archly. “Another case of attempted abduction, I’ll wager? Have you checked with all the members of the family yet? Some of the young folks may have come up with some new form of hide-and-seek.”

     Peugeot bowed to him.

     “Good evening, Chief Inspector. I comprehend completely your attitude, but it seems that we have now have a real abduction.”

     “I think I’d better be the judge of that, if you don’t mind,” Sapp said non-committally.

     Brenda stepped out of the doorway. As upset as she had to have been, she was still able to smile at Sapp. Even though he knew of her complicity in the previous case, the inspector snatched off his hat as she came toward us.

     “Please, Chief Inspector,” she entreated, “I beg you not to make any hasty judgments until you’ve heard what the attendant has to say.” She turned to Peugeot. “She’s able to talk now. Please come in.”

     Sapp turned to the others.

     “McAuliffe, you and Sergeant Wilson come with me. The rest of you wait here a bit.”

     Despite my anxiety about the girls, I could hardly blame Sapp for his caution, and I must admit that I had thought fleetingly about the possibility of another hoax myself. Sapp and the other two officers, whom we knew well, entered ahead of Peugeot, Richard, and me. Detective Sergeant Wilson had assisted Sapp a number of times, including the Greenhampton case. Detective Inspector McAuliffe was a rising young man on the force. Though he towered at least five inches over Peugeot, he had been under regulation height for patrol duty and had risen through the ranks in the records department through a combination of ingenuity and tenacity. Both he and Sergeant Wilson took out their notebooks as Sapp surveyed the situation.

     Grace Wilkins sat on the sofa on the right hand side of the room. She was still in her slip and underclothes, her uniform having been left for the evidence men where it lay on the floor of the cupboard. My wife had seen to it that a blanket and a pot of tea had been sent for, and the young attendant sat sipping from a hotel cup as Lady Valerie and Melinda Riddle comforted her. Margaret Shaw, Mrs. Oliphant, and Miss Lime sat in armchairs nearby, watching the proceedings with great interest. Brenda made hasty introductions all round.

     “Thank you, milady,” said Sapp, when she had finished. “Now perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell us what this is about.”

     “I’m not anybody’s lady any longer, Chief Inspector,” Brenda said, with obviously fraying patience. “Grace was on duty in here tonight when Julia and Daphne were abducted, so she’s the one you must listen to.”

     “All right, mil- uh, ma’am.” He turned to Grace Wilkins. “Just exactly what happened here, Miss Wilkins?”

     Grace Wilkins was a pretty, petite young woman of perhaps twenty-one, with dark brown hair and a pleasingly trim figure. She looked uncertainly from face to face, gulped, then had to fortify herself with another sip of tea. Brenda and Valerie both laid a hand on her arms and Brenda nodded to her. Grace took a deep breath.

     “Well, sir, it was just about eleven o’clock when I heard a knock at the back door, the one that leads to the alley. I thought it quite queer, I did, since nobody uses that door at night. I was about to go out to the lobby and call Mr. Harper, the porter, and ask him what to do, when I heard a woman’s voice come from behind the door calling for help.”

     “You’re sure it was a woman’s voice you heard?” asked Sapp with a glance at McAuliffe and Wilson to be certain they were taking notes.

     “Oh, I’m quite sure, sir,” she replied. “It was rather weak but definitely a woman. Then there was more knocking, not loud and rather slow, like whoever was knocking was getting weak. I thought that some poor woman was in trouble out there, maybe hurt or sick, so I turned away from the door to the lobby and went to see who it was.”

     She took another sip of tea. Brenda smiled at her and patted her hand.

     “You’re doing wonderfully, Grace,” she said.

     Grace smiled shyly back at her.

     “The voice on the other side of the door started saying ‘Please hurry! Help me, please!’ and I was just starting to turn the knob when someone grabbed me from behind and pressed a cloth over my face. I tried to reach up and snatch it away, but it surprised me so that I think I must have gasped when it happened and taken in a good bit of whatever he’d put on the cloth. Right away I started to get a bit weak, and he held me real tight to his side.”

