The Mysterious Affair at Greenhampton

MAG

CHAPTER II. INCIDENT AT MOCKRIDGE’S HOTEL

After giving our official statements at Scotland Yard, we lunched with our old friend Chief Inspector Sapp. Peugeot managed unobtrusively to inquire about the commission of any unusual crimes in an area that included Greenhampton, but found there were no reports of anything like those that had befallen the Ellsworth sisters. Despite Peugeot’s casualness, the canny Sapp deduced that Peugeot had some definite end in mind with his inquiries. Without divulging any details, Peugeot was able to secure the services of a constable and a woman police constable to watch over our young clients for the rest of the day. Sapp returned to the Yard to see to it while we returned to our rooms by cab.

“I must say, Peugeot,” I remarked as we strolled across the foyer to the lift, “you gave me quite a start when you turned on those two girls this morning. It’s not the line I expected you to take.”

“Do you learn nothing from our time together, Bosworth?” he sighed. “Quite obviously, I was testing their reaction.”

“And you got a dandy,” I observed. “Struck them both dumb!”

“Précisement. Does it not strike you that there is something completely wrong in that? That there is something decidedly peculiar about this case?”

“It’s an odd case,” I admitted, “But the sisters themselves seem to be all right.”

We entered the lift and began our ascent.

“Tell me, my friend,” said Peugeot. “What did you notice about their stories. I mean the way they told their stories to us.”

I considered this for a moment.

“Well, Julia told hers in a straightforward enough fashion. Daphne was quite dramatic and vivid in hers. But she struck me as a more effusive and emotional personality than her sister. And being younger she would be more easily frightened.”

Peugeot rolled his eyes.

“Oh-là-là!” he muttered shaking his head. “And neither of them had even the auburn hair! You think they are badly frightened?”

“Well, of course, they’re frightened!”

“Then why do not these frightened women go to the police?”

I had to think about this.

“They have the natural aversion of their class to publicity and involving the police.”

Reaching our floor, we alighted from the lift and walked down the hall to our door.

“But their father has been abroad since April, at least, and knows nothing of these crimes. Their stepmother is an actress, and actresses have been known even to manufacture incidents to keep themselves in the public eye. Non! Even the upper lip most stiff does not entirely explain their behaviour.”

He drew out his key.

“And what can be the reason that the sisters, impuissantes et en ligotées, are never successfully carried away?” he continued. “Are we to believe that these clever and ruthless individuals have been frightened away from a mission almost complete by noise, or a pair of passing servant girls, or the traffic on a quiet country lane? Not once, mind you, but three times! It seems very strange.”

I agreed that it seemed highly unlikely.

We entered our rooms and hung up our hats. As usual, Peugeot paused at the hall mirror to straighten his tie and comb his elegant moustaches. He stopped suddenly and listened.

“Bosworth!” he called. “Écoutez.”

I listened. A strange mewing sounded faintly, followed by a bump.

“Is George keeping a cat these days?” I asked.

“This is his day to visit his sister in Eastbourne,” snapped Peugeot. “And Georges does not keep the cat.”

We crept down the hallway trying to locate the sound. It seemed to be coming from the store-cupboard in Miss Lime’s office. There was no sign of Miss Lime, but the note I had left in her typewriter was gone, replaced by a blank sheet of paper.

Peugeot nodded toward the paper, and I understood his meaning. Miss Lime’s sense of order and method was second only to Peugeot’s. The leaving of a piece of untyped paper in the machine was a sign of extreme interruption.

The noise was definitely coming from the cupboard. I motioned for Peugeot to stand back and gripped the knob. Bracing for an attack, I turned the knob and threw the door open.

Seated on the floor of the cupboard was Miss Lime. Her blue dress gone, she was clad only in her slip and underthings. She had been tightly bound with sashcord, her hands behind her back connected by a tether to her ankles, which had been tied together and drawn up beside her. A number of turns of rope passed around her, pinning her arms firmly against her body. Long scarves secured behind her head passed over her eyes and mouth, and when we loosened the one covering the lower part of her face, Miss Lime spat out a folded handkerchief.

