The Affair of the Ellsworth Women

by Frank Knebel

Chapter 11

Monday, 9 November, 5.00 AM - 10.30 AM

(Brenda Bosworth’s account)

I HAVE no real idea how long I slept after drinking the drugged tea forced on me after Elizabeth’s escape. There is a dim memory of a brief awakening to find myself wrapped in blankets and being bounced about, as in the back seat of a car, but I am not certain that it was not a dream. The next time I awoke it was early morning. I was lying fairly comfortably in a bed. There were soft, clean-smelling sheets and bedclothes around me. I was even partially covered by a blanket, perhaps to make up for the loss of my knickers. Being nude did not bother me half as much as being hog-tied, quite thirsty, or desperately in need of a trip to the loo. To my great surprise, I was not blindfolded despite there being lights on in the room. Hoping to arouse some assistance, I moaned into my gag as loudly as possible, and was rewarded by the sound of a chair creaking and footsteps on the carpeted floor beyond the foot of the bed. Before I was able to get much of a look at the person coming to my aid, a cloth was roughly bound over my eyes once more. The deflating effect of the loss of my sight was more than compensated by the loosening of the line connecting my hands and feet. When my legs dropped to the surface of the bed I positively sighed with relief. My warder must have stood there watching me for some time as I flexed my leg muscles.

     I was on the point of wondering how I could possibly communicate my other needs to my captor, when two gloved hands grabbed me, pulled to the edge of the bed, and unceremoniously hoisted over someone’s shoulder. I was carried several steps before there was a pause to open a door. There was another short pause at the open door before my host continued our journey, which ended with me being set down upon the very convenience I required. After my short but necessary task was completed I expected to be carted back, but was again surprised when my host leaned over quite close to my ear and in a hoarse whisper offered to give me water provided that I made no attempt to scream. I nodded my acceptance of the proposal. The sticking-plaster was removed from my lips and the ties of the gag loosened. I spat out the wad from my mouth only to have a hand clapped over it immediately. This was only temporary, for I heard a glass being filled from a tap and a moment later the hand was removed to permit me to drink from a tumbler. When I had finished one glass the hand went back over my mouth. I was asked if I wanted more. I nodded again. The tumbler was refilled and I drank some more. There was no third asking, and I made no resistance to having the gag replaced. My only feeble hope to gain my freedom was to win the trust of my guard, and I knew that I had to keep faith with him, abductor though he may be. After a brief clean-up, I was lifted to his shoulder again and carried back to the bed. Fresh strips of sticking-plaster were pressed over my gag. My feet were seized and my legs bent back, as though to reapply the hog-tie. Without being hysterical, I hummed a protest into my gag. Turning my head back to where I guessed my guard to be, I shook my head. My feet were released. I lay gratefully on the sheets and was again surprised to feel the top sheet and coverlet pulled over me. Though I was still bound and gagged, I was at least fairly comfortable, and was not to be allowed to freeze. I turned onto my side with some difficulty and tried to relax. It was not long before I was asleep again.

     I awoke to a noise, some kind of bang, perhaps the slamming of a door. I called out as best I could to the guard, but this time there was no response. The sound of heavy boots or shoes on stairs came to me, followed by the opening of a door, probably the one to the room in which I was confined. A few more steps came followed by a muffled grunting. I knew those sounds well. There was another gagged woman in the room, probably carried in as I had been. She had been put down somewhere close. The steps crossed to me. The blankets and sheets were thrown back. I was roughly seized by the shoulders and hauled up to my knees. I remained kneeling as hands worked at the blindfold knot behind my head. When it fell away I had to blink at the light, though it was the pale daylight of November and only as much as could creep into the room at the edges of the curtains of the nearby window. When my eyes had adjusted, I turned my head to my sentry. Though his back was to me I instantly recognized the camel-coloured overcoat and wide-brimmed dark hat. He was bending over a nearby chair and lifting a naked woman from it. When he turned back we both squealed into our gags in horror of recognition. It was Drusilla Gordon!

     The balaclava-concealed guard carried Drusilla to the bed and put her on her knees facing me. We were pushed, pulled, and prodded until our knees touched. The guard took a long piece of rope from a supply on the dressing table and advanced. As we looked helplessly into the helmet-covered face, he reached a gloved hand behind me and gave me a light but noisy whack on the buttocks. When I reacted by straightening up, he put a hand on my shoulder, indicating that I should remain like that. The same was done to Drusilla. He then passed the end of the rope around our waists and kept looping it, binding us together. After seven or eight turns had been completed, our captor tied off the ends to our side closest to him. To my surprise, the coils holding us together were not particularly tight. Then he passed the rope between us and over the ropes holding us together. The free end was then brought back to him under the main loops. This was repeated three times, creating a seize that took the slack out of the loops around us and forced us even closer together.