     “You’re sure that it was a man?” asked Sapp pointedly.

     “Well I never saw his face,” said Miss Wilkins, “but it must’ve been a man, and one as big as you gentlemen or bigger.”

     She waved in the direction of Sapp, Sir Richard, and me, then nodded confidently.

     “He had to reach down a good bit to get his hand over my mouth. He was very strong. Still, I tried to get free, and might have if I hadn’t taken such a big breath of that stuff right off. It made me quite wonky. And struggling as I did, I probably breathed in even more of it.”

     As she paused for another sip Peugeot asked:

     “Pardon, mademoiselle, but where did this struggle take place?”

     Wavering a bit, Grace got to her feet and took an unsteady step toward the door. She lost her hold on the blanket for a moment and it slipped from one shoulder exposing the straps of her slip and brassiere. Flushing bright crimson, the girl pulled it back up. Taking a few more wobbly steps, she reached out and touched the knob.

     “I was here when he grabbed me ---“

     She took a step or two back to the centre of the room.

     “---And we must have been about here for most of it.”

     Without getting up, Peugeot gave a cursory glance at the carpet.

     “S’il vous plait, mademoiselle, perhaps you could show us more plainly.” He turned to me. “If you would be so good as to play the part of the assailant, mon ami, and your good wife can portray Mademoiselle Wilkins.”

     Grace Wilkins took a few steps back, and Brenda went to the spot where she had been standing. I took my place behind my wife.

     “Now if you will, gently take hold of her from behind, pinning her arms and putting one hand over her mouth.”

     I stepped forward and encircled Brenda with my left arm, pinioning her arms to her sides and pressing her to my chest. My right hand went up to her lips. Involuntarily, my wife gasped and raised her right hand to mine.

     Peugeot turned to Grace.

     “Is this correct, mademoiselle?”

     Grace looked at us carefully.

     “Not exactly, sir,” she said to Peugeot.

     “Eh bien! If you would be so kind, please arrange them to duplicate your experience exactly.”

     With her brow furrowed in deep thought, the girl crossed to us.

     “Well, he did use his left arm as you’re doing, sir,” she said to me. “But he held me more to his side than to his chest.”

     I turned a bit, keeping Brenda against the left side of my chest.

     “More like this?” I asked.

     “Even more to the side, sir,” she replied after a moment’s examination.

     I shifted my beautiful ‘victim’ more to my left side.

     “That’s how it was, sir,” she declared and turned to Peugeot with an expression of great certainty.

     The little man rose from his chair and circled us, taking note of the spot of the struggle indicated by Grace, the door to the alley, and the mirror on the left-hand wall. He turned to Grace.

     “You did not, by la bonne chance, see anything in the mirror as you were held?” he asked

     The girl shook her head.

     “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t.”

     He looked again at the mirror and regarded Brenda and me as we held our pose.

     “C’est curieux, ca,” he murmured before turning to Grace. “Continuez, s’il vous plait.”

     “Then everything went dark,” she went on. “I could feel myself being lowered to the floor, then the man walked about the room a bit. I heard a door close, and that was all. The next thing I knew, my uniform was gone and I was trussed up in the cupboard, hanging by my feet.”

     “Did you hear anything of what happened to the two young ladies who came in here?” asked Sapp.

     Grace squinted with the effort of thought.

     “The ladies here have been asking me the same thing, sir, but I can’t say anything definite. I vaguely remember hearing some noise and a door being unlocked and opened a few moments later. But nothing about who was in here or what happened.”

     Sapp nodded. The doctor, a portly middle-aged man carrying the usual black bag, had arrived. He began his examination of Miss Wilkins by checking the state of the pupils of her eyes, then went on to treat her bruised wrists. Sapp turned to Peugeot.

     “Isn’t drugging someone a little out of line for your lot?”

     Peugeot turned to Brenda.

