The Affair of the Ellsworth Women

by Frank Knebel

Chapter 6

Saturday, 7 November, 4:45 PM

(Not from Major Bosworth’s narrative)

THE WOMAN worked quickly, yet without evident haste, as she and her companion removed Melinda Riddle’s shoes, blouse, skirt, slip, and brassiere. They had had to untie their victim’s hands and arms before stripping the shapely auburn-haired woman and, once they reduced her to her knickers, suspender belt, and stockings, they hastened to re-bind her before the effects of the drug wore off. The scarf and sticking-plaster gag and blindfold had remained in place the entire time. Now the tall male figure held her hands behind her back as the woman retrieved the carefully retained piece of rope used to bind her wrists and set to work. She looped the girl’s wrists six times, then made a seize by passing the rope at a ninety degree angle over the main loops, and between her wrists. Once the bonds were tightly knotted, they laid her on a camp bed standing beside the desk in the garage office and checked the bindings on her ankles.

     “That’s enough for now,” the woman said, all traces of the Cockney accent gone. Once off the streets they had also replaced their masks to guard against the unlikely chance that one of the women would awaken and be able to shake off her blindfold. “Let’s pluck the fine feathers from other one.”

     They both knelt on the floor beside the unconscious Valerie Ellsworth, now unwrapped from the cocoon of blankets that had been bound around her, and loosened the ropes from her hands, arms, and body. Since Valerie wore a suit with a skirt, they did not need to unbind her legs in order to strip her. The slender, sandy haired woman stirred slightly as they sat her up and began undoing the buttons of her jacket.

     “We’d better hurry,” the woman whispered urgently as she slipped off the woman’s shoes.

     They pulled off her jacket, skirt, blouse, slip, and brassiere, leaving only her panties, suspender belt and stockings. This time the woman held the captive as the man took a piece of rope and started tying Valerie’s hands behind her back.

     “Now do an especially good job, luv,” said the woman, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Lady Valerie’s an earl’s daughter, you know. Must do our best for the upper class.”

     The tall figure nodded and grunted in appreciation of the jest. When Valerie’s hands were secure, the woman looked about the room. Besides the cot where Melinda lay, there was only a battered old wooden desk, a heater, and two straight-backed chairs in the place.

     “Which one in the chair?” she asked.

     Her tall companion jerked a gloved thumb over his shoulder at Melinda.

     “Good choice again. Let’s get her ladyship done before she wakes up.”

     He picked up the long rope that had bound Valerie’s arms to her torso and began wrapping it about her again. The woman took a shorter rope, doubled it and looped it around the sleeping woman’s waist as though it were a belt. She fed the two free ends through the loop and pulled the belt tight, then ran the free ends between the captive’s legs, leaving them unfastened to anything for the time being. She then assisted her companion in looping Valerie’s arms even more securely to her body by adding a set of coils about her waist. She then ran the free ends of the belt ropes once around Valerie’s wrist ropes and tied them off on this newest set of body coils. They turned the helpless woman over onto her belly and passed a rope around her ankle bonds. When the woman pulled on the ends, Valerie’s bound legs were folded back, bringing her ankles close to her hands. The woman handed the rope to her accomplice who anchored the rope on the upper coils about Valerie’s body, thus effectively hog-tying the unconscious beauty.

     They went to Melinda on the camp bed and proceeded to complete her bondage in the same fashion, omitting only the hog-tie. As the woman completed the anchoring of the ropes between Melinda’s legs, she noticed that her partner was caressing and squeezing the actress’s ample breasts. She slapped at the gloved hands.

     “Here, here! Show some respect for the rising star, if you please!”

     They lifted Melinda and dragged her to the chair. Once she was seated, they roped the auburn-haired beauty to it with many turns of rope about her body and over her lap. Her bound ankles were pulled back under the seat and attached to the spreader that connected the rear legs of the chair. Once Melinda was secured, they carried Valerie to the camp bed and dumped her on it. The woman rolled Valerie on her side and grabbed her by the hair so she could turn her head and look into her tape-covered face.

     “She’s still out,” she declared.