“Good Lord!” I exclaimed. “What happened, Miss Lime?”

“Please, Bosworth, your knife,” said Peugeot calmly. “Cut the cords so that we may study the knots.”

We soon had Miss Lime freed from her bonds and wrapped in one of Peugeot’s old dressing-gowns. I put on some tea, which, together with Peugeot’s soothing manner, restored her within a few minutes.

“Perhaps you can now relate what happened, Miss Lime,” Peugeot suggested as she sipped her tea.

“Of course, Mr. Peugeot,” she said resolutely. “I’m not accustomed to being man-handled this way in my own office. Or I suppose I should say woman-handled in this case.”

“What?” I cried. “You say that women did this to you?”

“This is most interesting,” murmured Peugeot. “Please go on.”

“It’s true, Major Bosworth,” declared Miss Lime. “I had just returned from the post office and read your note about going to stay with the Ellsworth sisters. I put a piece of paper in the typewriter to leave a note for you before I left for the hotel, when there was a ring at the door. Two young women were there collecting for a charity. I let them into the hall and turned to go to the petty cash box when they grabbed me from behind. A handkerchief was stuffed into my mouth, and I was blindfolded. There must have been others waiting in the hallway to help, because they were able to hold me, take off my dress, and truss me up in a flash. Then they shoved me into the cupboard and shut the door.”

“What could they have been after?” I asked.

“I doubt they could have taken much,” replied Miss Lime. “They didn’t stay very long.”

“They took Major Bosworth’s note,” observed Peugeot, “but I doubt that robbery was their motive.”

This was verified by the undisturbed state of the petty cash box. The files and papers were also untouched.

“What happened to your arm, Miss Lime?” asked Peugeot.

She was just lifting her teacup to take a sip. I saw what had drawn his attention: as the sleeve of the gown slipped down her raised arm, three faint but definite scratch marks were revealed above her wrist. Miss Lime looked at them.

“Oh, these? While they were tying me, one of them scratched my arm with her fingernails. It was an accident I’m certain.”

Peugeot studied the marks with great care.

“Yes. Undoubtedly the fingernails. Most interesting.”

Miss Lime was unable to describe the faces of the two assailants she had seen as they had worn hats with wide brims, partially obscuring their features. That they were both young and slender was all she knew. From her description of the clothing of one of them, it seemed certain that she was the woman who had called herself “Miss Galway” earlier. Miss Lime was sure that she knew no Miss Galway.

I immediately recognized the significance of this.

“Then the real reason for the woman’s visit may have been to see if the Ellsworth sisters were consulting us!”

“Bravo, Bosworth,” said Peugeot. “You use the grey matter at last. This young woman plays for us la petite comedie and is able to learn what measures we will take. She undoubtedly heard that I was going to send Miss Lime in her blue dress to them, so she and her confederates attacked Miss Lime in order to take the dress and impersonate her.”

“Hadn’t we better go to them immediately?” I asked.

“I fear that we shall find we have been anticipated,” he sighed. “We shall first send to Miss Lime’s landlady for some clothing, then call our friend Sapp to meet us at Mockridge’s.”

When this was done, we prepared to set out for the hotel, Peugeot pausing at the mirror as always to straighten his tie and check his moustaches before taking up his hat and stick.

“I am not optimistic about what we shall find,” he mused.

During our cab ride, Peugeot occupied himself by studying the knots in some of the rope cuttings from Miss Lime’s bonds. After a few minutes, he handed them to me.

“What would you say about the knots, mon ami?”

“They’re common enough reef knots,” I observed, giving them a tug. “Well tied, very secure, and not inclined to slip, but not much help in finding who tied them.”

Peugeot nodded.

“There is no special knowledge needed to tie such a knot. The woman was probably right-handed, but that is of little help.

“And what about the gang that attacked Miss Lime being made up of women?” I asked. “It has to be the same one.”

Peugeot smiled mischievously at me.

