The Affair of the Ellsworth Women

By Frank Knebel

Chapter 7

Saturday, 7 November, 11:30 PM

(Not from Major Bosworth’s personal narrative)

LADY VALERIE ELLSWORTH woke with a start. To her horror, she again discovered that her captivity was not a recurring dream, but that her dreams were a recurring respite from her plight. She gave another experimental tug at her bonds to see if they were any looser than she remembered, but they remained secure. Her wrists were bound behind her back, her arms and body looped several times with multiple wrappings of cord, and her legs were secured above and below her knees and at the ankles. Her bound legs had been bent back and her ankle bonds connected to one of the wraps about her body, effectively hog-tying her. Her eyes and mouth had been bound first with scarves then sealed with sticking-plaster. But to her, the most curious of all the ties was the rope belt about her waist with the double strand of cord stretched tautly between her legs then wrapped about her wrist bonds. Every movement of her bound hands resulted in a pull against her silken covered private parts, the only part of her trim and shapely form covered by any clothing at all.

     As her head cleared she remembered the last visit by a woman member of the gang. The woman had subjected first Melinda then her to a variety of sensual torments. Then came the threats. Were they to be done away with, as the gang had threatened to do to Julia and Daphne? And why was she bound in such a sexually knowing way? What kind of purpose did this gang have in trying to arouse their helpless captives? What had the Ellsworths done to them to that they sought to exact such revenge?

     Any further speculations on her captors’ motives or intentions were halted by the sound of someone approaching. The steps were light and fast and the pitch rather high, indicating the smaller shoes of a woman.

     “Well, well, m’luvs,” crowed a familiar voice. “Are we all ready for the grand finale of our little play? It won’t be as flowery as the Bard, but we’ll try to make it dramatic.”

     Melinda, as she did every time someone spoke, began making noises behind her gag. Valerie knew that it was useless to try to reason or plead with their abductors. All she could do was to try to show no fear, and deny them any pleasure they might take in seeing it. Still, she was afraid.

     “Now, for starters, let’s have them blindfolds off,” the crone continued. “We wouldn’t wantcher ter miss any o’ the spectacle!”

     Valerie, lying on her side on the camp bed, was pushed back far enough for the woman to sit beside her. She could feel the sticking-plaster being peeled away, then hands reached behind her head and untied the banded scarf that had been bound over her eyes. She blinked at the brightness of the room, which was provided by one not very powerful bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The tall male figure was bending over Melinda, bound securely to a chair a few steps away, to remove her blindfold.

     “There! Ain’t that better now?” the woman asked in a mocking tone. “Yer’ve gotter see this. It’s a pity ‘at we didn’t get this far wi’ the last two.”

     The woman strode theatrically to the office door and pointed at the old Morris parked a few yards away.

     “We’re goin’ ter start up that car out there afore we goes. This be a good-sized garage, but the winders is all closed, and a few’re even boarded up. There’s no place fer the exhaust ter go, and I fink yer two knows wot ‘appens when yer runs a car in a closed up place like this! O’ course, it’ll take some time, but it’ll ‘appen sooner or later!”

     She broke into fiendish laughter. Despite her resolve, Valerie shook her head and pleaded into her gag. Melinda did the same.

     “Aw, lookit that now, will yer,” she said, in mock self-reproach. She turned to her companion. “Can we refuse such ‘eart-wrenchin’ pleas fer mercy?”

     The man put a gloved hand to his chin, as if thinking deeply then nodded decisively.

     The woman burst into laughter again.

     “Oh, ain’tcher th’ one, luv? What a card, y’are!” She turned to her prisoners. “Well, yer ‘eard ‘im, ladies. Let’s get to it.”

     She put her hands on the headpiece of the chair he had used for sentry duty.

     “Shall we put ‘er ladyship in a chair too?”

     The figure shook his head and pointed a gloved finger at the ground.