     I looked at Drusilla. Her eyes were wide with alarm and fear as she watched our sentry who was wholly engaged in the task. She turned to me and closed her moistening eyes, I think, in an effort to keep from weeping.

     Our guard repeated this process with more loops just above our knees, forcing us still closer together. We were in full contact form the knees to about our bellies, and our breasts were also pressed into contact as well. Our binder picked up another long rope, and I knew that we were to be bound even closer. However before using this rope about our upper bodies, her reached a gloved hand between us and peeled away the sticking-plaster over my gag, then Drusilla’s. He then wrapped the line about us a few inches below the shoulders. When he pulled the line tight our heads and shoulders jerked toward each other's, drawing a gagged cry of alarm from both of us. We were now practically nose to nose.

     Our tormentor stepped back for a moment and regarded the work just completed. In order to look at him, Drusilla and I had to press our cheeks together.

     Evidently satisfied with his craftsmanship, our captor went round to the other side of the bed. There was barely enough room for a person to pass between that side of the bed and the window. Taking hold of the upper rope that bound us together, he pulled. We both cried out into our gags as we began to topple over. But the guard put a strong gloved hand under a shoulder of both of us and lowered us gently to the surface of the bed. Our final restriction was the addition of hog-tie ropes. This last was not quite as cruel as it sounds, for the tension was not severe, and it at least kept our feet and lower legs on the surface of the bed so that our bodies were on one level.

     Our captor leant over us and stroked our derrières with a gloved hand, then left the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

     I looked into the panic-stricken blue eyes of my fellow actress. She struggled to say something to me, but I could not understand her. After several attempts, I finally managed to make it out.

     “Brenda, I’m so frightened!” she was saying. “What are they going to do to us?”

     I laid my cheek on hers in an effort to be comforting. But I had to admit that I had no idea what lay ahead of us.

     Andromeda Oliphant paused for breath. She had been energetically struggling against her bonds, trying to work her back far enough away from the chair to get some room to deal with the ropes around her wrists. She had created a little slack. Now she had to set to work.

     “I must remember to use small movements now,” she told herself. “Large ones will only tire me and increase the feeling of panic. Slow and methodical is the only way.”

     It occurred to her that having some idea of how her captor had bound her might be of help. She turned toward Miss Lime on her right and leaned back, trying to see how her fellow captive’s wrists had been bound. Miss Lime was now awake and struggling weakly, obviously still groggy from the drugged tea. Try as she might Mrs. Oliphant could not see how Miss Lime was bound. She looked back at the clock.

     “I rather wish that the woman had blindfolded me as well,” she thought despairingly. “If that thing goes off poor Veracity will never know a thing. It’s probably better that way.”

     She shook her head to clear away the negative thoughts, and returned to her work on the ropes around her wrists.

     After a furious drive, made possible only by the presence of the police car with its bell, we pulled to the kerb in front of Blueheaven Terrace and sprinted for the doors. Sapp had left two of his uniformed men at Miss Gordon’s home, but he was still accompanied by Inspector McAuliffe, Sergeant Wilson and a constable who had showed considerable expertise in driving. Peugeot strolled to the lift, but the rest of us took the stairs two at a time. We reached Peugeot’s floor ahead of him and I used my key to open the door. Our entrance was greeted by the familiar muffled exclamations of gagged women coming from Miss Lime’s little office to our left. We looked in that direction and beheld the horrific sight of Mrs. Oliphant and Miss Lime unclothed and bound to chairs and gagged before what was obviously some kind of time bomb on top of the filing cabinet.

     From the opposite side came the sounds of a door swinging open.

     “Major Bosworth! What has happened, sir? And where is Mr. Peugeot?”

     We turned to see the tall, lean figure of George making his unsteady way down the hall from the kitchen. He was red-faced and blinking, and he held one hand to his head as if in pain.

     “Miller!” called Sapp. “Get that man safely out of here!”

     The constable sprang forward and supported George, helping him into the hallway. We heard George’s voice again as he met Peugeot outside.

     The remaining four of us surveyed the situation in Miss Lime’s room.