“So you do not believe that there can be two of these gangs, and that the attack on Miss Lime was merely a coincidence?”

“Of course not. Do you?”

He shook his head.

“They must be the same,” I mused. “And yet a strong motive, one we haven’t spoken of, is impossible if the gang is made up of women.”

Peugeot looked at me innocently.

“And that motive would be...?”

I hemmed and hawed a bit.

“Well, you know what it means, Peugeot!”

I was relieved that we had reached our destination. We alighted from our cab just as Chief Inspector Sapp and a plain-clothes detective reached the main entrance.

“I hope this isn’t another case of female hysteria, Peugeot,” remarked Sapp as we entered.

“The young ladies may be many things, chief inspector, but not, I think, hysterical,” answered Peugeot calmly.

As we took the lift to the third floor, we gave Sapp a brief account of Miss Lime’s experience. When the lift doors were opened we stepped into the corridor. A muscular young constable in uniform was on patrol.

“Everything all right, Thompson?” asked Sapp.

“I’ve been keepin’ me eyes on the ‘allway an’ the lifts, sir,” he reported. “WPC Meredith is in Room 316 with the ladies, an’ only Mr. Peugeot’s secretary, the ladies’ maid, an’ the ‘ousekeeping women ‘ave gone in or out.”

“Who is in the room now, constable?” asked Peugeot.

“The two young ladies, their maid, an’ WPC Meredith, sir. Your secretary was there for a while, sir, but she left not long after the two maids from the ‘otel.”

“And how do you know she was my secretary?”

“Why the blue dress, sir. Chief Inspector’s instructions said she’d be wearin’ a blue dress. Right smart it was, sir.”

Sapp marched resolutely to the door of Room 316 and knocked loudly. There was no answer.

“ ‘At’s peculiar, sir,” said Thompson. “I’m sure they ‘aven’t come out.”

“I strongly suspect that they are unable to answer, Chief Inspector,” Peugeot said quietly.

Sapp tried the door, but it was locked. He called out. There was no response. He turned to the plain-clothes detective.

“All right, Sergeant. You and Thompson, let’s have it in.”

I offered to help, and all three of us put our shoulders to the door. It took a number of times before the bolt finally gave. Falling into the room, we were met with a rather incredible sight.

Bound women seemed to be everywhere in the room. Secured to a chair near the door was a dark-haired young woman in her slip and undergarments. The set of her shoulders showed that her hands were bound behind her back. Her ankles and knees were tied together, and her ankle bonds were lashed to one of the legs of the chair in which she sat. Many turns of rope about her upper body and waist held her fast to the back of the chair. Sticking-plaster covered her eyes and mouth.

On the floor near the window lay a young woman with straw-coloured hair and an attractively Rubenesque figure. She was also clad in underthings and bound with cords, wrists behind her back, torso and arms looped many times, ankles and knees tied together, and mouth and eyes covered with sticking-plaster. She lay on her side. A strand of cord ran from her bound ankles to a radiator, keeping her from moving about the room.

On one of the beds lay the Ellsworth sisters in a most embarrassing plight. In addition to being bound, gagged, and blindfolded, they had been stripped of all their outer clothing as well as their slips and brassieres. Clad only in their knickers, they had been tightly trussed up: wrists behind their backs, arms held to their backs and sides, legs roped at knees and ankles, as well as having their legs bent back so that their bound ankles were connected to their bound wrists by short lengths of cord. Their delicate feet hovered only inches above their shapely derriéres. At the sound of the door being broken, Daphne Ellsworth rolled over on her side and tried to call to us. The sight of such helpless beauty and downright voluptuousness, and her muffled plea struck us all dumb for a moment.

Peugeot recovered first, and helped us all to action. Sapp dispatched his sergeant to call for more constables, male and female to seal and search the hotel. PC Thompson was sent to locate the manager and summon a doctor. Sapp himself began removing the gagging plaster from the woman in the chair, who I learned later was Constable Meredith. I took my pocketknife and went to work on the bonds of the woman on the floor, the Ellsworth’s maid Josephine. Peugeot attempted to go to the aid of the sisters, but was so flustered by the display of nearly naked beauty before him and so determined to be discreet that he did little good. He dithered ineffectually.

