The Mysterious Affair at Greenhampton

CHAPTER IV

GREENHAMPTON; DAPHNE’S CHALLENGE

THE NEXT morning dawned bright and fair again. Peugeot had finished his rolls and hot chocolate and was writing at his desk when I appeared. He greeted me cheerfully, inquired how I had slept, then returned to his work when George brought my breakfast. As I ate, he continued to work most industriously, humming rather tunelessly to himself all the while. At times he would cease his activity for a few moments and carefully straighten the objects on the desk, moving the lamp or telephone or blotter the fraction of an inch or so necessary to satisfy his quest for perfect symmetry. This was a sign that the little man was deep in thought. When his ‘excellent grey matter’ had finished its work, he scribbled a concluding line or two, neatly folded his papers into two sets, then put them into envelopes he had already addressed. He then dashed off to see Miss Lime, dictated to her in a low voice as she wrote, and handed her the envelopes. Miss Lime picked up the telephone and placed a call. With a renewed burst of humming, Peugeot went to his room. Within a few minutes, a messenger arrived and picked up the envelopes from Miss Lime.

     “Come, Bosworth,” Peugeot ordered cheerfully as he reappeared with his little travelling bag. “You cannot spend all day at your breakfast. We must catch the 10.16 from Waterloo.”

     “I’m packed already,” I said, rising from the table.

     Peugeot stopped at the hall mirror to check his moustaches. He straightened his tie, brushed some imaginary dust from his sleeve, and consulted his turnip-shaped pocket watch.

     “You are most efficient today, mon ami,” he said, taking his hat and stick from the stand. “Let us go then.”

     During our cab ride to the station and boarding of the train, he was at his most conversational: the fine weather (he did not complain of the cold and damp as usual), the colourful birds in the park across from our rooms and their melodious singing, the attractiveness of the English girls everywhere (a sentiment with which I agreed), and even an account of my golf game the previous afternoon. It was not until our train was well underway that her ceased his flow, giving me a chance to ask about the case. He smiled amiably.

     “I have my little notions,” he admitted, “but some of them need the testing. As with our friend Sapp, I do not wish to bias you by presenting my ideas as facts.”

     He leaned forward with interest.

     “But you, my good Bosworth, have you used the order and method I suggested last night? Have you re-examined the facts? Tell me what you think of this matter now.”

     “I really have no idea what we have,” I confessed. “A gang of female ruffians seems to be going about the countryside with no other apparent end than to bind and gag these two young women, plus any others at hand. When Julia and Daphne come to London, the gang follows them there to continue their reign of terror, apparently taking one night to do the same to two young actresses.”

     I paused for breath. Peugeot said nothing, but his expression encouraged me to continue.

     “And now their activities include the near total disrobing and fondling of their captives. Honestly, I can’t see what it all means.”

     “You have to one or two conclusions leaped and failed to draw inferences from the facts,” said Peugeot, “but you state the case tolerably. Let us try another tack: what do we know of this gang?”

     I thought for a moment.

     “There are at least five of them, probably more, though they will work with only three if the need arises,” I mused. “They are young and active, athletic enough to overcome the resistance of their victims, they work as a unit, plan their attacks very well, and let their fingernails grow long. The most important clues we have are that two of them are German, two are from the West Country, one from Wales, and that the height of one of the others is between that of Julia and Daphne.”

     Peugeot sighed and shook his head.

     “After starting so well, I am greatly distressed that you have seized upon a rather doubtful piece of evidence.”

     “Why do you say that?” I asked.

     “Mademoiselle Julia is about five feet s1x inches tall, and Mademoiselle Daphne two, perhaps three, inches shorter. Mademoiselle Daphne supposedly makes this measurement when taken completely by surprise and defending herself against three attackers. How can she possibly give such an exact height?”

     He looked at me intently.

     “And have you ever wondered, how Mesdemoiselles Julia and Daphne could have twice been in the clutches of this gang before and failed to notice that they were all women?”

     I was a bit stunned.

     “Well, Julia and Daphne were surprised at night, in the dark, even roused from their beds. It would have been more difficult for them to see them well.”

     Peugeot nodded.

     “There is some method in that, mon ami, but Josephine, who did not strike me as a particularly bright girl, was equally surprised by the gang, and knew it immediately. Yet, with all the bodily contact the Ellsworth sisters must have had in their struggles and carryings by the gang they did not notice a very obvious fact. Why?”