     “Yer’d put a foin lady like this on the floor?” she reproached him. “An’ ‘er nearly naked an’ all?” She laughed again. “Wunderful!”

     The woman took one of the blankets they had used to wrap their captives, and spread it on the floor beside the cot. They lifted Valerie from the camp bed and lowered her onto it. She strained her neck to look up at both Melinda and her captors.

     “That’ll do jus’ foin,” said the woman. “Now you ladies enjoy yerselves while yer can.”

     Leaving the office door open, the pair went into the work area to the Morris. The woman climbed inside and started the engine. When she was sure that it was running, she got out. The two left by a small door facing the office.

     Melinda and Valerie burst into a frenzy of struggling with their bonds. Though Melinda made the chair creak and even bounced its legs off the floor once or twice it was obvious that her situation was hopeless. She was tied too thoroughly. She looked around the room.

     Valerie squirmed uselessly. The ropes that held her were anchored on one another so that pulling on one seemed to tighten several others. And hog-tied as she was, even if she were able to crawl out to the Morris, there was no way she could stand or even raise herself enough to find some way to stop the car. She squealed into the gag in frustration. Then she heard Melinda. She turned as best she could.

     The auburn-haired actress was calling one syllable repeatedly into her gag. Valerie guessed it was Melinda’s way of calling ‘Val’ to her. When she was sure that she had her friend’s attention, Melinda gestured toward the door with her chin several times. Sensing she was being told to look in that direction, Valerie craned her neck to see what Melinda was indicating.

     There by the door were a few small pieces of scrap metal. One of them might be some kind of blade or cutting tool, or at least have enough of an edge to cut through the ropes. Valerie turned back to her friend and nodded. She began to inch her way toward the scraps.

     Once she was off the blanket, the traction was better, though a bit harder on the skin of her belly and breasts. Fortunately, the office had a linoleum floor rather than the bare cement of the work area outside.

     Valerie was making good progress in her quest when she had to stop and suppress the urge to cough. The fumes must be getting thicker. She did not have far to go. But would there be time to reach something sharp enough and cut her through her bonds before they were overcome?

     She drew her knees up as far as she could and pushed herself forward.

     The Ellsworth’s house on Trevor Gardens was quiet now. Chief Inspector Sapp had escorted Daphne home at about eleven o’clock and, after a short conference with Peugeot and McAuliffe to determine that there was no news, then departed. McAuliffe had gone as well, leaving the night shift of police protection under Sergeant Griffith. Dr. Timmons, with much assistance from Brenda and Julia, had persuaded Richard to take a fairly strong sedative, and the young baronet was now sleeping peacefully upstairs in his room. The women had retired as well, leaving only Peugeot and me in the drawing room. The little man continued in his construction of card houses while I alternately paced, read, or spent a few minutes working at the jigsaw puzzle Richard and Julia had begun, as I waited for Peugeot to begin talking about the real-life puzzle which we faced. But he said nothing for a long time. As I pondered over a puzzle piece that appeared to be part of a windowsill, I was surprised to hear his voice behind me.

     “The working of the puzzle is good for the grey matter, is it not?”

     I half-turned to see him approaching the table where I was working.

     “Well, “ I replied, “I suppose one does have to use a kind of method to put the pieces in the right place.”

     He looked at the piece in my hand and surveyed the half-completed picture.

     “Exactement. We take what we know of the case, the shape and colour of the missing piece, and we find what matches it. Then we complete a small part of our picture so.”

     He took the piece from my fingers and fitted it neatly into its place.

     “I’d been looking in that same area,” I remarked wearily. “I just couldn’t see the fit.”

     He nodded.

     “At the present time I note only those things for which I, Henri Peugeot, see no fit. When we have a bit more of the puzzle in the form of discovering what has become of Lady Valerie and Mademoiselle Riddle, then we shall find where more of these as yet unfitting pieces belong.”

     I saw my opportunity to learn more.

     “And what are some of the pieces we have now that don’t fit?”