“Steady on, Peugeot,” I called to him. “This is no time for modesty. You must help the ladies.”

Peugeot mumbled something in French and continued his bumbling. Despite my irritation with my friend, I must confess that I found it rather amusing to watch his comic efforts to assist Daphne. In trying to avoid looking upon her state of undress, he was completely unsuccessful in loosing her bonds. I rather enjoyed seeing the usually unflappable detective so flustered. When I finished freeing Josephine, I went to help Daphne, as Sapp did to Julia.

Four women constables arrived to tend to the girls, so Sapp, Peugeot, and I withdrew discreetly to the hallway to wait.

“Well, Peugeot, you were the goods again on this one,” Sapp said ruefully. “Any idea what’s going on here?”

“My ideas have not the order and method yet, my friend,” he replied. “When we hear the statements of the ladies we will have a clearer picture of events.”

While we waited for the ladies, we took the opportunity to question Thompson upon his return from the manager’s office. He and WPC Meredith had arrived at about half past two. He had taken his post in the hallway, and she had gone to the Ellsworth sisters’ room. Her knock had been answered by a woman in a blue dress, whom he had assumed was Miss Lime. The woman had requested that Constable Meredith to remain in the hall to direct two maids who were coming to the room with fresh linen. The woman in blue had then gone across the hall to Josephine’s room and sent her off on some errand. When the maids had gotten off the service lift carrying a large bundle, WPC Meredith had led them inside the room, remaining inside. Josephine had returned a quarter of an hour later carrying a small paper shopping-bag, entered the sisters’ room, and stayed there. Within minutes the two hotel maids had left, taking another bundle to the service lift. Shortly after that, the woman in blue had left, using the stairs.

Sapp sent Thompson to watch the stairs.

“Very neat little number there,” he remarked. “Got the sisters tied first, sent the maid away, bagged our WPC when she arrived, then captured the maid. Using misdirection, they defeated the party in detail.”

“Oui. Assez de finesse et beaucoup de l’audace,” nodded Peugeot.

“And all done under the nose of Constable Thompson, but done so that nothing would look suspicious,” continued Sapp. “Still, I think you’ll have to admit it was PC Thompson who kept things from being any worse.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Obvious, isn’t it? They had the girls all bundled up ready to be taken away, but Thompson was the fly in the ointment. They couldn’t get by without him seeing, and even three of them couldn’t risk taking on a big chap like him. So they gave it up and got out as best they could.”

Peugeot wrinkled his brow thoughtfully as he listened.

“Perhaps you are right, mon ami,” he mused. “Perhaps.”

The lift doors opened, and Sapp’s sergeant emerged accompanied by a middle-aged man carrying a medical bag. A uniformed nurse followed. The sergeant reported that Lady Brenda Ellsworth had been notified of the situation but was unable to come herself, due to illness on the part of her understudy for the evening performance of her play. Since this was the final performance of the engagement, a cancellation would be expensive for the producers and inconvenient for the audience. She was sending her own doctor, and would come herself immediately after the performance.

“She said that she had every confidence in the police to handle the situation,” the sergeant added.

“The show must go on, eh?” chuckled Sapp. “Still it’s nice to hear that someone in that class has confidence in the police. Not their usual line. Very good, Wilson. Take the doctor in, then get your lads busy searching the place. I doubt you’ll find anything, but better do it anyway. Keep two men on this floor. And have WPC Meredith report to me when she’s up to it.”

Detective Sergeant Wilson departed on his many errands.

“I doubt we’ll get much from Meredith either,” admitted Sapp. “This was a very tidy operation. Probably about the same story as Miss Lime’s, I’ll wager.”

“Sans doute,” nodded Peugeot. “Still, one must try.”