     “You think they’re parties to their own abductions, or whatever they are? What possible reason could they have for that?”

     “I do not know that is the case,” said Peugeot, “but I do not think that Mademoiselle Julia and Mademoiselle Daphne are being completely truthful with us.”

     I was not only surprised, but a bit angered by this suggestion from my friend. He held up a hand to stop my protest.

     “I know you and your gallantry, mon ami, you of the open countenance and the good, honest, and truthful nature. You see ces jolies femmes. They come to us in distress. They have been bound and gagged and handled roughly. Their eyes speak volumes to you, so you wish to protect these lovely creatures from harm. But I, Henri Peugeot, tell you that they have not been frank with us. They have some purpose for which they use us.”

     “But what evil purpose can they have?” I asked. “These attacks really have occurred, and on others as well as Julia and Daphne. What is the motive?”

     “I believe that the motive is really quite simple,” he answered. “In fact it is so simple that no one will think of it easily. The underlying reason is a bit more obscure. The binding of the two actresses is a key bit of information that should tell us much. I have made inquiries of our friend Sapp this morning.”

     “What is it that you expect to learn?” I demanded.

     “That I cannot know until my note is answered. Come. Let us speak no more of it and enjoy the journey.”

     Our train rolled through the pleasant green countryside for nearly two hours, making several stops. We alighted at the platform in Greenhampton and, after a short walk through a most charming village, found the local inn where we lunched. Peugeot introduced himself to the proprietor, asking if we might put some questions to him about local affairs. As is often the case in small villages, we soon had any number of people willing to offer their opinions to help the famous detective.

     “Mind you,” the proprietor said, “I don’t like talking to strangers about local affairs that are no one else’s business. But seeing as you’re very well-known gentlemen what’s helped out folks in trouble, I see no harm in it.”

     Julia had not exaggerated about talk of their plight being all over the village. The proprietor expounded at some length on his own theory, which involved a good deal of German villainy.

     “I served in the war, sir, three years just like the Major here,” he asserted with a nod at me. “Wouldn’t trust a Hun ‘less I had ‘im in the sights of my Lee-Enfield^[1]. And Sir Garrick’s duties take ‘im there all the time. Mark my words, gentlemen, there’ll be a Hun at the bottom of all this trouble.”

     Peugeot nodded gravely then asked if any German tourists had been in Greenhampton lately. None had, and the only local who had any ties with Germany was Klein, the village baker, who had emigrated from there some forty years ago.

     Two young women spoke about the affair with wide-eyed fascination. They obviously saw the binding and carrying-off of the partially clad girls as some kind of real life Gothic thriller with romantic causes.

     “Some young man who tried to court one of them and was cruelly rejected!” one of them declared breathlessly. “He’s determined to have his revenge by carrying them off ‘til one of them falls in love with him.”

     An older woman was positive that the girls were being punished by some fanatic for their “brazen and wanton” behaviour, though no one present seemed able to specify any brazen or wanton antics by the sisters. The woman’s companion contradicted her friend with another theory that laid the blame on Brenda Ellsworth.

     “She’s after their money, don’t you see?” she asserted. “The son’s in the Navy, and if there’s a war, he could be killed. With the two girls out of the way, she’d get all of Sir Garrick’s money!”

     She concluded this harangue with many derogatory opinions on the morals of actresses.

     Even the old device of a family curse was mentioned. By far the most logical explanation was suggested by a former servant, an ex-footman, who suspected Bell.

     “’E likes ‘em high born, ‘e does,” the man stated. “Shifty an’ greedy ‘e is. I ‘eard ‘e was sent packin’ from ‘is last job for the same kind o’ thing. You know: familiar with the women upstairs.”

     Peugeot listened attentively to all these tales, showing shock and concern at the appropriate places in the narratives. By his glances to me, he indicated that I was not to interrupt or protest, which was most difficult during the account suggesting Lady Ellsworth’s supposed villainies.

     After departing the inn, we stopped at the local police station and met Sergeant Carrington, the bluff, walrus-moustached officer in charge. He freely admitted that he had no idea who was responsible.

     “I put little stock in all these tales of anarchists and foreigners, if you’ll pardon me, Mr. Peugeot,” he said. “It’s true that Sir Garrick travels a good deal in foreign parts, especially Germany, but that means very little. No Germans have been in the village for more than a year. And I’m not one for ghost stories nor curses, sir. Lot of rubbish, I say. And as for all those other rumours, I’ll have to see some proof before I start arresting anyone.”