     She went to Melinda and used the actress’s hair to raise her face for inspection.

     “This one, too. Come on. I’ll open the door so you can put the car in the street.”

     The pair left. The roar of the engine start-up and the cranking of the door had barely begun when Melinda Riddle stirred in the chair.

     “Be careful, Bosworth!”

     My little friend, never a comfortable motorcar passenger in London traffic, had been forced to put both hands on the dash for support as I turned from the Strand into Aldwych at the last moment, scattering some pedestrians in my wake.

     “Your grey cells are agitated, mon ami,” he continued. “Perhaps it would be better to wait until you have reposed yourself.”

     “Can’t take the time now, Peugeot. “We must get to the Ellsworth’s place in case Maggie should be able to talk.”

     “But I think it is very unlikely that the effects of the drug will be completely worn off yet. You said that the police are not certain what drug was used. And what could Mademoiselle Shaw, unconscious and blindfolded as she was, be able to tell us about where the others have been taken?”

     Seeing the truth of this, I slowed the car somewhat. Peugeot let out a long and exaggerated sigh of relief. He mumbled something in French that I could not quite catch, though it sounded like a word of thanks to one, or perhaps several, of the saints.

     Impatient though I was to get my friend on the case, I had to sympathise with his plight. I had burst into his rooms, startling Miss Lime enough to cause her to make an error in her typing, and snatched the afternoon tisane from his hand in my haste. I knew that I had not been entirely coherent as I bundled him into his overcoat and clapped his hat on for the journey. I believe that I had even failed to allow him time to straighten his tie and twist the ends of his moustache before dragging him out. It was not until we were descending in the lift that he fully understood the cause of my distress.

     “Veronal,” I said. “Sergeant Wilson thought that it was veronal they had been forced to drink. Not an especially strong mixture, but enough to make them sleep for a few hours.”

     Peugeot was nodding.

     “And the good Wilson allowed you to take Mademoiselle Shaw to the home of the Ellsworth family for care?”

     “Julia called Dr. Timmons house. She and Daphne and the maids were taking care of her when I left. Richard’s beside himself, poor chap. Sapp went to the flat to organise the search for evidence, but he’s coming back to the house when he’s done to hear what Maggie has to say. This is just an awful business, Peugeot.”

     My friend seemed lost in abstraction.

     “And what will happen now, I wonder?”

     “Can’t you guess what will happen. This ‘Avenger’ and his woman friend will try to do away with Valerie and Melinda. It seems obvious.”

     “Does it?”

     “Certainly. We were lucky the first time with Daphne and Julia escaping just before they had a chance to put their plan into effect. They’ll probably work faster this time, if that warning in the note is any clue.”

     Peugeot looked at me earnestly.

     “Did you not think that there was something very curious about that first episode, Bosworth? Something that smells of the fish too long on the shelf of the shop?”

     “I thought it was absolutely diabolical. The idea of throwing those two girls into the Thames bound and helpless.”

     “It is true that the plan, with or without the taunting of the victims, sounds quite cruel,” he mused. “But it was curious that the two Ellsworth sisters were held all night, and only when daylight came did the two abductors attempt to put their scheme into action.”

     “Well day or night, it wouldn’t have mattered to Julia and Daphne. Even if the abductors were seen throwing the girls overboard, there would have been no hope of saving them, if they were well weighted down.”

     “True, but it was possible or even likely that the gang would have been seen by someone and, as a result, eventually brought to justice. Why did they waste the long night, when evil can be freely indulged under cover of darkness? It seems odd, that.”

     “What do you make of it?”

     “It is too soon to make anything of it yet. We shall know more very soon.”

     Though they were not exactly comforting words, I somehow felt calmer as I negotiated Hyde Park Corner from Piccadilly into Knightsbridge. It was not far to Trevor Gardens, and in some way Peugeot’s presence, I knew, would make everyone more optimistic.

     I parked the car in front of the Ellsworth home. A constable in uniform stood on guard outside the front door, and he summoned his sergeant from inside as we approached. The sergeant recognised Peugeot at once and had the man admit us. Randall, the Ellsworth’s faithful butler, took our hats and coats and informed us that the family was gathered in the drawing room awaiting news from the doctor, who had arrived and was tending Margaret Shaw in one of the bedrooms upstairs.