     He picked up another puzzle piece and, after a quick look, put it in place.

     “I was happy to see that you raised the subject of Mademoiselle Wilkins, not because you were correct in your suspicion, but because I know how your gallant nature rebels at the idea that an attractive young girl might be involved in crime. If you remember the case of the schoolgirls at the seaside resort---“

     “Yes, yes!” I interrupted. “What about this case though?”

     “There was something curious about the binding of Mademoiselle Wilkins. If you recall, there were several strands of cord bound about her upper legs, which seemed to have no real purpose but to keep her slip in place and prevent the revealing of her underclothes. Since the kidnappers removed nearly all the clothing from Mesdemoiselles Julia and Daphne, I find the concern for this girl’s modesty somewhat strange.”

     After a short examination of the puzzle, he selected a piece and popped it into place.

     “You were again correct to notice the nondescript woman who asked Mademoiselle Gordon to have the girls come to the powder room. There is something quite unusual about that entire incident.”

     I studied the picture for a moment and fitted a piece in myself.

     “I can’t quite figure out the significance of the two peep holes in the wall and the business with the champagne bottle.”

     Peugeot nodded. He put in another puzzle piece.

     “Our friend Inspector McAuliffe thought he knew all about that at first. He believed that this was yet another charade of the Greenhampton gang, and the bottle had been deliberately broken to allow the girls to escape. That theory is no longer soutenable with the abduction of Lady Valerie and Mademoiselle Riddle. But it is a curious incident is it not?”

     I put in another piece. It seemed to be easier now.

     “And what was all that you told to Jessup and Aubrey and Miss Gordon about the alley door to the powder room being opened with a wire to admit the gang? It seems obvious that who ever drugged Miss Wilkins slipped in from the reception. I can’t see that the scratches on the door mean anything.”

     “Bravo, Bosworth,” he said, beaming at me approvingly. “I think that those scratches were made to cover the lily with gold. But I wanted them to think that we believed the gang came from the outside.”

     “Sergeant Wilson thought that you’d lost your mind when he heard that,” I noted. “So you wanted to put Jessup and Aubrey off their guard?”

     “It was meant to be deliberately misleading.”

     Glad as I was to be given these hints as to my friend’s thinking, they were of little use in finding Valerie and Melinda.

     “What do you think the gang is doing to Melinda and Valerie?” I asked

     Peugeot became very grave.

     “That I cannot say. Whether they are merely detained and threatened or the abductors actually attempt to do them harm is another piece of our puzzle.”

     I yawned, suddenly feeling very tired.

     “You need the sleep now, mon ami. I too must rest the grey matter for the work ahead. I believe that we shall very soon know the fate of our young friends.”

     We left the sitting room. Sergeant Griffin and a constable were sitting near the front door. I waved to them as Peugeot and I went up the stairs to our rooms.

     Valerie Ellsworth continued making her painstaking way across the floor of the garage office. Though the hog-tie forced her to go very slowly, making progress something like in inch worm does by tucking her knees up toward her chest then pushing herself along by straightening them again, she was getting closer to the half-dozen or so small pieces of metal that lay by the door. She was encouraged by the fact that the air, though smelling somewhat of auto exhaust, did not seem to be getting worse. How long it would take for the carbon monoxide to overcome her and the helpless Melinda she did not know. She tried not to think about it, concentrating only on the task before her.

     When she was within two feet of the scraps, the unbelievable happened: the engine of the Morris spluttered then stopped. Melinda, still bound in the chair by the office desk, moaned thankfully into her gag. Valerie looked back encouragingly at her friend. It was only a matter of time now.

     As Melinda watched her, she was thankful that it was the willowy and athletic Valerie who had been left on the floor. Though Melinda was by no means heavy or clumsy, her curvier form, especially her larger breasts, would have made working her way across the room an even slower and more uncomfortable experience. All she could do now was urge her friend on, and keep watch to be sure that their abductors did not reappear.