     “We’d better have everyone out of the building immediately, sir,” suggested McAuliffe. “There’s no telling how long we have.”

     “Maybe one of the women knows,” I said.

     Mrs. Oliphant turned toward us and nodded vigorously.

     “Let’s get hold of her chair,” Sapp said to McAuliffe. “We’ll just slide her out of there, or carry her if need be.”

     Mrs. Oliphant mewed in alarm and shook her head even more vigorously. She wagged her head in the direction of the bomb.

     “I see what she’s saying, sir,” said McAuliffe, pointing. “There are strings leading from their chairs to the bomb. They must be booby-trapped in some way.”

     “And their chairs are tied together,” added Wilson.

     “Blimey!” exclaimed Sapp. “This is a pretty mess! There’s no time to get Hicks over here from the Yard to defuse it. I don’t know what’s to be done first.”

     “You have the little problem here, Chief Inspector?” asked Peugeot, dapper and smiling as he stepped past us. “I will see what I can do.”

     Before any of us could protest, the little man had walked past us into Miss Lime’s office.

     “Bonjour, madame,” he said with a tip of his hat to Mrs. Oliphant. “I see that you and Miss Lime as well as the good Georges have encountered the gang this morning. Never fear, madame. You shall be free presently.”

     So saying he stepped to the filing cabinet and peered at the device on top. With a swift gesture, he reached up and threw off the strings that led to the women’s chairs. He took hold of the clock and tossed it casually to Sapp. He took a stick of dynamite and handed it to me. We let out a collective sigh of relief.

     “As I suspected,” remarked Peugeot. “Several candles still in their paper wrappings and an inexpensive alarm clock. Our gang may have many talents, but the making of bombs is not among them. Still, it did look surprisingly real, did it not?”

     Sapp cocked an eyebrow at my friend.

     “All right, Peugeot,” he said. “How did you know.”

     “I did not know until I looked, Chief Inspector, though I did suspect, since none of the situations arranged for our ladies turned out to be genuinely perilous.”

     “But how---“ Sapp began.

     “Please, Chief Inspector,” interrupted Peugeot. “Mrs. Oliphant and Miss Lime must be released and allowed to dress before we discuss the workings of the grey matter. There will be time later, after we have rescued Madame Bosworth and Mademoiselle Gordon.”

     “And do you happen to have the address for us to arrange this rescue?” Sapp asked sarcastically.

     “Unfortunately, I do not,” the little man answered placidly. “But if Miss Gordon has another residence outside of London, the ‘house of the country’ as you English say, that would be an excellent choice.”

     “She does have a country house!” I exclaimed. “At the reception Thursday night, she invited Brenda and me to visit her. She didn’t mention where it was though.”

     “Excellent!” said Peugeot. “I would guess that Mademoiselle Jessup and Monsieur Aubrey would know where this house is. Call the Cranmer Theatre and you shall have your address, Chief Inspector.”

     “See to it, Sergeant,” Sapp growled to Wilson.

     Inspector McAuliffe and I began untying Miss Lime while Sapp and Peugeot worked on the bonds of Mrs. Oliphant. The crowded state of Miss Lime’s office forced Sergeant Wilson to retreat to Peugeot’s study to make his call.

     “I don’t see how you figure that this gang will take the women to Miss Gordon’s country house, Peugeot,” said Sapp as we worked.

     “It is an excellent location for hiding the kidnap victim,” Peugeot said affably as he began peeling the sticking-plaster from Mrs. Oliphant’s lips. “There is no reason for the police to search for evidence there, since the abductions occurred many miles away. And the only person who might use the house and detect the presence of the gang is their prisoner and in no condition to report their presence. It is actually quite brilliant.”

     Sapp looked at Peugeot doubtfully.

     “All right, Peugeot,” he sighed. “If you say so, we’ll try there. And if they aren’t there, I hope that you give Chief Inspector Naylor the same kind of good advice when he takes over the case.”

     Drusilla remained close to panic for some minutes. Helpless as I was, I strove to comfort her as best I could. Not only were our chances of contriving an escape much better if we were calm, but the idea of being bound in such a close embrace with a woman who was losing her senses was not a very appealing idea. I laid my cheek upon hers and tried to mumble reassurances through my gag. She continually bombarded me with questions, which I was able to understand due to the wadding of her gag evidently being smaller than the wadding of mine. Though my lips were uncovered on either side of the cloth band that ran between my teeth, I could make few intelligible sounds due to the thoroughness of the gag wadding.

