The Affair of the Ellsworth Women

by Frank Knebel

Chapter 12

Monday, 9 November, 8.00 PM

(From Major Bosworth’s personal narrative)

A GREAT meeting was held that evening in the Ellsworths’ London home. Peugeot was guest of honour, though all the interested parties were invited. Besides the members of the Ellsworth family our company also included Melinda Riddle and Margaret Shaw, Mrs. Oliphant, Miss Lime, Elizabeth, Dickson, and the three members of the police most closely connected with the case: Chief Inspector Sapp, Detective Inspector McAuliffe, and Detective Sergeant Wilson. To Brenda’s delight, Susan Noble also accepted, the only one of the exonerated suspects to do so. At Richard’s request even the staff, Josephine and Annie, Mrs. Dailey, Sophie the kitchen maid, and Randall were allowed to gather for the high point of the evening when Peugeot explained his solution of the case. Randall placed chairs in the doorway between the dining room and the drawing room for the women of the staff. The young actresses and Elizabeth sat in other dining chairs we brought in for them. Dickson stood respectfully behind Elizabeth. Richard and Valerie Ellsworth occupied one end of the sofa. Daphne Ellsworth sat at the other, closely flanked by Inspector McAuliffe. The rest of us had the comfortable armchairs of the room, Peugeot being flanked by Mrs. Oliphant and the faithful Miss Lime. My wife, looking even more radiant than usual, sat lightly on the arm of my chair, her arm on my shoulder. Just as Peugeot was about to begin, the doorbell rang. We were astonished to see Randall usher in Mr. Jameson Clark.

     “Some kind of minor engine trouble with the ship,” he explained. “Since there was the likelihood of rough weather on the voyage, the Captain decided to wait until it was fixed. Excuse me, I mean mended.”

     We all laughed at the well-meant gesture. Brenda introduced Mr. Clark around the room, the smiling American urging everyone to call him Jim as he went. He was given one of the armchairs, Julia Ellsworth moving to the arm of the sofa beside her brother.

     “Mes amis, this was a very confusing case for all concerned,” declaimed Peugeot. “Even though I was able to determine a direction for our investigation almost immediately, many misconceptions had to be cleared away before the true solution was seen.”

     Daphne Ellsworth, being inexperienced in Peugeot’s method of narrating a case, tried to get to the matter directly.

     “Yes, but how did you do it?” she cried.

     Inspector McAuliffe laid a hand on her shoulder.

     “Patience, lass,” he said with a smile. “Mr. Peugeot has to get to it in his own way. He has his own ‘order and method’ about these things.”

     Daphne smiled up at him and placed her small hand on his.

     “Very well, Douglas,” she said demurely. “If you say so.”

     I believe that everyone in the room was smiling at them.

     “To begin with, to my mind the note received by Sir Richard might or might not have constituted a real threat to the Ellsworth family. There was no way to judge from its message. But if it was a real threat, the curious issue about the threat was its timing. Why had it been sent at the particular time it was? Why not a week before, a month before, or a week later? At first I tended to think that Mademoiselle Daphne might be the one and only target since it came just as she was about to make her debut on the stage. But even before the night was over, this Greenhampton Avenger abducted not only Mademoiselle Daphne but also Mademoiselle Julia. Was there something that the sisters had done together to offend someone? Or were they merely the means of getting revenge against another member of the family?”

     He paced a bit, collecting his thoughts.

     “The idea of another member of the family being the actual target brought me back to the question: Why now? Sir Garrick was beyond vengeance, and there seemed nothing done recently by the other members of the family that would have provoked this violent response in anyone.

     “And at the scene of the abduction were two more curious little facts. First, Mademoiselle Wilkins, the ladies’ room attendant, had been drugged and stripped of her uniform for the purpose of impersonation in order to capture Mesdemoiselles Julia and Daphne. These ruthless abductors had then bound, gagged, and blindfolded Mademoiselle Wilkins and hung her by her feet from the hanging-rail in the cupboard, but took the time to tie a rope around her legs that prevented her slip from falling and exposing her underclothes. What gang is simultaneously so violent and thoughtfully discreet? It made no sense! I even considered that Mademoiselle Wilkins might have been bribed by the gang or even been a sympathetic collaborator with them, but she seemed to have been truly drugged and had obviously been thoroughly bound.