     In that room we found Julia and Daphne seated upon the sofa and trying vainly to offer words of comfort to their brother. Richard was striding back and forth in front of the hearth at an alarmingly fast pace, apparently unaware of the cheerful blaze. Brenda sat in an armchair across from her stepdaughters. As we entered she was speaking to Richard.

     “Come and sit down, Richard. No matter how many miles you pace in this room, the police can’t work any quicker. Do try to be calm.”

     “I can’t do it Brenda!” the agonized baronet cried. “When I think of Val in the hands of those madmen, and what nearly happened to you two…”

     He turned to look at Julia and Daphne and caught sight of us. His face brightened.

     “Peugeot!” he exclaimed, now marching toward us and extending his hand. “I’ve seldom been so glad to see any man. Come in, my dear fellow. If there’s anyone who can set these mutts of policemen on the right track it’s you.”

     He took Peugeot by the arm and pulled him into the room. The faces of the women had also shown relief at the sight of my friend. They all crowded round him with warm and effusive greetings.

     “Do not deceive yourselves, my friends,” Peugeot said solemnly. “There is little I can do at this time that the police cannot. They are many; I am only one man. Even the grey matter of Peugeot must rely to some degree on the evidence they find. This is a tangled case as yet.”

     They all looked crestfallen at my friend’s warning. He noticed their reaction.

     “However, those who rely on Peugeot are not without hope. So let us begin with method and with order. What have we learned so far from Mademoiselle Shaw?”

     “Daphne and I were taking care of her until the doctor arrived,” reported Julia. “She was still quite woozy from the effects of the drug, but from what she said I believe that they were accosted by the same two people who kidnapped us.”

     Daphne nodded.

     “A tall man in a camel-coloured overcoat and a dark hat, and a grey–haired woman in some kind of gipsy outfit, complete with headscarf, and a Cockney accent.”

     “As they did with us, the woman did all the talking,” continued Julia. “They were waiting for them when they arrived home. The drugged tea was already made, and they held the girls at gunpoint and forced them to drink it and began tying them up.”

     “A different method,” noted Peugeot, “but very effective, to be sure. And did these two give Mademoiselle Shaw any message or demands for Sir Richard?”

     “None whatever, monsieur,” put in the baronet. “They seem to have no other end than to strike at members of the family and our friends.”

     “And they gave no hint what they intended to do with Valerie and Melinda?” I asked.

     Richard’s handsome features took on the expression of pain they had worn when we first entered. He merely shook his head, unable to speak. Daphne took him by one arm, Brenda by the other.

     “It’s all right, dear,” murmured my wife. “They’ll be found very soon.”

     She turned her face to me, and I could plainly see the doubt and worry she felt despite her brave words.

     The sound of the front door opening was quickly followed by the appearance of Chief Inspector Sapp at the drawing room doorway. The officer wore the wooden, unemotional expression demanded by his profession. His manner was brisk.

     “We’ve got a small army at work on this, Sir Richard,” he said. “There are men checking with all the neighbours for anything out of the ordinary seen or heard this afternoon, and other parties are out searching any abandoned or little used building in the area to see if they’re being held close by. People who do this type of thing tend to repeat their methods. Since Miss Julia and Miss Daphne were held within four streets of the place they were abducted, we think that Lady Valerie and Miss Riddle will not be far away.”

     Richard seemed to be somewhat comforted by this reasonable hypothesis.

     “Now,” continued Sapp, “is Miss Shaw able to speak to us yet?”

     “We’re awaiting the doctor’s permission to see her, Chief Inspector,” said my wife. “She’s still quite groggy, and has had a bad shock.”

     Sapp nodded.

     “I understand. But experience says that we have the best chance of finding the girls quickly if we start right away.”

     “Did your examination of the flat yield anything of interest?” inquired Peugeot.