     “Why have they brought us here?” Drusilla asked me. “Why have they tied us like this? Why are we naked? Are they going to torture us? Are they going to kill us?”

     These and other questions came from her, sometimes singly and sometimes in rushes. I could do little to answer her in any comforting way. I tried to tell her that M. Peugeot and the police would rescue us at any moment, but it was evident from her expression that she could not understand me. Gradually, her fear seemed to subside, and the worried questions about our possible fate stopped. She closed her eyes and sighed.

     “If I have to be tied naked to anyone, I’m glad it’s you, Brenda,” she said opening her eyes.

     I chuckled slightly and tried to smile at her around my gag. It was not the type of statement one hears very often in normal life.

     With a very slow and gentle movement, she thrust her hips forward into mine. At first I thought that she was trying to relieve the strain of her bonds on her legs and ignored it, but the movement was repeated. Then repeated again. Her eyes closed and she began to repeat the thrusts rhythmically and continuously. I hummed a protest into my gag, but her eyes remained closed and she made no response. At other times, and under the condition of being with a loving partner or caring friend, I had found being bound and nude a most pleasurable experience. But being kidnapped and bound involuntarily to a woman was a very different experience. I called Drusilla’s name several times. Finally she stopped and opened her eyes. I shook my head as best I could, and tried to say something about it not being right, an understatement that might have been comical had we not been in the situation we were. Drusilla looked at me in a hurt and puzzled fashion.

     “But, Brenda,” she protested. “This may be our last chance for pleasure.”

     I looked again at those child-like eyes. Though there was nothing child-like about the proposal she was suggesting, I could not help but think that she, though my senior in years, still was in many ways a child. Like many people in the theatre she had never developed the feeling that she should deny herself anything. Even here, on the verge of perhaps deadly peril all she could think of was a bit of sexual pleasure. I really did not know what to do and, in truth, there was little I could do to stop her in doing whatever she was able to do in her bonds.

     She smiled, more with her eyes than her lips, then closed her eyes again. The thrusting motions of her pelvis began anew.

     “I can see why you love this,” she murmured indistinctly.

     I was in quite a predicament. The question was would help come from my abductors or my rescuers?

     As we left the streets and suburbs of London behind and proceeded to more open country, I increased the speed of my car. The police behind us had some difficulty matching the speed and handling of my Hispano-Suiza on the narrow country lanes. Peugeot used the hilt of his cane to hold his hat brim in place as we sped along, keeping up a steady stream of admonitions to me to slow down. An encounter with several farm carts forced us to slow enough that I could at last put to him some questions I had been turning over in my mind for the last hour or more.

     “Peugeot,” I admitted, “I simply can’t quite make it all fit, even with what you said about the American being the most important fact in the case. Is this Clark the man who married the Ellsworth cousin, and is he trying to gain eventual possession of the family fortune?”

     Peugeot looked at me in some surprise and shook his head.

     “Can it be that you still do not yet see?” he said. “Mon ami, the fortune of the Ellsworths means not the jot or the tittle to Mr. Clark or anyone in this case. It is the contract that is at the bottom of this affair. That is all important to the non-existent ‘Greenhampton Avenger’.”

     “Non-existent?”

     “Yes, in the sense of anyone who had any grudge against the Ellsworth family. There definitely is a gang responsible for the abductions of the women, but there is no grudge.”

     “Yes, and we know that there are two women and one man involved, and we’re reasonably certain who the man is. But why this elaborate charade?”

     “If the gang had abducted your wife immediately, then suspicion would have more easily fallen on the person responsible. Making Madame Bosworth’s abduction only one of a series of apparently mad crimes gave the police many false trails to follow. Note how clever they were: even after they had achieved the end they wished, more women were abducted to give the appearance that the motive was real and as yet unfulfilled.”

     “Well, we’ve rescued Miss Lime and Mrs. Oliphant. What will they do with Miss Gordon?”

     “Remember that they do not know that Peugeot has solved the case. I imagine that they will leave Miss Gordon with Madame Bosworth to be rescued. They will believe themselves safe. That will be their downfall.”

     I pondered this for a moment.

     “It seems an awful lot of trouble to go to just to allow Miss Gordon to get the contract with the Wegener Brothers,” I mused. “And I don’t see why Brenda wasn’t allowed to escape, as the others had done, as soon as it became known that she wasn’t interested in the contract.”

     Peugeot looked at me and shook his head again.

     “Your wife has been abducted and your grey matter is much deranged,” he muttered. “I must make allowances.”