     “That was Miss Savage’s idea, it seems,” put in Inspector McAuliffe. “She said that she wanted no poor working girl to be humiliated in her mistress’s scheme.”

     Peugeot nodded.

     “The scruples of Mademoiselle Savage would make a fascinating area of study,” he said wryly.

     He went on.

     “The second curious little item was the manner in which Mademoiselle Wilkins had been held to the side of the man as she was drugged. It seemed very awkward to me. When I asked Madame and Major Bosworth to recreate the scene, he held his wife much more against his chest, as seemed more natural. I had no explanation for it. Such facts must be carefully put away for later study.

     “The miraculous escape of the sisters the next morning was welcome news, but seemed a bit too convenient to me. The business of the mocking with an empty champagne bottle and the breaking of it in such a way as to make it the perfect tool for escape seemed to strain the grey matter of Inspector McAuliffe as well as my own. Yet the good Inspector pointed out that it might be a mistake to attach too much significance to words or events of the past. I believe that he was also thinking, as was I, of the timely removal of the captives’ blindfolds and the necessity for their departure immediately after. It seemed that their escape was being neatly arranged. But the mind seeks order and may fool us into seeing causes-and-effects where there are none. These incidents might have been clumsy and thoughtless errors rather than a carefully laid plan.

     “But one other item the police found in the boiler room was of significance: the recent making of two holes for the eyes in order to watch the captives while in the room. Why two holes? Surely one hole should have been sufficient for checking on the status of the Ellsworth sisters. And with the man of the gang being seven or eight inches taller than the woman, it did not seem likely that the holes had been made for two persons to look at the same time. No! The holes had been made for one person, the gipsy woman, to watch her captives, and not the glance fleeting merely to see that they were not escaping, but for a form of entertainment. The gipsy enjoyed watching the struggles of the bound women in the room. That might have been part of the revenge or it might have been purely for le plaisir sensuel. Only time would tell.”

     Peugeot paused as Miss Lime refilled his tisane.

     “So you began to suspect Drusilla Gordon as early as that?” Daphne asked.

     “Not at first,” he replied. “The story of the waiter, Monsieur Hamilton, sounded completely truthful, since it identified her, a person known to have been at the reception, to be the source of the message that drew you and your sister to the powder room. Further it must have been obvious that it would be checked, and the man would be thirty-six times an imbecile to walk into the arms of the police after telling an easily verifiable lie. But that did not mean that Miss Gordon had not been lied to as well by another.

     “However, when we met Miss Gordon at the Cranmer Theatre, several things did not seem right. I was struck by her excellent memory, especially in connection with those who had shown interest in her work. She remembered me from two years before, the fact that I stood to applaud her performance. Of course I am very famous, and I did not believe for one little minute her claim that she did not recognize me at once---“

     Several of Peugeot’s audience looked at one another with smiles. Melinda Riddle covered her mouth with her hand.

     “--- but it was an astonishing bit of memory combined with the vanity of the actor. She remembered Monsieur Jameson Clark from even further in the past because of his gift of roses. But of the supposed woman who gave her the message for the Ellsworth sisters, she could remember nothing. And this after she made a point of recalling the woman’s admiration of her work. It did not make sense, even considering that the memories of the vain are often better for the influential than the humble.”

     “That’s true, Mr. Peugeot!” cried the American, slapping his knee. “And she remembered me even before she knew I was working for the Wegener Brothers!”

     Though I refrained from slapping my knee, I muttered an oath under my breath. None of us who had been in the theatre that day had remembered this point.

     “I admit that during that interview I fell into a grievous error,” said Peugeot. “The American speech of Monsieur Clark led me to suspect that he might possibly have been the man of the gang. He was obviously much taken by Mademoiselle Gordon’s attentions to him though I doubted---“

     He coughed discreetly.

     “--- that she was equally taken with him.”

     Clark fidgeted uneasily.