     “The drug used on the women was almost certainly veronal,” Sapp reported. “Not a terribly strong solution, but enough to do the job. They must’ve worn gloves, since there’s not a fingerprint in the place, not on the doors, woodwork, furniture, or even on the cups, saucers, and teapot they used to make the tea. One of the neighbors said that she thought that she heard the service lift being used just before two o’clock. The kidnappers might have used that to move the unconscious ladies from the flat to the basement. From there, they could have been put into a waiting car by means of a door that opens onto the alley.”

     Peugeot nodded.

     “Pas ingénieux, mais bien effectif. And they left no other traces?”

     “Only the ropes, scarves, and sticking-plaster used to secure Miss Shaw, and there’s nothing distinctive about any of them. Miss Shaw’s coat was found in the kitchen where they had her remove it. Lady Valerie’s and Miss Riddle’s were missing, so we assume that the abductors took them with the women.”

     “Another curious point, that,” Peugeot noted enigmatically.

     At this point we were interrupted by the appearance of Annie, one of the Ellsworth’s maids, at the doorway.

     “Beg pardon, Sir Richard,” the pretty, dark-haired girl said deferentially. “But the doctor says you can go up now.”

     We all headed for the stairs in a flood. As we ascended I asked Peugeot what he meant in his remark about the coats.

     “It may mean nothing,” he said, “but it seems odd that these ruthless people with their immense hatred of the Ellsworths would take the coats of their victims along to provide warmth for them.”

     “The girls might be almost without any clothing by now if they repeat what they did to Julia and Daphne,” I reminded him. “And I’d suppose that they merely wrapped the coats around Valerie and Melinda to conceal their bonds from anyone who happened to see them.”

     “And what did they use to conceal the sticking-plaster over the eyes and mouths of their victims, I wonder?” he mused.

     I looked at him, suspecting, as I often did, that the statement was meant to point out some ridiculous aspect of my remark. If it had been, there was no sign of amusement from Peugeot whose glinting green eyes suggested deep concentration and excitement.

     Margaret Shaw lay in bed in one of the spare rooms on the second floor with Dr. Timmons, a stocky, ruddy-faced, relentlessly optimistic little man, and a uniformed private nurse in attendance. Maggie’s fair complexion was reduced almost to translucence by the pallor of shock and reaction to her drugging, but her blue eyes, though heavy-lidded, were keen as she watched us enter. Brenda advanced to the bedside and took one of the girl’s hands. Maggie wanly smiled at her.

     “We walked right into a trap,” Maggie said weakly. “We should have been more alert. I suppose.”

     “Nonsense!” replied my wife, gently rubbing the rope marks on the girl’s wrist. “How were you to know that they’d come after you?”

     “If I may, Miss Shaw,” Sapp interrupted, “there are a few questions I’d like ask you.”

     The doctor now interrupted the policeman.

     “Not too long now, Chief Inspector,” he cautioned. “Miss Shaw has had a nasty shock and been given a fairly strong sedative. A few minutes only, and if she shows signs of wanting to fall asleep, you must allow her to do so. Anything else will just have to wait until tomorrow.”

     “I understand, sir,” said Sapp kindly. “Perhaps the best thing to do is to have you tell me what happened as best you can."

     Maggie gave Sapp an account of what had happened in her flat. She had to go slowly, and her mind drifted away from here narrative a time or two, but in fifteen minutes or so she had related the complete story. Sapp had her describe the pair to Julia and Daphne. The sisters were emphatic in their belief that it was the same couple who had abducted them at the Frankland Hotel. They had given Maggie no idea what they intended doing with their new captives.

     Dr. Timmons, who had been watching his patient carefully, now announced that it was time to end the interview. The girls all bade goodnight to their friend, but Maggie held Brenda’s hand to keep her behind for a moment. I waited with my wife, Maggie making no objection to my presence.

     “Brenda,” the girl whispered, exhausted but insistent. “The woman said she knew. She knew about us.”

     “Knew what about you, darling?” asked my wife, obviously puzzled.

     “Not about me or Melinda, about us, our little group. She said that she’d heard that some of us liked to be tied up.”

     “Are you sure about this, Maggie?” I asked softly.

     The girl’s head kept drooping and her eyes opening and closing.