WPC Jane Meredith was an attractive, slender brunette in her mid-twenties. The extra uniform brought for her hung loosely on her willowy figure. Though slightly pale and somewhat shaken, she gave us a straightforward account of her ordeal.

“They knew what they were doing, I must say,” she said with a mixture of rueful admiration and irritation. “I wouldn’t have thought that I could be so quickly and neatly disposed of. They knew their knots, too. We’d still be in there quite helpless if you hadn’t come along.”

“If you would be so kind, Mademoiselle Meredith,” Peugeot said in his most courtly fashion. “Please tell us how the events arranged themselves.”

“Constable Thompson and I arrived at about two-thirty. He took up watch near the stairs and the lift, a little distance down the corridor. I went directly to the young ladies’ room, number 316, and knocked. A young woman in a blue dress and white hat answered. That fit with our instructions from the Chief Inspector about Mr. Peugeot’s secretary being there. The woman opened the door only enough to put her head out and asked me if I’d mind waiting in the hall to direct the maids there. She said that she wasn’t sure if they had given the correct room number when they asked for clean linen. She went across the hall to the maid’s room, gave her some money, and sent her off to buy some things, though I didn’t hear what they were. Not ten minutes after she left, two woman in hotel housekeeping uniforms arrived by the service lift.”

“Did anyone else come onto the floor while you were waiting?” asked Sapp.

“The lift stopped here once. There were two men inside, besides the lift operator. They were young, tall and well-built, but rather oddly dressed.”

“What do mean by ‘oddly dressed’?” Sapp asked.

“They looked a bit unreal,” Constable Meredith answered. “One had on a herringbone suit and a dark bowler hat, and the other wore a dark suit with a pinstripe, a dark blue shirt, a yellow tie, and a white fedora. They looked as though they’d stepped out of a gangster film.”

“What did these men do?” asked Peugeot, greatly interested.

Miss Meredith gave a puzzled frown.

“Nothing. They appeared to be startled at the sight of me. One of them muttered something vaguely apologetic about the wrong floor, then told the boy to take them down.”

“Most interesting,” mused Peugeot.

Sapp wrote in his notebook.

“What did Thompson do?” he asked.

“Oh, but Thompson didn’t see them. He was walking up and down the corridor, trying to watch both lifts and the stairs in turn, and happened to be at the other end of the hall when the lift stopped. I was about to mention it to him when the maids arrived.”

“And then?” asked Peugeot.

“I led the two of them to Room 316 and knocked. The woman in blue opened the door barely enough for me to squeeze through. The maids pressed in behind me. I heard suspicious noises inside and started to look around when the woman pulled me into the room. The maids grabbed my arms while the woman pressed a cloth into my mouth and put plaster over it. I could see the young ladies on the bed then. They were almost completely undressed and bound, gagged, and blindfolded.”

She looked at us with great certainty as she added:

“The plaster strips used to gag and blindfold me were already cut and stuck to the edge of the writing desk. They were quite ready for me.”

Peugeot nodded.

“I entirely believe you, mademoiselle. They were expecting your arrival. What then?”

“The woman in blue took off my uniform as the others held and bound me. It took them no more than three minutes. I was then forced to sit in that chair and secured to it. They all became quiet for a time. When the ladies’ maid returned they got her too. As they tied her I could hear them talking among themselves. Two of them had German accents, probably the ones dressed in the maid uniforms. They were saying that their plan was ruined now, that they couldn’t get the girls past the policeman in the hall, it was too dangerous, and so on. It was difficult to hear everything they said, you understand. I was struggling to free myself, breathing hard and noisily and creaking the chair under me.

“Finally, the two German ones left. The other woman remained for a few minutes. She spent some time with the two ladies, threatening and taunting them, telling them that she would get them yet.”

She hesitated, looking from face to face in an embarrassed way.

“Go on,” Peugeot said gently.

“I think that she may have tormented them in some way, touching them or pinching them perhaps from the reactions I heard. She said some rather improper things about how beautiful they were nearly naked and helpless, and that she knew how to deal with women prisoners.”