     Finally Valerie reached her goal. Being forced to lie so flat on the floor gave her a good look at all the metal shards. She saw one that looked thick enough to hold easily but appeared to have a sharp edge on one side. Using her chin, she moved the chosen piece away from the others to make it easier to find. Then she inched herself ahead and rolled over. After a couple attempts, she was able to grab it with her right hand. She heard a mew of triumph from Melinda who had witnessed the operation, and replied to her as best she could.

     The first task she faced was to free herself from the hog-tie to make any other movements easier. The only way to do it was to grab the rope connecting her bound ankles to the ropes around her body and pull, creating some slack close enough to her hands that she could cut with her makeshift knife. She could not stand the extra strain for very long and had to rest after a few seconds, but after four repetitions of her method, the rope parted and her legs unbent. Slowly and thankfully she lowered her feet to the floor.

     Encouraged by more muffled sounds from Melinda, Valerie next worked on the line running from the loop around her waist, between her legs, around her wrist bonds, and up to one of the loops around her body. Using the same kind of strategy, she quickly sawed through the rope and felt it loosen. Now able to get her hands a bit farther away from her back, Valerie was able to free her hands fairly quickly. After cutting the lowest set of loops around her arms and body, she slipped the others off over her head. Once her arms were free she peeled off the gag plaster, then untied the band of cloth around her head and spat out the wadding.

     “Thank God that’s out of my mouth at last!” she said. She bent over and began sawing at her leg bonds. “Hang on, Melinda! I’ll be with you as soon as I get my legs free.”

     Melinda bounced impatiently in her chair and hummed an admonition for her friend to hurry.

     When Valerie was free she used the chair to help her stand. She tried to take a step, but was so unsteady on her feet that she had to grab the chair back and lean on it for a moment.

     “Sorry, Melinda,” she gasped. “I’m a little shaky yet. Let me get some circulation down there.”

     She looked into her friend’s pleading face as she gingerly tested her feet and legs.

     “Not much worry about them coming back, though. They probably think we’re unconscious or dead by now, I’ll wager.”

     When she was able to step without falling, Valerie crossed the room to Melinda and freed her from the gag. Melinda drew in deep breaths as Valerie began cutting the ropes that held her to the chair.

     “Thank God they didn’t tie you to that other chair!” Melinda said between gulps of air. “We’d have been goners for sure if they had.”

     “Yes,” Valerie replied as she continued working. “It’s one time I’m not sorry to be put on my belly to be humbled.”

     In a minute, Melinda was free. They wrapped themselves in the blanket their abductors had spread on the floor and stepped cautiously outside the office.

     “Oh, I’m glad they had that heater on!” said Valerie. “If they’d left us in there all day without it we’d have frozen to death by now.”

     “Look, Val!” cried Melinda pointing to the floor near the Morris.

     Their clothing, shoes, and overcoats lay in a heap beside the silent car. The blankets used to wrap them during their journey lay there also. Quickly the girls picked up the clothing and returned to the office, piling the items on the desk. They dressed hurriedly.

     “You’re probably right about them not coming back,” Melinda whispered as they made their way to the door. “But let’s be careful just in case they want to make sure the job was done properly.”

     Valerie nodded and led the way to the door. She put her hand on the knob and turned it slowly and quietly. They pulled it open and peeked outside. It was quite dark though the sound and lights of a large city were all round them. Valerie gestured forward with her head, and the pair walked slowly into the blackness of some kind of yard surrounding the motor-garage, possibly an area for extra parking. They crossed the empty yard and headed for the nearest street noises. A car or two passed the intersection ahead. They seemed to be in a jumble of buildings that appeared to be workshops and offices with an occasional house converted to flats.

     “I believe I know where we are!” exclaimed Melinda, trying to keep her voice low despite her excitement. “We’re in Seven Dials, I think. That’s Dragon’s Way over there and Trade Street there. If we keep going this way we should come out on St. Giles High Street. We’ll surely find a constable in Oxford Street.”