     “I’m not sure,” she replied. “I was nearly asleep, but I’m pretty sure that’s what she said. I don’t think I could have dreamed it. I’m so tired.”

     She relaxed into the pillows behind her and was asleep almost immediately. Brenda and I crept out as the doctor checked the sleeping girl’s pulse.

     “What do you make of that?” I asked. “Was it a dream?”

     Brenda looked thoughtfully at me.

     “I don’t think so. As she said, it doesn’t seem the sort of thing one would dream.”

     “We’d better tell Chief Inspector Sapp,” I said.

     When we had all returned to the drawing room we related the incident to Sapp, who nodded sagely as he listened.

     “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he declared. “If you ladies would be good enough, perhaps you could tell me who else knew of your little gang who caused the fuss last year. We’ve verified that Miss Ford is with her theatre company in Yorkshire. Who else might know of your activities?”

     Brenda, Daphne, and Julia could come up with only three additional names. But two of them were in the same troupe with Cheryl Ford and the other had married and moved to America in the intervening months.

     “Who might they, or any one of you, have mentioned your activities to?” Sapp persisted. “Perhaps made some kind of slip or hint?”

     “Stated like that,” said Brenda with a worried look, “there could be thousands of people that could possibly have been told. But I’m rather doubtful that any one of us would have confided something like this to anyone besides a very trusted friend.”

     “It’s not something that we’d like getting about,” Daphne piped up.

     “What about any of the women who already have a connection to the case?” asked Peugeot. “We already know about Susan Noble, but perhaps Penelope Jessup, Drusilla Gordon, or Zoë Frobisher might have found out.”

     The girls looked at one another. I could not read any flashes of insight on any face.

     “All three are connected with the theatre in one way or another,” said Brenda. “It is certainly possible that one of them could have seen or heard something that made them suspect. But as for positive knowledge, I don’t see how any one of them would have found out.”

     Sapp nodded.

     “Well, it’s a place to start. I’ll have to check up on their whereabouts this afternoon. Miss Frobisher said they were motoring to her estate in Greenhampton, didn’t she? Very convenient. I’ll have to start the inquiries if I’m to be back in time to escort Miss Daphne to the theatre tonight.’

     “Oh!” exclaimed Daphne in surprise. “What about Douglas--- I mean, Inspector McAuliffe?”

     Sapp very nearly smiled.

     “I’m sure he’ll miss it very much, but I left him in charge of the crime scene.”

     Daphne turned to Brenda.

     “Do you think I should go, Brenda? With Val and Melinda …”

     She trailed off.

     “Of course, you should go darling,” Brenda asserted. “Without Melinda the company will have to have two understudies playing tonight, so you’d better go.”

     “Go ahead, Daph,” said her brother gently. “It’ll do you good to have something else to occupy your mind. There’ll be enough of us sitting around here worrying.”

     “Try not to worry, Sir Richard,” Sapp said as heartily as he could. “We’ll get to the bottom of this soon enough. And I think, Miss Daphne, that at present you should just say that Miss Riddle and Miss Shaw have been taken ill.”

     “I understand, Chief Inspector,” said Daphne.

     Sapp departed. Daphne, assisted by Julia, went upstairs to get ready to go to the theatre. Richard flung himself into an armchair.

     “Yes, Chief Inspector,” muttered Richard. “But will ‘soon enough’ turn out to be soon enough?”

     Brenda and I turned to Peugeot as he seated himself in an armchair across from Richard. The little man shrugged expressively.

     It was not much comfort.

     For the fourth or fifth time I tried again to push my body away from the back of the chair to which I was bound, hoping to create some space so that I could work on the bindings around my wrists. But once again, I found that it was useless. There were too many wraps of rope in too many places about my torso to allow me to move. They had even put several wraps about my waist and over my lap and upper thighs to hold me in the seat. And with my bound ankles pulled so far back under the seat that the balls of my feet barely touched the ground, I could gain no leverage for movement from them. I moaned into the gag in my frustration.