WPC Meredith flushed and looked down. I felt wrath rising within me at the brutes, female though they had been, who had treated those helpless young women in such a fashion.

Meredith raised her head and continued.

“She then checked my bonds and the maid’s, I think, then left.”

Though her face showed resolution, the chagrin of the young constable was evident.

“There I sat, bound and helpless, having failed completely in my duty,” she added. “I even let my uniform be taken from me.”

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, but Peugeot calmed her with soothing words. Even Sapp added that she was in no way to blame for what had happened. She ran a hand through her hair as she blinked back the tears.

“Mademoiselle, I fear that you are injured!” cried Peugeot, pointing to her arm.

We all looked. Her jacket sleeve had pulled up when she raised her arm, revealing two small wounds on her right forearm. One had bled very slightly; otherwise we might not have seen them.

“Those?” said Meredith. “While they were taking off my jacket, one of them poked and scratched me with her fingernails. I don’t think she meant to.”

Peugeot studied the wounds carefully.

“They must have been fashionably long and hard to cause such injuries,” he noted.

“If I had noticed a maid with long, well-kept fingernails I’d probably have been more suspicious and on my guard,” she said ruefully.

Peugeot examined the marks the ropes had left on her wrists.

“You were bound with great thoroughness,” he observed.

“They must have circled my wrists ten times,” she said. “Then they ran the rope between my wrists. It was a very secure job.”

Peugeot’s eyes were glinting green light. He thought for a moment.

“Mademoiselle, did you at any time hear them speak to one another in German or any other language?”

“No, I didn’t, Mr. Peugeot. They didn’t talk to one another except for the few things I’ve told you.”

Peugeot nodded thoughtfully then smiled gratefully to her.

“You are a most brave and level-headed officer,” he told her. “Your statements have been of great assistance to us.”

He took her hand and kissed it as though she were a countess. WPC Jane Meredith blushed and smiled as she took her leave.

Sapp grinned.

“You old charmer, Peugeot. It’s hard to see a pretty girl so upset about something she couldn’t help.”

“There is considerable significance in her story,” Peugeot said enigmatically.

The doctor appeared and informed us that the Ellsworth sisters had been given sedatives and were in no condition to be interviewed. He suggested that Sapp delay his questioning of them until the following morning. Sapp agreed.

Detective Sergeant Wilson returned, carrying a linen bundle. He reported that the search of the hotel had found no one suspicious or out of place, but in one of the service areas two young women of the housekeeping staff had been found locked in a storage room.

“Let’s see if I can guess,” Sapp said heavily. “Uniforms taken, tied hand and foot, and mouths and eyes bound with sticking-plaster.”

Wilson nodded. He opened the bundle.

“We found this in one of the dustbins down there, sir.”

The bundle contained the two housekeeping uniforms taken from the victims, and Miss Lime’s dress and hat. The blue dress was quite ruined, being torn in two places and badly smudged with thick make-up around the collar.

“Miss Lime will be devastated,” I said glumly.

Peugeot continued to examine the garment.

“I, on the other hand, am enlightened.”

“What do you see, Peugeot?” asked Sapp.

“I will not bias you, mon ami, by sharing too many of my little notions with you,” he replied. “I suggest that you examine the dress yourself and draw your own conclusions.”

Sapp offered to let Peugeot hear the statements of the two hotel maids, but Peugeot declined.

“I leave that in your capable hands,” he said. “But if you will permit, Bosworth and I shall return tomorrow morning to hear the evidence of the Ellsworth sisters.”

Sapp agreed. He and Sergeant Wilson went to interview the maids. Peugeot rang for the lift. He presented his card to the lad operating the lift and asked to interview him.

“Glad to ‘elp if I can, Mr. Peugeot.”

“You have been on duty all day?”

“I ‘ave, sir. Since eight this mornin’.”

“Do you remember taking two gentlemen to the third floor at about three o’clock this afternoon?”

“You could hardly call them gentlemen, Peugeot,” I put in.

Peugeot repeated WPC Meredith’s description.