     “Come on then,” urged Valerie.

     Following Melinda’s directions they struck out. They had just turned into St. Giles when they ran into a policeman.

     “I think that you two were ever so clever to use a few bits of metal to cut the ropes!” exclaimed Daphne Ellsworth, her eyes shining at the two new heroines. “I mean, what with that car engine running, who knows how much time you had? It was really quite brilliant!”

     Julia amplified her sister’s sentiments.

     “Not only was it was clever, but Valerie was very brave to crawl through all the fumes to reach those bits. Those two might have come back at any time!”

     “I don’t think we were in any danger of that,” said Valerie. “After all, if they’d come back to watch us, they’d have been overcome by the fumes as well.”

     “Besides,” added Melinda, “the car engine had stopped. I don’t think we could have been hurt by the amount of exhaust in the place as it was.”

     “Still, it was a very good thing that you freed yourselves so you could leave immediately,” said my wife, looking greatly relieved. “They might have returned to be sure that their plan had worked. They could have very easily tried something else when they found that the car had failed.”

     “But they didn’t return as far as we know,” put in Inspector McAuliffe. “I was there until just an hour or so ago, and they hadn’t come back between quarter ‘til and six o’clock. My lads and I would have got them for sure.”

     The youthful inspector was sitting on the sofa beside Daphne and Julia. I noticed that whenever he spoke Daphne turned to him with shining eyes. They had also whispered a few comments to one another as Valerie and Melinda had related their complete story to us. Part of the tale had been told as the two were in the dining room eating omelettes that Mrs. Dailey had insisted on preparing for them. Twelve hours without food had produced a pair of hearty appetites, and a good deal of the story had been covered there. We had all taken our tea to the drawing room for the conclusion of their account. Chief Inspector Sapp and Sergeant Wilson had heard the story once at Scotland Yard, but were also present here in case the girls should remember any more details.

     Of course the most relieved member of the household was Richard, who had held Valerie closely to his side from the moment the two stepped through the doorway. All of the women in the house had made a great fuss over them, but it was Richard who was the most restored. He showed no signs of the sleeping draught he had been given, save an occasional yawn or two. Maggie Shaw, having recovered from the effects of the drug, had also roused herself, and the nurse insisted on treating the bruises and rope burns on the girls’ hands and feet.

     Peugeot, after greeting the women with his usual Gallic effusion, was mostly silent, listening to their account with his green eyes intently on them. At one or two points he asked them to repeat the events, listening with his eyes closed as though attempting to view the scene on the stage of his imagination.

     “Well I think we’ve all been jolly lucky,” I said as the speculation about the gang’s failure to return died out. “It was probably the fuel line or something that gave out in that old Morris. If it hadn’t, and if they’d moved a bit more quickly the other day, there would be a lot fewer Ellsworths in the world today. We’ve got to find out what this is all about before they can strike again.”

     Without conscious effort, my arm had slipped round Brenda’s waist as she sat on the arm of my chair.

     “What Major Bosworth says is very true,” said Peugeot. “When do you expect to have a report from the crime scene, Chief Inspector?”

     Sapp looked at his wristwatch.

     “It should be ready very soon. I’m due back at the Yard in half an hour to meet with Superintendent Batters and the Assistant Commissioner. I may have it then.”

     Peugeot nodded.

     “Perhaps we could meet at my rooms at nine o’clock then? The ladies will stay here under the care of Dr. Timmons and the guard of Sir Richard and the police, but I think that rest of us should meet to discuss the new developments of the case.”

     It was arranged. The doctor arrived to minister to Valerie and Melinda, and a new shift of policemen and WPCs took over guard duty. With Melinda remaining at the Ellsworth’s home for additional medical care and protection, Brenda and I had decided to return to our own home. When he learned of our plans, Peugeot cautioned me about the Avenger’s next target.

     “Take care with your wife, mon ami,” he warned. “We still do not know how far this mad obsession will be carried.”