     “Mademoiselle Gordon, because of her acting ability and because of her rivalry with Madame Bosworth might be the gipsy woman, and it was possible that for some reason she had convinced Monsieur Clark to assist her. But I could find no reasonable motive for either of them to have kidnapped anyone.”

     “But see here, Peugeot,” I protested. “During that interview you said some nonsense about believing that the gang had entered the powder room by picking the lock on the door to the alley. When I asked you about it, you told me that you’d done it to mislead Jessup and Aubrey. I thought that you suspected them.”

     “Pardon, mon ami, I merely said that the statement was intended to mislead, but I did not specify the producers,” my friend replied calmly. “Miss Gordon was also in the room at the time.”

     “Then you never suspected them?” I asked.

     “Hardly for a little moment. While it was true that Madame Bosworth might have refused an offer to go to America to ‘stick it out with’ her former stepdaughters, as you English would say, it was equally possible that she might have them accompany you there if she believed the danger was great enough. And when madame was herself abducted, the motive fell apart completement. Upon her escape or release she would be much more likely to leave England than remain here in danger.

     “The attempt to make it appear that the gang had entered from the alley rather than from the reception seemed strange to me. I eventually figured to myself that despite the cleverness of many aspects of the scheme, that this was an instance, like the bottle breaking, that showed that these crimes were planned in some haste and little thought was given to method and order. The desperation of this gesture to direct suspicion away from those who were at the reception caused me to look even harder at those who were there.

     “Another sign of the haste of the real criminals was the clumsy way in which others were implicated. The story told by Monsieur Aubrey of being drawn away from the reception by a mysterious telephone call from the anonymous investor was not the kind of alibi that would be prepared by the methodical producers of successful plays. They would have prepared a story that could be verified, at least in part, by someone of repute.”

     “Did that go for me as well, M. Peugeot?” asked Susan Noble.

     The little man smiled.

     “All my instincts told me that Monsieur Darrowby was incapable, in his present state, of doing much planning of any kind. And despite your anger and disappointment over the role given to Mademoiselle Daphne, you still seemed to care for Madame Bosworth. Yet, since one may be deceived by appearances, I had to reserve judgment until a second crime was committed for which you had only the flimsiest of alibis. You might have committed one crime without looking to your own protection, but certainly not two.”

     “We did send a man to Denningham to check your story, Miss Noble,” added Sapp. “We found that you two had been seen in a restaurant there asking about a theatrical producer no one had ever heard of.”

     Peugeot continued.

     “And if I am not mistaken, in telling you of his misfortunes and ill-treatment by those in the theatre Monsieur Darrowby greatly exaggerated the role of Madame Bosworth. I doubted that you would have continued to assist him in any acts of revenge that you believed were not justified.”

     Susan nodded grimly.

     “I’ve left Ben, at least until he can pull himself back together and stop blaming everyone else for his problems. He told me that he would stop drinking and make some kind of new start. I hope that he does straighten himself out.”

     “Further,” continued Peugeot, “the business of the typewriter, while perhaps not as clumsy as the false telephone calls, was far from conclusive. All the other suspects in the case could have used the machine, for Mademoiselle Jessup admitted that the door was usually not locked. I would be interested to know if the final notes, one delivered here and the one left at Mademoiselle Gordon’s house in town were also typed on the same machine.”

     He looked at Sapp who nodded.

     “They were.”

     Peugeot shrugged expressively.

     “How can one type the notes on a typewriter that is in the hands of the police?” he asked. “It was obvious: all the notes were typed in advance. The purpose of the notes was to establish an unreasoning revenge as the motive for the crimes, and hide the real purpose. This was one instance in which the planning of the crime was well thought out. And if you notice, notes were mailed or delivered ahead of the first two abductions, but left at the scene of the third. No clue whatsoever was given as to the possible identity of the third victims so that no added defensive measures would be taken for Madame Bosworth.”

     “But why was I allowed to escape, M. Peugeot?” asked Elizabeth.