     “I swear, Monsieur Peugeot, that I know nothing of this!” she said fervently. She then turned to Melinda Riddle and Margaret Shaw, all eyes in the room following hers.

     “No, Brenda, believe me!” said Melinda. “It’s none of my doing.”

     Sapp watched all this with a stony expression. With no indication that he either believed or disbelieved Melinda, he asked:

     “How about any of the others who used to pull these little tricks?”

     “If I recall,” said Peugeot, “some of the others in this group were Mademoiselle Cheryl Ford, Mademoiselle Susan Noble, and there were others, were there not?”

     “Cheryl’s with a company that’s touring Yorkshire right now,” said Margaret. “They’re doing mostly Coward, I think.”

     “What about Susan?” asked Brenda looking at Melinda.

     They both seemed very uneasy.

     “What is it?” I asked.

     Brenda hesitated for a moment. She began to pace.

     “I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything,” she said, though she sounded less than positive. “But Susan auditioned for A Blackmailer Comes to Call.”

     “I didn’t notice her in the cast,” I said.

     “She didn’t get the part,” put in Melinda. “Daphne did.”

     The eyebrows of both Sapp and Peugeot went up, and McAuliffe and Wilson exchanged a look. Before Sapp could comment, Peugeot turned to Richard.

     “I think, Sir Richard, that it is also time to show Chief Inspector Sapp the letter that you received a few days ago.”

     Richard took the note from his pocket and handed it to Sapp. The officer read it slowly. When he had finished, he shook his head and whistled softly.

     “I think we’ll need to keep this, Sir Richard,” he said. He turned to Peugeot. “A possible homicidal maniac with a grudge against the Ellsworth family or a jealous actress. What does the grey matter tell you, Peugeot?”

     Peugeot seemed to be lost in thought. Sapp’s question drew him back to the room. He scanned the faces of Miss Lime, Melinda, Maggie, Brenda, and me, then Richard, Valerie, and Sapp. He took the note from Sapp and reread it. With a frown, the little man shook his head.

     “I do not know, Chief Inspector,” he said gravely. “But I am much worried.

     Daphne Ellsworth woke with a start. It was the second or third time she had awakened since they had been brought here, and every time it took her some thirty seconds or so to remember what had happened and why she was in such an uncomfortable state. Reflexively, she tested her bonds again, and again they held her tightly in the manner that she and the other young women of their circle knew the French called en crapaudine and American cowboys called ‘hog-tied.’ She tried to straighten out her legs, but her crossed ankles were tethered to one of the lines about her body and would not lower. It crossed her mind in a fleeting, rather odd thought of technical precision that this was not truly en crapaudine since her ankle bonds were not connected to her wrist bonds. Despite its imprecision, the work was very effective. The girl needed to exert nearly every muscle in her body to make even the smallest movements. Daphne had been similarly bound a number of times, and knew a thorough job. This was certainly a well-executed tie.

     “Oh, my!” she thought in alarm. “Why did I have to use that word ‘executed’?”

     She burst into a frenzy of struggling, but the results were the same as they had been before. She was held implacably by her bonds, and only succeeded in chafing her bare skin in a number of places. Who was it that wanted her and Julia like this, helpless and virtually naked? The woman who had gloated over them when they had first been brought here seemed so venomous in her hatred of her family. But search her mind as she would, Daphne could think of no one who was likely to bear the Ellsworths such ill-will. They had ruined no one, humiliated no one, and bore no malice toward anyone she knew of, save possibly the Germans whom she suspected of causing Sir Garrick’s death. There was the possibility that this was an elaborate prank hatched by their friends who liked to bind and be bound but it did not seem right. It was too elaborate, and too public since the stern warning they had received from Monsieur Peugeot just over a year ago.