     An answering moan came from my right. Though I could not see who my fellow prisoner was, my head was now clear enough that I could remember that our abductors had indicated that it was Valerie. In fact, Valerie had been the target since she was an Ellsworth. I had been some kind of afterthought; just a friend of the family, taken for emphasis.

     I struggled again with my bonds. For being an afterthought, my captors could hardly have done a better job of securing me. In our various games and adventures with my actress friends, I had been tied quite securely a number of times, but could recall nothing quite as secure as this. And nothing quite as close to nakedness as this. I felt cool air all around my body, and wondered if being left to freeze was to be our particular ordeal.

     My ruminations were interrupted by the sound of returning footfalls. There were two sets of feet if my ears were any judge. The steps stopped not far away.

     “Well, well, now!” called a familiar Cockney voice. “Ain’t it all jus’ too beautiful?”

     I attempted to speak to my captor in an effort to get one of them to remove my gag so that I could find out what this was all about. I hoped to be able to reason with them, or perhaps make some kind of bargain for our release. Nothing was possible as long as I remained gagged, and neither of them made any move to remove it.

     I heard slow steps coming toward me. A hand touched then patted my cheek.

     “There, there, luv,” said the voice, soft and mocking. “I knows yer’ve got lots ter say, but we ‘aven’t any time right now.”

     The hand moved from my cheek down my neck and shoulder and to my chest. Though there were ropes both above and below my bustline, my breasts had been left uncovered and accessible. The woman cupped first the left one, then the right, then, using two hands, both together.

     “Ooh!” she said admiringly. “Wot a fine womanly shape yer ‘ave, girl. No wonder yer a risin’ star. I’ll bet the men jus’ love ter watch yer on stage in a low-cut dress. I wonder what one of ‘em ‘d give ter be in my place now, eh?”

     She moved her fingers to my nipples and gave both a slight tweak. I squealed into my gag. The woman’s hands moved lower, to the area of my ribs.

     “Oh, the poor dear’s cold,” the woman said, her face obviously now turned away from me. “Be a luv and turn on some ‘eat.”

     The other set of feet crossed the room. As the hands continued to stroke and caress my uselessly resisting body, I heard the sounds of a gas heater being turned on and the strike of a match. The air in the room began to feel warmer.

     “There, ain’t that better, girls?” cooed the voice. “We wouldn’t want such a great actress an’ such a fine lady ter freeze. “

     She laughed cruelly.

     “Especially since we’ve got somefin’ much better in mind fer yer. But not just yet.”

     The woman crossed to my right. I heard Valerie emit an indignant gagged grunt, then a surprised squeal. The woman laughed again.

     “It’s nice ter see that yer both fine an’ proper ladies. Well, ta-ta, luvs. Me mate’ll be watchin’ yer so don’t get any ideas about getting’ away, now.”

     I heard footsteps recede and the scrape of chair legs as one was dragged across the tile floor of the room. Our guard was the silent man of the pair, his presence detectable only by an occasional creak of the wood of his chair and the quiet sound of his breathing.

     Hopelessly, I tugged at the ropes around my wrists. There seemed to be no way out!

     The telephone rang. We all leaned forward in our chairs as Randall, with his measured tread, went to answer it. In a moment he appeared in the drawing room and crossed to my wife, who was sitting with me on the sofa.

     “For you, madame. An American gentleman: a Mr. Clark.”

     Brenda looked up from the book she had been reading.

     “Thank you, Randall. I’ll come at once.”

     We relaxed as she left. We were all, I think, on tenterhooks, both eager for news while at the same time dreading what that news might be. Richard had tried reading for a time, but had been unable to concentrate. Julia had Randall bring in a folding table, and she and Richard were presently working on a jigsaw puzzle of a cottage and garden. Peugeot sat nearby at an occasional table, dividing his time between building houses of cards and sitting with eyes closed, obviously exerting his grey matter to the fullest. I continued to read about the campaign in the Sudan, though my concentration was far from acute. The sound of Brenda’s voice speaking into the telephone ceased. She returned to the drawing room, casting a concerned glance at Richard, who was staring morosely at a puzzle piece in his hand. Julia noticed. She took Richard’s hand and guided it to a spot in the puzzle.