     “I’ve cleaned and loaded my old service revolver,” I said, trying to sound breezily confident. “My man Dickson’s one of my former NCOs, and a good man if there’s trouble. Besides, Brenda’s not an Ellsworth, any more. This Avenger would have to go pretty far afield to associate her with the family any more.”

     “And yet, what association did Mademoiselle Riddle have with the Ellsworths? She is merely a friend of Mesdemoiselles Julia and Daphne and of Lady Valerie. You are undoubtedly correct in your view that she is no longer an Ellsworth, but it matters only what these Avengers believe that is important.”

     “True enough,” I replied reflectively. “Well, I intend to return home immediately after our meeting is over, so let’s try to make it a short one, shall we?”

     “You know that, since I am not possessed of any airs of self-importance, I never speak at undue length,” my friend said innocently. “Therefore we shall be most concis. But I am curious to learn what the police have found at the crime scene, especially the cause of the failure of the car’s engine. That will be most instructive.”

     Brenda joined us. As we strolled down the hall toward the front door, Peugeot gave her the same words of caution.

     “I appreciate your concern, monsieur, but with Allen and Dickson and Elizabeth to look after me, I’m sure that I’ll be quite safe.”

     The policemen at the door saluted Peugeot as he passed. I raised my hat, and he, with his customary Gallic politeness, touched the brim of his hat in return salute as we left.

     “With this most efficient cordon of police now protecting this house,” he said softly, “I fear that our Avenger will be forced to find a target elsewhere. Be on your guard, my friends.”

     He got into a waiting cab. As we watched him drive off Brenda put an arm round me.

     “Do you think that he could be right?”

     “I don’t think so, darling,” I said, trying to sound confident. “You’re a Bosworth now, you know.”

     But I was not so sure.

     I arrived at Peugeot’s rooms shortly before nine o’clock to find Inspector McAuliffe and Mrs. Oliphant sipping tea and chatting amiably with my friend in his study. Even more remarkable was the presence of Miss Lime, who generally held her days off in the same religious reverence that many hold for highly regarded sacred relics, who helped serve the tea.

     “Well, it is quite a remarkable case, after all,” she said in reply to my expression of surprise. “If Mr. Peugeot needs me I cannot shirk my duties.”

     The sound of the buzzer announced the arrival of Chief Inspector Sapp and Sergeant Wilson. They accepted tea from Miss Lime and took seats in the study. Sapp looked weary and haggard.

     “I hope we come up with something promising here, Peugeot,” he said. “I’ve had a fair morning already. Superintendent Batters and the Assistant Commissioner have taken their turns on me for the lack of progress in this case. I believe that they’d like to replace me with Chief Inspector Naylor, if he wasn’t on holiday right now.”

     The little man made an expressive grimace at the mention of Inspector Naylor, an officer who had little regard for Peugeot or his methods.

     “That would never do, mon ami,” said Peugeot. “The case might remain unsolved for many years with him in charge.”

     Sapp brightened somewhat at Peugeot’s remark, though I realized that my friend meant that his own absence from the case, not Sapp’s, would be the cause of want of success.

     “Perhaps you have now the report from the evidence at the garage where Lady Valerie and Mademoiselle Riddle were held?” Peugeot continued.

     Sapp took a sip of tea and cleared his throat.

     “A number of negatives there, Peugeot. No fingerprints or footprints were left there, except those of the ladies themselves and no personal items of any kind left behind except the blankets used to cover the women for the trip to the garage. Those blankets had been taken from Miss Riddle’s and Miss Shaw’s own beds and cupboards. The cords and sticking-plaster were of very common type available at any number of shops. The scarves used for the gags were apparently their own also. The garage itself has been empty for just over a year since the failure of the business, and the Morris was left there because its elderly owner had died while it was in for service. It seems that no one knew where it was to ask for its return.”

     He looked intently at Peugeot.

     “We also found the reason that the engine stopped before the ladies were asphyxiated by the fumes.”