     “It was necessary for you to first identify the abductors as the same ones responsible for the taking of the others, then escape to give that information to the police. When I learned that in that instance, and that one only, a victim of the gang had been secured with the handcuffs I knew who the real target of the gang was.

     “And it was also obvious that no real harm was intended to any of the abducted women. The first threat was drowning, but was all the talk. Why would a murderous gang wait for the criminal’s best cover, the darkness of night, go to waste and prepare to murder in the daylight broad? The second attempt at murder seemed more serious, but turned out to be as false. And in the cold of England, it seemed odd that the gang would remove their victims’ clothing to embarrass them and yet be certain that they were kept warm. All they had to do was leave their prisoners in an unheated room if they really intended for them to come to harm.”

     Peugeot looked thoughtful.

     “When it was clear that the real target was Madame Bosworth, I had to consider whether Zoë Frobisher might be behind the gang. She had perhaps the strongest revenge motive against Madame Bosworth, and was undoubtedly clever enough to arrange the ‘Avenger’ business to disguise her real intention. However, she and Monsieur Landon were the only ones who had an alibi for the time that Madame Bosworth and Mademoiselle Elizabeth were taken. Et voilà! Mademoiselle Gordon had to be the leader of the gang.”

     “But when did you decide that I had no part in things, Mr. Peugeot?” asked Mr. Clark.

     “This morning at breakfast when I heard Major Bosworth remark that he had told you that Madame Bosworth had wanted no hint given to Mademoiselle Gordon that she was not inclined to accept the offer of the Wegener Brothers. You never had a motive of your own for assisting Mademoiselle Gordon in the abductions: you could have signed whomever you pleased giving whatever reasons you wished, so you had no need to ‘get her out of the way’, as they might say in the films of the gangsters. But if you had been Mademoiselle Gordon’s ally and also known that Madame Bosworth had no desire to accept the contract, you would have stopped the plot immediately and allowed her to escape. It was only because Mademoiselle Gordon did not know of her rival’s disinterest that she was still being held. If you were not the man who never spoke someone else was. But who?

     “I had suspected that if Mademoiselle Gordon was the gipsy woman, then Mademoiselle Savage might be the second woman of the gang who visited Lady Valerie and Mademoiselle Riddle while the gipsy woman was gone. The evidence to suggest of a passionate connection between chauffeur and mistress was quite plain, and Mademoiselle Savage might have taken advantage of the time her mistress was having the dinner with Monsieur Clark to ‘dally’, as you say, with the prisoners. Then I realized that the one thing that might be hidden by a man who did not speak was the fact that he was not a man. The chauffeur’s height was correct, and with padding in the overcoat and the mask and hat she might be easily taken for a man. It also explained why the man had held Mademoiselle Wilkins to the side instead of against his chest. Mademoiselle Savage had the female body unmistakable, despite any padding she might use. Since keeping Madame Bosworth at some other location for so long entailed much risk, it seemed a reasonable assumption that they might be holding her at Mademoiselle Gordon’s London home. But before we could act upon this, we received the note that threatened Mademoiselle Gordon. When we arrived at her home, we were forced to play une petite comédie with Mademoiselle Savage that was intended to direct suspicion away from them. I pretended to believe that the abduction of Mademoiselle Gordon was genuine so that we might catch both of the women together when we rescued Madame Bosworth. I figured to myself that Mademoiselle Gordon must have intended to play fellow kidnap victim with Madame Bosworth. For that she would need the help of Mademoiselle Savage. The threat to Miss Lime and Madame Oliphant could not be ignored, even though I doubted there was any real danger. It also gave Mademoiselle Savage time to go to the country house and prepare her final charade with her mistress.”

     “Wonderfully done, M. Peugeot!” exclaimed Richard.

     We all burst into applause. Peugeot tried to look modest, but his features radiated satisfaction. He turned both hands to us, palms out, asking for silence.

     “I have a question of my own for Madame Bosworth,” he said. “I regret to have incommoded you this morning, madame, by having you remain gagged while I revealed the criminal to the police. But I realized that you too had somehow arrived at the solution. May I ask how?”