“Yeah, ‘at’s them. Sure I do. Dressed rather queer, they was.”

He turned to me.

“But they weren’t quite what they looked like.”

“No?” asked Peugeot.

“No, sir,” he answered. “I thought they’d talk like rough types: Eye-ties, Cockneys, or East End, you know. Thought they’d talk even worse’n me.”

Peugeot smiled.

“But they did not?”

“Talked as nice as the Major ‘ere, or any gentleman, about some party they was goin’ to tonight. I didn’t catch much of it.”

“Where did they get on the lift?” asked Peugeot.

“First** floor, sir. Looked as though they’d come from the tradesman’s entrance in the back and up the stairs.”

“Aren’t those doors kept locked?” I asked.

“Not during the day, sir. Too many deliveries an’ such.”

“And what happened to these men?” continued Peugeot.

“They asked to go to the third floor. I took ‘em up and opened the door to find a lady constable there. They seemed real surprised at that. ‘Wrong floor’ says one an’ tells me to go back down.”

“Where did you take them?”

“Back to where they got in. ‘Thanks’ they says to me, and give me ten bob. They got off an’ went back the way they must’ve come. I’d ‘ave watched ‘em, but I ‘ad another ring an’ ‘ad to go.”

Peugeot handed a ten-shilling note to the boy, who whistled.

“You have been most helpful,” Peugeot said with a bow as the boy opened the doors for us.

“I ‘ope the Major’ll send me a copy o’ the book,” the boy said jauntily.

We left the hotel and hailed a cab. Peugeot was silent during the ride, obviously lost in thought. We were several blocks from home when he told the driver to stop so we could walk the rest of the way.

“So, mon vieux,” Peugeot said genially. “What do you think of this affaire très outré?”

“That’s an apt description,” I answered. “It’s difficult to make top or tail of it. What do you think of Sapp’s theory?”

“That the presence of Constable Thompson thwarted a nearly perfect plan of abduction? It may cover the facts as le bon Sapp knows them, but, knowing what we do, does your grey matter accept this explanation?”

“It doesn’t seem likely.”

“Likely! Mon ami, les belles femmes Ellsworth were already bound and gagged before the good Constables Thompson and Meredith arrived. The thief of Miss Lime’s blue dress, as ingenious as she may be, could not have overpowered both sisters alone. She did not attack Miss Lime alone, so we must believe that the same allies with her in our rooms were also at the hotel, presumably dressed as maids. But after they secure the Ellsworth sisters, what do they do? The allies leave the room long enough for the police, whom they know are coming, to arrive. Further, does it seem likely that they intended to take the young ladies though the streets of London en déshabillage et en ligotage? Even to take them half naked through the halls of this modestly busy hotel to a waiting van would be foolish in the extreme.”

“But perhaps the women in the maid uniforms went to get the van, and the arrival of the police upset their plan.”

“That is only the most remote possibility. Consider their planning as we know it. They have the foresight to learn our strategy, and the ability to rapidly prepare a scheme to overpower and impersonate Miss Lime. Non! Such enemies would have a getaway car waiting, or, better still, lure their victims away from the hotel to avoid all defensive measures completely. There can be only one reason that they chose to act as they did.”

My friend looked at me expectantly.

“It almost seems that they never intended to leave the hotel with the girls,” I said, somewhat perplexed.

“Mon cher Bosworth!” he beamed. “I apologize for saying that you have not the order and method, and that you use not the grey matter.”

“But if there isn’t a kidnapping scheme, what’s it all about?” I asked in exasperation.

“Again, you excel, my friend. Having answered one question, we must proceed to the one our answer raises.”

“What can the motive possibly be?” I wondered aloud.

Peugeot smiled impishly.

“But I thought you knew the motive.”

“Well, Daphne and Julia are both very beautiful girls, Peugeot. A man might... might feel...”

Peugeot nodded, smiling at me in an annoyingly knowing fashion.