     “You are a most level-headed officer,” said Peugeot with a little bow. “If you have a theory regarding these incidents, I would be most interested to hear it.”

     Carrington leaned confidentially across his desk.

     “If you want my opinion, sir, I’d say it was something cooked up by the idle rich young folks as sometimes hangs about the Manor. Too much money and too much time on their hands if you ask me, sir. They may have something up their sleeves or it may just be some kind of game that means no harm. You know how some of the young like to do scandalous things.”

     His face grew graver.

     “But we can’t have decent folks coming upon half-dressed, tied up young women, nor young women bystanders attacked, even if they are just servants. There’s always a chance that someone will get hurt. I mean to put a stop to it, sir, and when my lads and I lay hands on them, there’ll be proper penalties to pay. The magistrates will see to that, and their own parents too, I’ll warrant.”

     Peugeot nodded thoughtfully as the sergeant spoke. Whatever he thought of Carrington’s theory he kept to himself. He asked:

     “Do you know Sir Garrick well?”

     A respectful air came over Carrington.

     “There’s a proper gentleman, sir, a proper gentleman. Does all he can for the local folk and their causes, he does. Gads about on that job of his for the Foreign Office from what I see. He’s been gone since the end of March, he has, and won’t be back for another fortnight or more, I understand.”

     “And Lady Ellsworth?” continued Peugeot.

     The look of respect remained, and the sergeant’s eyes took on that particular glow of delight common at the sight or mention of Lady Brenda.

     “I know she’s not supposed to be a proper gentlewoman, sir, her being an actress and all, but she’s been a blessing to the folk around here. Sir Garrick took the death of his wife quite hard, you know, but he’s been a new man since he married Lady Ellsworth. Restored him, she did, sir. And she’s the kindest, friendliest lady of the manor you could ask for. She works for all the charities and helps the local folks any way she can, and looks after those two girls of Sir Garrick’s like they were her own. Some of the loose talk about her being responsible for what’s happened must be a trial for her. But she’ll bear up.”

     Peugeot nodded.

     “She is certainly an extraordinary woman,” he agreed. “And what of the son, the naval officer who is away?”

     Carrington smiled ruefully.

     “I must say that I had a few official dealings with Mister Richard once or twice in the past, Mr. Peugeot. I think the lad’s all right, but it’s true there were some escapades with him and his young friends a while ago: wild driving, damage to property, public intoxication, that sort of thing. Mind you, I never thought he was responsible for it as much as some of his mates: Lawrence Butler, Jarvis Carmody, Simon Porter, and that young Marquis of Walburn.”

     “The young man is now reformed?” asked Peugeot.

     “More than that, he just has something useful to do now. Why last autumn there was some kind of fire on board his ship, and he saved three of his lads and helped save the ship, too. Broke his leg doing it, he did. He was up at the Manor for nearly four months recuperating. His old wild chums showed up there, but he had very little to do with them. They came a number of times, but even when he was well enough, he never set foot outside with them. My lads and I were keeping a sharp watch.”

     Sergeant Carrington craned his neck to look past us through the front window of the station. He rose from his desk and walked to the window, his gaze fastened on something outside.

     “There are two of them now,” he said, pointing to a convertible parked across the street. “Carmody and Butler.”

     We went to the window. Two well-dressed and good-looking young chaps were chaffing with several village girls, who were obviously impressed by the sleek and powerful car the men were driving. If ever a scene spoke of the poisonous effects that money and social position can have on some, it was this.

     “They look like absolute rotters!” I muttered.

     “I fear that you are right,” Peugeot sighed. “And is so often the case, the rotters, as you say, attract the pretty girls so easily.”

     Sergeant Carrington took his cap from its peg.

     “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I must go and let those two know they’ve a watchful eye on them.”

     “One more question, Sergeant,” said Peugeot. “When did young Richard Ellsworth recuperate last year?”

     “Last autumn into winter. From the middle of October until early February.”

     Peugeot picked up his hat and stick.

     “I thank you, Sergeant Carrington. You have been invaluable to me in this matter. I shall be at your disposal if I can assist you and I shall immediately communicate any new developments to you.”

     The good sergeant swelled visibly at the little man’s words, and pumped his hand vigourously.

     Peugeot was still massaging his hand as we rode to Ellsworth Manor in a hired car.