     “I think that piece goes here somewhere, Richard,” she said.

     He started a bit then slid it into its place.

     “Sorry, old girl,” he mumbled. “Silly of me not to see that.”

     He turned to Brenda,

     “Who was that on the phone, Brenda?” he asked anxiously.

     “Just that American film man, dear,” she replied. She turned to me. “He wants to take me to dinner tomorrow night to talk about working for the Wegener brothers.”

     “Did you tell him what’s been happening lately?” I asked.

     “I just told him that we were having a serious family crisis at the moment, but should it be resolved that we’d be glad to see him tomorrow evening. I insisted that you be along.”

     “I’m glad to hear that you consider me so vital,” I said with a smile.

     “He’s seeing Drusilla Gordon tonight, and has already met with Celia Robbins and Ruth Danielson,” she went on. “I’ll tell him then that I’ve no interest in going to Hollywood, and you’ll get quite an expensive dinner out of it.”

     “How can you two talk of dinner when… when…” Richard began. It took all of the young man’s self control to master himself. His expression slowly turned from furious to apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

     Brenda went to Richard and put her arm round him as he buried his face in his hands. I looked at Peugeot who was calmly building another card house. Since he did not seem about to share any of his thoughts on the case with us, I decided to put some questions to him. It might or might not ease Richard’s mind, but at least it would break the awful silence and relieve to some degree the sense of powerlessness we all felt.

     “Peugeot,” I began, “have you ever considered that the attack on the ladies’ room attendant Thursday was staged, and that Grace Wilkins is an accomplice of the gang?”

     “Non,” he said flatly, not taking his eyes from his small edifice. “I think it unlikely that Mademoiselle Wilkins would have been so effectively drugged and bound had she been an accomplice.”

     “How do you know that she was really drugged?” I asked.

     “You remember that I asked her to stand in the spot she had been when attacked. When she rose from her seat, she was barely able to cross the room. She tripped on the blanket that was wrapped around her, pulling it off, and the strap of her slip fell off one shoulder, which caused her to blush. I think it most unlikely that a simple girl like Mademoiselle Wilkins would remember to feign the continuing influence of the drug after he rescue or to blush on demand as she did.”

     “Well, perhaps not,” I admitted. “But how about the waiter who lured the girls to the lounge, or the mysterious woman who gave Miss Gordon the message she gave to the waiter.”

     “The waiter is innocent,” Peugeot asserted, still wholly absorbed in his task. “Would a guilty man draw attention to himself by leaving the hotel so soon after delivering the patently false message, then be so idiotic as to return to work the next day and walk into the arms of the police? And his report that the message came through Mademoiselle Gordon is verified. I doubt that the woman who gave the message to her will ever be found, even with all the resources of the police. She is a woman with no description. C’est déspérant.”

     “Drusilla came by to see Daphne and me for a while this morning,” said Julia. “She was very apologetic about not being able to remember the woman. I didn’t like her very much when I met her at the reception the other day, but she was quite amusing this morning. The stories she told about the theatre had us all weak from laughter, especially Melinda and Margaret.”

     “She can be a dear when she chooses,” said Brenda.

     The doorbell rang. We could hear the sounds of someone being admitted by the policemen on duty. Randall ushered Inspector McAuliffe into the drawing room.

     “Any news, Inspector?” asked Richard eagerly.

     The officer shook his head wearily.

     “No news of Lady Ellsworth nor Miss Riddle as yet, sir,” he reported. “But after I finished at Miss Riddle’s flat, Sergeant Wilson and I did some checking on the suspects. No one’s seen or had contact with Mr. Darrowby and Miss Noble since before noon today. We’ve been to both their flats and the office he sometimes uses in the Cranmer Theatre. The same can be said of Miss Frobisher and Mr. Landon. We’ve both telephoned and been to his house in Mayfair, her house in Belgravia, and his offices, and we’ve tried to reach them by phone at her estate in Greenhampton without success.”

     Peugeot turned away from his cards.

     “This is very interesting,” he said slowly. “Mes amis, we progress at last.”