     “As I told you all earlier, Drusilla had been gagged less effectively than I,” said Brenda. “At one point she said to me ‘I can see why you love this.’ Maggie had told me that the gipsy woman had made some remark to her about knowing about our little circle of friends, and the gipsy had said something of the same to me as she was binding me. In the several years’ existence of our little group, no one had ever hinted to me that she knew of our little hobby. Now I had heard something of it on three successive days, twice from the lips of the gypsy and once from Drusilla. It would have been too much a coincidence for there to be any other answer than Drusilla was the gipsy.”

     “Brava, madame!” exclaimed Peugeot. “Your grey matter shows the method and order of thought.”

     Brenda hugged me.

     “I learned it all from Allen,” she said, smiling at me.

     When the laughter over that remark had quieted, Mr. Clark regarded Brenda longingly.

     “I’m just sorry that American audiences will never get a load of you, Miss Alex--- er, Mrs. Bosworth. I’ve signed Ruth Danielson to the contract but if you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you want to make pictures in America? It’s a great place.”

     “I’m sure it’s a wonderful country, Mr. Clark,” said my wife. “Ruth’s a fine choice. She’ll do very well for you, and I hope that Allen and I will make a trip over there very soon. But you see…”

     She hesitated. The men all looked on expectantly. I noticed that most of the women in the room were smiling broadly.

     “I’m taking on a new role in a few months, you see.” She looked at me. “And Allen’s going to join me in the part. Darling, we’re going to be parents.”

     Leading the applause this time, and looking as pleased as anyone, was Peugeot.

     Julia Ellsworth opened the door of her darkened room just enough to allow the slender form of Maggie Shaw to slip through. Once the slender blonde was inside, the light was switched on to reveal Daphne and Melinda Riddle. All wore their nightdresses and dressing-gowns, and all were smiling excitedly.

     “Are we ready?” whispered Daphne.

     “Of course we’re all ready,” replied Melinda. “How do we decide who goes first?”

     “Well, I have to be tonight,” said Julia slipping off her dressing-gown. “Tommy returns from his business in Paris tomorrow, so this will be my last chance for several days.”

     “All right, Julia,” said Daphne with some envy. “Who goes with you?”

     The other three looked at one another uncertainly.

     “I think,” said Melinda decisively, “that a girl who’s more slender should go with one who’s a bit more cushiony. Daphne’s clearly the best cushioned and Maggie’s the slenderest. So you two should go together. Julia’s next most slender and I’m between her and Daph, so I should be with Julia.”

     She untied the belt of her gown and removed it.

     Daphne looked crestfallen.

     “I was hoping to try it tonight,” she lamented.

     Julia had slipped the straps of her nightdress from her shoulders and had pushed it almost halfway off.

     “Why don’t we cut down to an hour so everyone can try it out tonight?” she suggested.

     Daphne broke into a wide smile. She started to make a squeal of delight, but was immediately shushed by all.

     “That’s a wonderful idea, Julia!” she cried softly. “And after you and Tommy have said goodnight later this week you can come to us, you know.” She frowned. “But what about tomorrow? Can you handle us alone, Melinda?”

     “There’s no need,” said Melinda as she stepped out of her nightdress. “Valerie’s going to be with us. We had a little talk tonight while the party was going on.”

     She winked. The others laughed stifling the noise with their hands.

     Melinda and Julia were magnificently naked. Melinda crossed her wrists behind her back, Julia following her lead.

     “The condemned are ready, m’ lord,” she intoned solemnly.

     The others giggled as Daphne pulled a large cloth bag from the wardrobe. She took out several coils of rope and laid them on the bed, selecting one piece for herself and another that she handed to Maggie. Daphne began to tie Melinda’s wrists together; Maggie tied Julia’s.

     “I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Melinda, “but when Brenda was describing being naked and tied face to face with another woman I thought that I might go all Victorian and swoon on the spot.”

     The others giggled and hummed or spoke their agreement.

     “I don’t know why it’s something we never tried before,” said Julia.

     “Oh, we did tie Susan and Cheryl back-to-back that one time,” said Maggie.

     “That’s hardly the same,” asserted Melinda. She grinned at Julia. “This will be something quite new.”