     Daphne tried to remember just exactly what had happened. She and Julia had reclaimed their wraps from the cloakroom in anticipation of going out for supper with Richard and the others. A waiter had come with a message: a friend of theirs wanted them to come to the powder room. She and Julia had gone inside. The attendant had said that a woman had been waiting and had just stepped out but wanted them to remain until her return. Then her eyes widened and she had pointed to the wall opposite the mirrored one. Both she and Julia had turned to look and quickly been seized from behind. A cloth had been pressed over her face, she was overwhelmed by the strong smell of something, and all had gone dark until her rude awakening here.

     Daphne knew that Julia was somewhere in front of her and just to her left. The gloating crone had stood there obviously talking to her sister, and from the muffled mewling noises and some creaking she had heard, Daphne guessed that Julia was probably bound to a chair, and undoubtedly similarly gagged and blindfolded as well. The only way to reach her, bound as Daphne was, was to inch here way along like a caterpillar, bringing her knees as far up as she could then pushing them against the pad on the floor to move her torso. She moved only a few inches at a time and the expenditure of energy was enormous, but doing something made the girl feel a bit less helpless. After trying to call to Julia and receiving a muted reply to determine Julia’s position she began to move. Though Daphne had to stop for breath after several of her inchworm moves, she persisted. Her head finally touched Julia’s feet. With a bit more crawling, she was able to bring her bound hands opposite her sister’s tied ankles. With a grunt of effort, Daphne rolled over on her side and reached back with her fingers in search of the knots. Julia gave her a muffled mew of encouragement as she worked. But before she had made much progress, Daphne’s hopes were dashed by the sound of a door being unlocked and opened.

     “So!” called the voice of the hag. “My pretty li’le Ellsworf girls try ter get in mischief, do they? Well ‘at’ll never do.”

     Daphne could hear the woman cross the room. The footfalls did not stop until they were right next to her. The helpless girl froze any larger movements, though her fingers kept groping for the knots on Julia’s ankle bonds. The toe of a woman’s shoe poked the bound girl in her midsection.

     “Wot a clever and determined little fool y’are. Did yer really fink we’d let yer untie yer sister’s feet? Not that it would’ve ‘elped yer much even if yer’d been able t’.”

     There was a pause and a slight rustle of clothing as the woman bent or squatted beside her. Daphne gave a gagged cry of alarm as bare hands touched both of her breasts, cradling, stroking, and kneading them by turns.

     “Yer sister’s even more ‘elpless than y’are, my pretty,” the voice hissed. “She’s not all bundled up like yer, but she’s tied up ter a post nice an’ straight. And ‘er treasures are on display too, jus’ like these.”

     One hand left a breast and roamed down Daphne’s belly, past her waist, and patted her just above her silk panty-covered pubic mound.

     “Well, p’rhaps not all of yer treasures are on display yet,” she cooed softly. “But they soon will be!”

     Both girls burst out in a spate of indignant gagged protests. Daphne twisted and struggled to free herself from the woman’s insultingly intrusive hands. The crone simply cackled and gave both nipples a slight squeeze. She then stood up again, and now spoke with real venom.

     “Yer might as well save yer breath, ladies, ‘cos breath’s wot you’ll not ‘ave much longer. As soon as the chief gets ter enjoy the sight o’ you two all bound and ‘elpless, we’ll finish the job we started a while ago. ‘Til then, all that needs ter be done is ter stop these prying little fingers.”

     After a short pause, the woman bent over Daphne once again. The girl heard a tearing sound and felt a now gloved hand seize her fingers and begin wrapping them together with sticking-plaster. When the wrapping was done Daphne’s hands were not only bound but her fingers were immobile, as though encased in mittens several sizes too small. There was no way for her to use her fingers to loosen knots, or to grasp or hold anything they might use to cut their bonds. She took Daphne by the feet and dragged her the short distance back to where she had begun her laborious crawl.

     “There,” said their captor. “That ought ter ‘old you two fer the rest o’ the time we need ter arrange fings. You two jus’ wait like the well-bred young ladies y’are.”

     She laughed all the way across the room.

     Once the door was closed and locked behind her, Julia and Daphne again began their desperate but hopeless struggle with their bonds.