     He continued in full voice.

     “Perhaps it is because the gang does not know that fact.”

     I was completely fogged now.

     “But I told him all about that yesterday,” I protested.

     Peugeot continued to shake his head. Since my friend seemed unlikely to say more I changed the subject to another aspect of the case.

     “That chauffeur of Miss Gordon’s, Jane Savage, is quite a remarkable woman,” I remarked. “Not only beautiful, but extremely poised. When the gang kidnapped Brenda they also took Elizabeth, who’s quite attractive. I’m surprised that Miss Savage wasn’t taken along with Miss Gordon.”

     Peugeot smiled at me.

     “Wherever there is beauty, there is your interest also, n’est-ce pas, mon vieux?” he said with obvious amusement. He looked thoughtful. “Yes, you are right about Miss Savage. Finding her at the house was a clever touch on the part of the gang.”

     Before I could do any cross-questioning on this point, the slow-moving waggons turned off and we were able to resume speed.

     “Occupy yourself totally with the driving, mon ami,” he shouted over the rushing air. “Where is this country house of Mademoiselle Gordon?”

     “Chiltern Hills,” I replied. “A place called Yule’s Common.”

     Peugeot nodded.

     “When we reach the house, you shall know all.”

     Being preoccupied by the discomfort of being bound and gagged (by now almost continually for twenty-four hours), the unwanted though understandable sensual obsession of my fellow captive, and my worry about our eventual fate at the hands of the gang, I have no idea how long we were left bound together in the unknown bedroom. There was no clock, but the increase of the light at the edges of the window curtains suggested that it was still before noon. Drusilla had spent herself and now lay quietly, her closed eyes and slow breathing suggesting she had briefly nodded off afterward. When her eyes opened, they were content and affectionate.

     “I don’t know how one could have a sweeter captivity,” she sighed around her gag.

     She leant her head forward and pressed her lips over mine. There seemed little point in protesting or resisting under the circumstances.

     The sound of car engines being pushed to high speed came from outside. The squeal of brakes and the slamming of doors were followed by men’s voices then pounding on the door of the house. Our rescue was at hand! I tried to communicate my belief to Drusilla. She leaned forward and kissed me once again.

     Then I remembered the words! Like a great bell they resonated in my brain. At that moment I knew the whole story!

     Upon arriving at Miss Gordon’s country house, we were out of our cars in a flash. Chief Inspector Sapp dispatched two constables to the rear of the house to prevent any of the miscreants from escaping that way. The rest of us went to the front door and began ringing the bell and pounding on the door. There was no response.

     “All right, Sergeant,” Sapp barked at Wilson. “Find something to break it in.”

     Peugeot stepped forward.

     “That may not be necessary, Chief Inspector,” he said mildly, putting his hand upon the knob.

     With a deft gesture he opened the door. Sapp rolled his eyes upward for a moment and seemed about to say something. Instead, he shook his head.

     “All right, you men!” he ordered. “Let’s get in and find those women! Anyone else you find bring them to me!”

     They all followed Sapp and Sergeant Wilson into the house save Inspector McAuliffe and one man. Peugeot whispered a few words to McAuliffe who nodded and sent the man around the house on some mission or other. The Inspector himself stopped at the telephone in the hallway and placed a call. Peugeot and I went up the stairs.

     “I believe that there were two heavily curtained windows on the second floor, mon ami,” he panted as we started up the next flight of stairs. When we reached the landing he pointed with his stick. “They are in this direction.”

     We followed a hallway in that direction. There were rooms on either side that were empty with their doors standing open. The third door was closed and locked.

     “We’ll have to break it in,” I said.

     Backing up a step to gain added momentum, I threw my shoulder against the door. It was fairly solid, but two more tries caused the lock to give. I fell into the room, followed by Peugeot.

     On a bed several feet from the door I found my wife bound in some sort of lewd parody of an embrace with Drusilla Gordon. Both women were completely naked and bound face-to-face and body-to-body.

     “Tonnerre de Dieu!” exclaimed Peugeot.

     I uttered an oath of my own as I reached for my pocket-knife. I started by severing the ropes that held the women tightly together. Peugeot stood behind Brenda and untied the rope that connected her wrist and ankle bonds. After we helped both women to a sitting position, my wife tried to communicate something to me through her gag. I reached up to loosen it; Peugeot put a hand on my arm.

     “You are closer to Miss Gordon, Bosworth,” he said. “Please release her gag. I will attend to your good wife.”