     Julia grinned back.

     “It should be quite exciting.”

     “All right,” Daphne announced. “Sit on the bed so we can do your legs.”

     Melinda and Julia sat on the edge of the bed both demurely placing their legs and feet together for easier binding. Maggie began with Julia’s knees, Daphne with Melinda’s ankles.

     “Do you think that Brenda got all hot over it?” asked Maggie.

     “From what Brenda told me, tête-à-tête, I guess that Drusilla certainly did!” replied Melinda with a laugh.

     The others gasped.

     “She didn’t say that when she told all of us her story this afternoon!” exclaimed Daphne.

     Julia arched an eyebrow at her sister.

     “Imagine that!” she said sarcastically.

     “I hope that your Mr. Thomas Glenville knows how to use a rope, Julia,” said Daphne, ignoring the gibe.

     “And I hope you speak to your Inspector about the use of handcuffs, Daph!” teased Julia.

     They all laughed and shushed one another again.

     When the prisoner’s legs had been bound, Maggie and Daphne took longer lengths of rope for the arms-and-body wraps. Melinda and Julia were looking slyly at one another out of the corners of their eyes. Julia began to giggle.

     Daphne now arched an eyebrow at Julia. She assumed the role of a villain.

     “Find it all amusing do you, sister dear?” she said in a low-pitched and menacing voice. “We’ll see how much you laugh when you two are bound together and hanging helplessly over the crocodile pit. Then you’ll wish you’d given up the inheritance.”

     Melinda fell into character.

     “Oh, please, Julia,” she begged. “Give up your claim to the family fortune that we may go free!”

     Julia closed her eyes and inclined her head. She looked very brave and noble.

     “Never!” she said firmly.

     “Then you shall suffer!” Daphne declared. She turned to Maggie. “Let us gag them so they cannot cry out or beg for mercy!”

     “An excellent idea!” said Maggie wadding a scarf and winding it in another.

     Melinda came out of character for a moment.

     “Better make sure it’s a good job too,” she whispered. “This might get noisy.”

     Back in character she lamented:

     “Ah, must we perish in this fashion at the hands of these brutes?”

     Maggie and Daphne applied the gags to their friends. They helped them up onto the bed and kneel facing one another. Daphne drew out a long rope as Maggie went round to the other side of the bed.

     “Now you both shall suffer!” she declaimed.

     Julia and Melinda looked at her with shining eyes. They both nodded eagerly as Daphne and Maggie went to work.

     Miss Veracity Lime poured herself a glass of sherry and took it into her bedroom. She sipped once from the glass and started undressing for bed. It had been a wonderful party at the Ellsworth home with Mr. Peugeot’s entertaining retelling of the case and hearing the exciting stories of the other women. She and Mrs. Oliphant had been quite the centre of attention for a time as they told their tale. Then there had been a delicious dinner and much laughter and good spirits. She should be delightfully happy. And yet…

     She sat in her nightdress before her mirror Miss Lime felt rather unhappy. As she reached up to remove her hairpins, she wondered what the trouble was. The answer was not long in coming. It was simply that there had been no one to come home with, or even to come home to. Young Sir Richard Ellsworth and Lady Valerie looked so happy! It seemed as though they had spent nearly the whole evening arm-in-arm or hand-in-hand, he tall and handsome, she small and delicately pretty. And what wonderful news that was about Mrs. Bosworth and the Major. And with him over forty too! They were also a wonderful couple. And though there was little said about it, there seemed to be something between Miss Daphne Ellsworth and that young Inspector McAuliffe. They had also spent time talking and laughing together. Even Mrs. Bosworth’s maid, Elizabeth, had her beau in that Mr. Dickson.

     Miss Lime took another drink of sherry. Her hair was down now and she looked at her reflection in the glass. It was not such a bad reflection at that, especially with her hair loose and falling to her shoulders. She wondered. Every once in a while she would catch George looking at her. Was it possible?