“Your English discretion is admirable, Bosworth, but for the sake of brevity I will finish for you. You admit that a man might get sexual pleasure from looking upon a woman who is naked, or nearly so, and bound. In Belgium or France this would be well understood and discussed openly. I am glad that the English at least acknowledge it.”

“But the gang being made up of women rather complicates things.”

“Another excellent observation: theories must fit facts, not the other way around.”

“Then sexual pleasure isn’t the motive,” I asserted.

“I would not be so quick to say that,” he said slowly. “As yet, we do not know all the facts. But, as you say, a female gang complicates the problem.”

“I can’t see why the girls should always be bound and gagged.”

Peugeot raised a pointing finger.

“And blindfolded as well. Do not forget that.”

“That could indicate that their attackers fear being recognized,” I mused. Another thought occurred to me. “What about the two toughs in the lift, and the shady and altogether too familiar servant, Bell? Are they involved in this?”

Peugeot nodded approvingly.

“All factors must be considered in a problem such as this one. At least you have learned that in our years together.”

He stopped walking and stared unseeing into the evening sky. Finally, his voice came with soft intensity.

“I am also extremely interested in the note that was left last night.”

I snapped my fingers.

“The note!” I cried. “All we have to do is find the typewriter it was written on and the case is solved!”

He shook his head.

“But we have no idea where to begin such a search, unless with the typewriter in the hotel room.”

I was puzzled again.

“But there was no typewriter in their room.”

Peugeot smiled.

“No matter how badly your grey matter may function, your powers of observation never fail you, my friend. You are right: there was no typewriter in the room. But you seize upon the non-essential element of a very essential bit of evidence.”

We walked a little way in silence.

“Have you wondered, Bosworth, how this gang knew that Mademoiselle Julia and Mademoiselle Daphne would consult Peugeot?”

I shrugged.

“Followed them from their hotel, I imagine.”

“But our rooms are only one of many in Blueheaven Terrace,” he replied. “I know that I am extremely famous, but I have no brass plate at the front door. Even if the sisters were observed going in the entrance, how were they traced to our rooms? There is only one lift, and I doubt that even a very active woman could follow them by the stairs.”

“Maybe they rode with them in the lift,” I offered.

“Peut-être, peut-être,” he said, sounding unconvinced. “But to follow them so closely would be a great risk, and is not easy to do.”

“Do you think that Daphne and Julia are really in danger?” I asked.

“Another excellent question to be answered. Tonight I will exercise the grey matter.”

We arrived home. In George’s absence, we served and cleared away our own dinner. I telephoned Miss Lime to assure myself that all was well with her. She was distressed to hear of the destruction of her new dress, but was comforted by the promise that Peugeot and I would replace it.

When I returned to the study, I found Peugeot in his favourite armchair, eyes closed, fingertips together, and furiously exercising his grey matter. When I told him of my promise about Miss Lime’s dress, he opened his eyes.

“Do not overlook the significance of the dress,” he cautioned. “It is of prime importance.”

That was the last thing he said that evening.

Later that night, I lay in bed tossing restlessly. My mind’s eye kept returning to the sight of the beautiful Ellsworth sisters bound and gagged upon the hotel bed, especially the moment in which Daphne had turned on her side as we broke into the room. I could see the graceful line of her shoulders and the slight prominence of her collarbones caused by her bound hands and arms, the flesh of her shapely legs and arms pinched by the cords about her knees and elbows, and her delicate rose pink nipples hardened above the ropes about her firm and full breasts. I remembered the slight backward toss of her head as she attempted to call to us, a muted entreaty that reached a deep place in me despite the coverings on her eyes and mouth. No vamp of stage or screen could have more effectively aroused a man than the helpless vision we had seen.

Uselessly, I tried to erase the picture in my brain by concentrating on the case. But I kept returning to Peugeot’s remark about some men deriving sexual pleasure from seeing a helpless woman, and tried to imagine who that might be in this case.

The only real suspect I could think of was myself.

END OF CHAPTER II

Chapter Three

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* In the U.S. this would be the second floor— F.K.