     I was a bit puzzled by this but did as he had requested. As he looked at Brenda she again tried to speak to him.

     “I hope it will not derange you excessively if I allow the gag to remain just a minute or two longer, madame,” he said to her. “If I am not mistaken, I believe that you know the solution to the case, and I beg you to allow me to have my little moment.”

     Brenda’s eyes were wide and her eyebrows arched in consternation, but before she could make any protest, he went ahead.

     “You are too amiable, madame,” he said genially. “I hear the sounds of the police on the stairs, so let me at least assure your modesty as we wait.”

     He swept up one of the blankets and draped it over Brenda’s shoulders, arranging it so that she would be protected from the eyes of our friends.

     “What is all this Peugeot?” I demanded as I loosened Miss Gordon’s gag.

     “Although you have known me for a long time, Bosworth, you probably do not suspect that I have some small vanities that must be indulged from time to time.”

     Now there was a misapprehension of Olympian proportion!

     “Please cover Miss Gordon so that I may give the solution to the case here and now.”

     “I don’t know if this is supposed to be comic or not!” said Drusilla Gordon testily as I covered her with another blanket. “Brenda and I have been bound this way for several hours and I do not see why we must remain so.”

     “It is for two or three minutes more only,” Peugeot said affably. “Then you will be freed.”

     “Well see that you don’t take all day,” she muttered.

     “I will be immensely brief.”

     With that puzzling utterance, Peugeot turned to Sapp and his party. Sergeant Wilson and two constables stood just behind the Chief Inspector. They were all looking at the (barely covered) nude, still bound, and, in the case of Brenda, still gagged women.

     “This had been a puzzling case, mes amis, a case that has tested the grey matter of Peugeot. But I have succeeded, in part because only those of the pride most outrecuidant would pit their grey matter against that of Henri Peugeot, who has never been defeated when directly challenged.”

     “All right, all right, Peugeot,” Sapp said with some impatience. “If you’ve cracked the case you’re entitled to a good crow, but crack it first. I’d like to lay my hands on this gang while there’s still some daylight.”

     “And so you shall, Chief Inspector,” my friend replied calmly. “They are at present within the walls of this house.”

     “Could you just ask them to come on up then?” he replied sarcastically.

     There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and in the hall outside. Inspector McAuliffe entered, leading a familiar female figure and another police constable.

     “It was just as you said, Mr. Peugeot,” the Scotsman said. “When I called Miss Gordon’s house in London, Constable Wood told me she’d disappeared as soon as we left. Constable Pearson here found the Daimler in the garage and we very soon found her hiding downstairs.”

     He stepped aside to reveal Jane Savage. Her face was as serene and composed as ever despite the fact that her hands were obviously manacled behind her. Constable Pearson stepped forward and McAuliffe took some items from the bundle he held and displayed them.

     First came a camel-coloured overcoat and a dark, wide-brimmed felt hat. Next came a black balaclava helmet and a strange looking waistcoat-type garment covered with pockets and pouches. Then there was a gaily-patterned gipsy skirt and a peasant blouse, complete with brightly coloured scarves. The Inspector stuck two of his fingers through holes in one of the scarves.

     “What’s all this then?” asked Sapp holding up the curious waistcoat.

     “That, Chief Inspector, is a device of the theatre worn under the clothes to which padding may be added to make the thin person appear stout. In this case it was used to make a tall, slender woman into a tall and bulky man.”

     “Miss Savage was the man?”

     “You remember that we spent a good deal of time figuring to ourselves what the man was hiding with his silence. It was obvious: he was hiding the fact that he was not a man. In fact, she was not only the man of the gang, but she was also the second woman, who was never seen but was heard and correctly identified as being a different person from the gipsy.”

     Sapp turned to Drusilla Gordon.

     “The you mean that she’s---“

     “Despite her modest claims that she was only serving her ‘Boss’, the leader of this so-called gang is the only one who had a motive for wishing Brenda Bosworth to be indisposed during the search of the Wegener Brothers agent for a British leading actress. Mes amis, je vous présente Mademoiselle Drusilla Gordon.

     The red-haired actress looked at all the faces regarding her. Finally she spoke.

     “Be a luv, an’ turn us loose, ducks. I’ll tells yer everyfing yer wants ter know.”

     “Blimey!” exclaimed Sapp.

     Sergeant Wilson whistled.

     Brenda rolled her eyes and said something into her gag. I stepped over to her to remove it.