     She shook her head and began brushing her hair. What silly thoughts! She had been told often enough when she was a girl that her strength was her good brain and efficient ways rather than her beauty. And she was efficient. Mr. Peugeot couldn’t run the office without her. And she was loyal too. Her loyalty had put her in grave danger this morning. She had sat almost naked in her chair, bound and gagged before that bomb. Of course she was glad that it turned out to be a fake. That was when it had been the most exciting!

     She remembered the looks she and Mrs. Oliphant had from the Major and the policemen as they were being untied. The Major had the most beautiful wife that Miss Lime knew of, and still he had looked at her as a man looks at a woman. The Chief Inspector too, a man she had known for years. Had it been her body? Miss Lime had looked down at herself when the blindfold had been removed and marvelled at how attractive she looked. Than she had looked at Mrs. Oliphant and become a bit self- conscious about her breasts. Mrs. Oliphant was definitely more bosomy than she was, but there was nothing wrong with her shape.

     She stood up and turned sideways to the mirror to verify her judgment. It was true. Hers was a very womanly shape! She had enjoyed the sensual feeling of the ropes as her rescuers worked to free her. It was not often that she allowed herself the freedom to experience purely physical sensations. But why not!

     One more sip emptied her glass. She looked around the room. There was the cord from her dressing-gown. That would do nicely. But what else?

     Ten minutes’ searching of her flat produced enough to do the job. Much of the material had come from her collection of rags in the kitchen. She had put a sheet of fairly good quality in there a few days ago. Now it was torn into strips and ready to use. Miss Lime slipped out of her nightdress and looked in the mirror again, giggling at what she saw.

     She sat on the bed and took a strip of cloth and bound her ankles together, then her knees. The reflection in the mirror looked good. More cloths were fashioned into a gag. Opening her mouth, she took the wadding and wrapped another band of cloth about her head several times to get the right look. The gags she had seen in films never looked as though they could stop a whisper, but this one appeared quite effective. Another strip of cloth she twisted into a loop for her hands. She tried both looks in the mirror: hands in front and hands behind. It was no contest. Hands behind made her look much more feminine and sensual. She tried a few expressions over the gag, widening her eyes, and arching her eyebrows. Finally, she found one she liked. Though the loop she had made to hold her wrists was far from escape proof, it would do for her purposes tonight. Regretting that she did not have one more sip of sherry, she dropped onto her side and looked at herself in the mirror.

     Veracity Lime, heroine in distress, had been created. Now all she needed was a rescuing hero. And she knew that there would be one someday.

     “No matter what happens, I’ll never talk!” protested Elizabeth. “I’ll never betray England, no matter how you torture me.”

     Elizabeth was no actress, so she could not keep from smiling as she uttered these awful clichés to the ‘tormentor’ who stood over her.

     “Oh, you’ll talk all right my girl,” said Robert Dickson suavely. “In fact, by the time I’m through with you, you’ll be begging to tell me things. You’ll tell me everything about the coastal defences and you’ll start to make up things to make me happy.”

     Elizabeth writhed uselessly.

     “Even though you have me naked and bound, I shall resist you!”

     She was barely able to keep from laughing.

     “If you don’t want to talk, I can help that too,” he said evilly, producing a gag. “Let’s see how you like this, my love!”

     Her eyes grew wide though she could not hide her smile completely.

     “No! Please! Not that!” she begged.

     He dropped down next to her on the bed and put the gag into her mouth. She stopped struggling to allow him to tie it in place. Once he was done she resumed her moaning and struggling.

     He stroked her side.

     “It’s a right beautiful sight you are, love,” he said gently.

     As best she could, she smiled at him around the gag.

     He took her in his arms.

     Andromeda Oliphant looked around the bedroom. All the ropes were laid out on the bed according to size and where they would be used on her. The scarves she would use for her gag were on the nightstand. She put a finger to her chin and thought for a moment, considering whether or not she should also include a blindfold. She decided against it. As a final precaution, she locked the bedroom door. Her maid was a nosey sort, and she did not want to be disturbed.

     Also on the night table was a copy of her book Crime Stopping Couple. Mrs. Oliphant sat on the bed and opened the book. After a few seconds of leafing through it, she found the spot in which her heroine, Patience Bertram, ran afoul of a gang of jewel thieves and was bound and gagged to keep her from ruining their next job. The excerpt was not long so she read it slowly, then read it again.