     “A lot of time spent with the locals for very little result,” I grumbled. “They seem to believe every sort of rumour and folk-tale, while the police think it’s some kind of triviality.”

     “They all search for logic behind these strange events,” Peugeot said thoughtfully. “And the affair probably is trivial in its public consequences, though now that I know something of the reasons behind it, I find it less trivial.”

     “And the reason is...?”

     Peugeot gave me a look of some surprise.

     “Really, Bosworth! Between the good Sergeant Carrington and our luncheon at the inn, we have been given most of the points needed to complete our case, and still you do not see them! Eh, bien. I can only instruct you to use your grey matter.”

     “You mean one of those theories we heard at the inn is true?”

     “I ask that you consider them all again and use method and order in considering them. You should be able to find the truth.”

     Beyond that he would say nothing.

     We were met at Ellsworth Manor by the Randall, the butler, and Bell the footman. Randall was about fifty, solidly built, and had the air of a former colour sergeant. Bell, by contrast, was no more than thirty, tall, lean, and rather good-looking in a sulky, somewhat insolent way. His expression showed that he thought he had the measure of us at a glance, especially Peugeot, whose patent leather shoes and spats, stick, and old-fashioned waistcoat and bow tie labelled him to Bell as a harmless, dandified little foreigner. He and Randall took our bags to our rooms while we went to the drawing room.

     Brenda Ellsworth greeted us in the same friendly manner we knew from the previous day.

     “I’m so glad to see you both,” she said, smiling warmly. “I don’t see how anyone can help us with this mystery, but I do feel better with you here.”

     “Actually,” I began, “my friend thinks that he has the matter nearly solved.”

     Peugeot laid his hand on my arm.

     “What my good friend means, Lady Ellsworth,” corrected Peugeot, “is that I have high hopes of finding the truth.”

     A flicker of surprise, almost alarm, passed over Brenda Ellsworth’s face. It was gone in an instant.

     “I have the greatest faith in you, Monsieur Peugeot,” she said. “I have instructed Randall to show you anything in the house or grounds that you may wish to see. No doubt you will want to inspect the scenes of the crimes, and the girls are in the library should you wish to speak with them.”

     “You are most kind, milady. The library? They are fond of the reading?”

     She smiled ruefully.

     “I’m afraid that Daphne is not a very serious reader. Perhaps because of my influence, she shows a lively interest in the theatre. I have some hopes and fears that she may decide to become an actress. If she is reading, it will probably be a book on stagecraft.”

     Peugeot looked surprised.

     “You would not approve of Mademoiselle Daphne going on the stage?” Brenda Ellsworth paused. She regarded Peugeot thoughtfully for a moment, then said frankly:

     “My career in the theatre has been very satisfying, monsieur. I’ve played many challenging and enjoyable roles, been financially successful, and met and befriended a number of talented and intelligent people. However, I must say that there are some men and women in the theatre that I would not like to see Daphne among. One must have a certain level-headedness to succeed on the stage, and she is very young and innocent in many ways.”

     Peugeot nodded sympathetically.

     “But not all of the young welcome protection. One must be very careful in giving it.”

     She nodded.

     “I can hardly oppose her plans actively, under the circumstances.

     “And Mademoiselle Julia?”

     Brenda brightened.

     “Julia was an excellent student, showing a decided talent for art and literature. She attended university for a while, and I am in high hopes she will return to her studies soon.”

     “We will detain you no longer, Lady Ellsworth. If Randall will show us the way, we are ready.”

     She rang.

     “Good luck, Monsieur Peugeot. We dine at eight.”

     We took our leave of her and were shown to the girls’ bedrooms. There was little to find. Both rooms had French windows opening on an upper storey of the terrace. There were stairs at both ends of the terrace, which would have given the intruders easy access, provided they were familiar with the house.

     Peugeot engaged Randall in small talk about the house and staff. The butler would say nothing openly against Bell, but he did confirm the reports about occasional drinking and the attempted and unwanted attentions to Annie and Josephine. From his manner it was not difficult to see that Randall heartily disliked Bell.

     We left him to his duties and completed our look at the bedrooms. We then took a stroll in the grounds to acquaint ourselves with the estate.

     “There wasn’t much to go on in those rooms,” I observed.

     Peugeot shrugged.

     “I expected to find nothing, but we must be seen to be doing something.”

     I was taken aback by his offhandedness. He noticed my expression.