     We all sat up with great interest.

     “Ran out of petrol. Evidently, very little had been put in the tank. And, as if that’s not queer enough, we found a few windows in the place had been left open, apparently ones chosen to allow maximum ventilation. Though it’s difficult to say with certainty, our man there says that he doubts it would’ve been possible to kill anyone in the office with things that way, even had there been enough petrol in the car.”

     A kind of general gasp went round the room.

     “There was a working electric light and a gas heater in there,” I said. “Someone must have paid to have them laid on. That should provide a clue.”

     Sapp nodded.

     “We’re looking into that now. This being a Sunday complicates that a bit, but we should know in a few hours.”

     Peugeot straightened the items on his desk a bit, seeking to get everything into perfect symmetry.

     “It will be of some interest to find out whether it was a man or a woman who paid to have them laid on,” he remarked.

     “Yes,” said Sapp. “I think we’ll be a lot further along when we know who the Avenger really is, the man or the woman.”

     “Isn’t it the woman who always does the talking?” asked Mrs. Oliphant. “That would seem to indicate she’s the one in charge.”

     “I thought the same, Mrs. Oliphant,” said Inspector McAuliffe. “But this time the woman apparently looked to the man to make some of the decisions about how things should be done. Even though he didn’t speak, he seemed to give the orders.”

     “And now we know that there is at least one other woman in the gang,” Peugeot said musingly. “If you remember, the woman in the gipsy dress mentioned other women to Mademoiselle Julia, but we had no evidence that there actually were others until now.”

     “Until now, our suspects were pretty much neatly arranged in pairs,” noted Sapp. “Even though there’s another woman now, it doesn’t necessarily eliminate any of them. The Gordon woman or Miss Noble could have joined up with one of the other couples to make the three we know of.”

     I pondered Drusilla Gordon briefly. I would have suspected the overbearing actress I had encountered the night of the reception capable of most anything had her vanity been threatened. But the woman I had seen the next morning, the slightly sad fading star who knew her days of fame were passing, seemed much less likely as a suspect. Then a thought came to me.

     “Drusilla Gordon may have an alibi for last night,” I said. “I think that she was having dinner with that American movie man, Clark.”

     Inspector McAuliffe and Sergeant Wilson wrote in their notebooks.

     “Isn’t it possible, sir,” put in Sergeant Wilson, “that there is no second woman? If the woman in the gipsy dress was an actress, say either Miss Gordon or Miss Noble, the other woman might be her with a disguised voice. That wouldn’t be impossible for an actress.”

     “You also can’t overlook that Miss Jessup was an actress before she became a producer,” added Mrs. Oliphant.

     Peugeot adjusted his desk calendar slightly.

     “And yet, Miss Riddle, an actress herself, stated positively that they were two different women,” he said thoughtfully. “We cannot say definitely that she is wrong in that judgment, but until we have very good reason to think otherwise it seems prudent to believe that she is correct.”

     “I just can’t imagine why the man doesn’t speak if he’s attempting to do away with his victims,” said Mrs. Oliphant. “Even if he were to speak in a Scot’s brogue thicker than the Inspector’s, supposedly there should be no one left to report that fact to the police. Why should he be afraid to speak?”

     “He might just be a very cautious person,” I offered. “And that would indicate someone more like a lawyer than a alcohol-soaked director.”

     “But it could indicate a successful producer as well,” noted Sergeant Wilson. “Or some madman of whom we know nothing.”

     Sapp sighed heavily.

     “A woman who talks all the time, a man who won’t speak at all, and now a woman who won’t be seen. We may have cracked some tougher cases but, bless me, I can’t think of any right now.”

     I sighed and looked at Peugeot. He was frowning thoughtfully as he watched the interchange between the members of our little circle. Obviously even he was perplexed by the problem before us. And if he, with all the powers of his ‘fine grey matter’ could no daylight in the fog of mystery around, what chance had the rest of us?