     “Not bad, not bad,” Mrs. Oliphant told herself. “The next time I have her captured I must spend a bit more time and do quite a lot more detail on it. Of course, I’ll never be able to do it as I really want to.”

     Putting the book down, Mrs. Oliphant quickly shed her nightdress.

     “Eat your heart out, Patience old girl,” she said softly.

     With one of the ropes she had left at the foot of the bed, she began tying her ankles together.

     My wife came from the adjoining bathroom into our bedroom absolutely ravishing in a diaphanous white negligée. Without ceremony she quickly crossed the room and plopped into bed close beside me.

     “You know that I simply can’t resist you in that nightdress,” I said weakly as she huddled close to me.

     “Very well,” she said with a smile, slipping her arms out of the shoulder straps. “I’ll take it off now and save the bother later on.”

     “Brenda!” I exclaimed, somewhat uncertain and confused. “You mean that we can… I mean how can we… I don’t see how…”

     “Honestly, darling!” she said, still smiling. “I’m not going to break if I’m touched. In fact I feel really wonderfully well. You should enjoy it while I can say that. It won’t last forever, you know.”

     “Yes, I know you won’t break, darling,” I replied feeling a bit more at ease. “But you are… Well, we’re going to have--- I mean you’re going to have…”

     “Yes, dear, I’m pregnant. Remember that I’m the one who told you all about it. And you can’t even see anything yet, can you? And you won’t for several weeks.”

     She turned sideways to me as she finished slipping out of her nightgown. I had to admit that her figure was quite the same as always. I took her in my arms and kissed her warmly. She sighed and leaned against me, letting the fingers of one hand stroke my arm.

     “You are such a silly old duck at times, Allen,” she said quietly. “But a very dear old duck at that.”

     We kissed again and for a while talked quietly of the future: about possible names, about converting a spare room into a nursery, and about all the things that people in our position realize they are about to face. At last Brenda grew silent, still leaning against me and stroking my arm from time to time.

     “It really is a shame about Drusilla, you know,” she said musingly. “I feel in a small way responsible for what’s happened.”

     “Why?” I asked. “Because you didn’t tell her that you had no intention of signing that blasted contract? You only did it to spare her feelings, to make her think she’d won something important from you and those other younger actresses. You can’t really feel guilt over that.”

     “Oh, I suppose not,” she said. “Now she’s not only ruined, but she’s going to prison.”

     “Chief Inspector Sapp seems to think that the courts won’t be very hard on her. And I should think that you’d resent the fact that she not only tried to keep you away from the Wegener brothers, but she actually arranged to have herself tied up to you for her own pleasure.”

     She looked up at me earnestly.

     “I hope that it doesn’t bother you too much,” she said. “It doesn’t bother me. I can’t really be angry with her any more than I could be angry with a child for behaving like a child or a puppy behaving like a puppy.”

     She put her arms around me and drew herself closer.

     “And you know where my real interest lies, don’t you?”

     I kissed her once more.

     “You are quite a remarkable person, you know,” I said. “I don’t know if I’m as forgiving as you are but, if you tell me not to, I suppose I won’t be angry.”

     “I’m so glad.”

     We sat for a moment in silence.

     “I suppose,” I said, “that since you’ve just been through more than a full day of being bound that you’ll need some time to recover.”

     She looked up at me and smiled.

     “Recover? I’m fine. And I thought you’d never ask.”

     She leaned over and from underneath the bed dragged a small bag of things we used for our romantic play.

     “Already?” I asked, pleased but surprised.

     “It’s rather like falling from a horse, don’t you think?” she said brightly. “Although I don’t think I’d call what I’ve been through a totally awful experience, I think it’s important to have a pleasant one again as soon as possible.”

     She turned her back to me and presented her crossed wrists, smiling over her shoulder.

     I arched an eyebrow, feeling quite villainous.

     “Should I do my worst?” I asked.

     “No, darling. You always do the best.”