     The after effects of the drug in the tea we had been forced to drink as well as the heat of our prison room (which the effectiveness of the heater told me could not be very large) caused me to drift in and out of sleep. I had no idea how long any of these little naps were since upon awakening each time there were only the same sounds and sensations: a muffled moan from Valerie, my fellow prisoner, or a slight creak of the chair which our silent sentry occupied only a few feet to my front. One of the times I awoke to hear what I perceived to be a woman’s shoes approaching us. I groaned involuntarily, expecting another round of her tiresome gloating over us and perhaps more fondling of our bodies. I was surprised to hear a different voice, though another woman’s, from what must have been the doorway to the room.

     “Well, the boss an’ his pal sure did all right this time!” she crowed.

     The voice was younger and richer. The speaker tried to disguise it with something like the Cockney speech of the other woman, but it was an obviously bad job.

     “I thought those last two was pretty nice pieces o’ goods, but you two may be even better!”

     I hummed into my gag, again attempting to get our captors to remove it. Any chance of winning our release had to begin with establishing some kind of communication with them. But this woman was no more willing than the other to oblige us had been.

     “You wants that gag out, dearie?” she asked mockingly. “Not a chance, my girl. You’ll stay tied nice an’ tight, and that gag isn’t comin’ off until the boss says so. And I don’t think he’ll ever say it’s comin’ off.”

     There was a bit of a pause and I heard her take a few slow steps across the room. A hand touched my upper left leg and played with the top of my stocking, then gently rubbed the flesh between it and my knickers. The fingertips slid up to the waistband of the knickers and gave a little pull. I grunted as the band snapped back against my skin.

     “O’ course we might take somethin’ else off you, if we’ve a mind t’ play,” she whispered salaciously. “And the boss really likes the look of the both of you.”

     She put both hands on my sides, just above my waist and slid them up my body. Anywhere a gap in my bonds permitted, she let her fingertips linger and play. I made every effort not to cringe away from her touch or make exclamations into my gag, judging that these were the very reactions she sought. Denying them any satisfaction from their sensual tormenting of us was the way to fight back. However, as her hands reached my breasts I was not always able to repress my involuntary reactions.

     “The boss thinks that you’ve got a much better set that her ladyship, over there,” she continued in her sensual whisper. “Hers aren’t bad for a slender girl, but the boss likes ‘em a bit rounder and softer like you, if you knows what I mean.”

     I struggled in the ropes and protested into the packing in my mouth, shaking my head and making every effort to inch away from my tormentor. I sensed her face coming nearer, and a moment later felt her lips on one of my nipples while her fingers played with the other. She switched mouth and hand alternately on my breasts, her tongue and fingertips mirroring actions as she worked. Despite my fear and outrage, the same pleasurable feelings we had sought in the games of bound and gagged heroine we had played came flooding out now. I moaned into my gag and writhed against the ropes in my arousal. Suddenly she stopped. My head sagged onto my chest and I breathed deeply through my nose. Her hand went to the underside of my chin and raised my gagged and blindfolded face so that I must have been looking into hers. Her lips pressed against the sticking-plaster over my mouth.

     “Oh, yes,” she murmured. “The boss’d really like you.”

     She let my head fall back on my chest, and I heard her take a couple steps to where I knew that Valerie was.

     “Now for you, your ladyship,” she breathed.

     I sat limply for a few moments then with growing excitement, listening to Valerie as she went through the stages of initial resistance, attempted brave silence, then helpless arousal at the hands of our tormentor. The similarity of her reactions comforted me somewhat. When she had finished with Valerie, the woman returned to what must have been the doorway.

     “We’ll that was a bit of all right,” she said with quiet glee. “You two are a pair of nice birds if you ask me, an’ I’d keep the both of yer around. Trouble is that the boss doesn’t feel the same. I doubt we’ll get another chance to have fun, so g’bye, luvs. Enjoy it while y’ can.”

     With those icily cheery words of parting, the woman’s steps receded across a large, echoing space outside our cell. Presently, the sound of heavier boots returned from the same direction into our room. The chair was scraped into place again and a heavy creak told me that our sentinel had returned.

     The only question was now much longer did we have?