     “Did you not hear Lady Ellsworth, Bosworth?” he asked impishly. “She does not expect us to solve the mystery, only to make the household, and the village, I suspect, feel safer.”

     “I’m sure that’s not what she meant,” I protested.

     “And I think that the lady knew quite well what she said. So we must play the little comedy for now.”

     “Really, Peugeot, you’re taking this all rather lightly!” I exclaimed. “We’re here at the scene of the crimes, surrounded by suspects, and you talk of playing the comedy! There must be something we can do.”

     “Oh-là-là-là-là, always you are the man of action!” said Peugeot with a shake of the head. “Eh bien! So what shall we do, we men of action?”

     I was rather fogged by this question.

     “Well... we could at least get Sapp and a few constables down here to protect the girls,” I stammered. “And look into the backgrounds of those two young wastrels we saw in the village, and that creature Bell. And you have friends in Intelligence who could tell you if there are any German agents about.”

     Peugeot nodded.

     “You will be pleased to know that I have inquired of my friend Colonel Pikeham about Sir Garrick’s mission.”

     “Sergeant Carrington said that he’d been travelling among the Germans a good deal lately,” I noted.

     “Pikeham will inform us of any German spies near Greenhampton,” said Peugeot. “But I ask you: given the German reputation for efficiency and ruthlessness, does it seem probable that these were attempts made by them to kidnap his daughters to gain power over him?”

     I admitted that it was not. Another thought struck me.

     “What about Melinda Riddle? Lady Ellsworth holds her abilities in high regard. It must be difficult for her to be a minor player and understudy while others have the leads. I know we thought the idea far-fetched at first, but I’m more willing to consider it now. Remember that the attacks occurred on Sunday nights mostly, a night off for the actors. She may have tried to terrorize Julia and Daphne in hopes that Lady Brenda would withdraw from the company, leaving her to play the lead role.”

     “But Lady Ellsworth knew only of the first attack until just recently. And she spent most of her time in London, while Mademoiselle Julia and Mademoiselle Daphne were here. How would she know about this reign of terror?”

     I struggled to find a reason.

     “Yes, but Miss Riddle would naturally suppose that Daphne and Julia would tell her about the attacks.”

     “And how would Miss Riddle have overlooked the fact that in two months Lady Ellsworth failed to be alarmed about her stepdaughters. And Miss Riddle was in close daily contact with her.”

     Peugeot had me with that one.

     “And I thought I’d come up with something there,” I lamented. “The timing of the attacks worked out so well, plus the fact that on the last night of the play, when Julia and Daphne were bound in their hotel, Miss Riddle did not go to the theatre.”

     “True, her absence could have been caused by having led the raid at the hotel,” Peugeot said. “But by not being in the theatre she removed herself from the position where she needed to be in order to profit from Lady Ellsworth’s absence.”

     His eyes narrowed.

     “But you have noticed something very important: Mademoiselle Daphne and Mademoiselle Julia were almost always attacked and bound on the same day. That is very interesting.”

     I mused briefly.

     “Well, what about Bell?” I asked. “He’s certainly a suspicious character. Downright arrogant the way he looked at you. He’s more than a bit of a bully, I’ll wager, and we know he has an eye for women.”

     Peugeot regarded me approvingly.

     “So you noticed that he looked at us very carefully when we arrived, hein? You are the broad shouldered, six foot tall Englishman who is a minor hero of the War. With you, he will be most careful. I am the small foreigner who is fussy with his clothes, so he thinks that I can be easily dealt with if need be.

     “Yes, I must say that I do not like Monsieur Bell either,” he went on. “No one in the household seems to, but that does not immediately make him our man. There is the question of motive and means. What would he gain by the binding of the sisters Ellsworth? He may feel superior to them, as servants often do. He may harbour the unfulfilled desires toward them. He may wish to see them humiliated in public. But what does he actually put into his pocket by tying and gagging them? And remember that the actual work is done by a gang of five women. Could a servant afford to hire such a gang?”

     “He could be working for those two rotter friends of young Ellsworth,” I suggested. “Maybe they supply the money. And they had a crowd of girls around them in the village.”

     “In that case it would seem that they have little need of Bell. Do you really think that village girls who bear a grudge against the sisters, or would do almost anything for money could be found so easily? There are some improbabilities there.

     “And again,” he continued, “what do those young men gain? Are they spurned suitors? Are these attacks meant to drive Mademoiselle Julia and Mademoiselle Daphne into their arms? It has not worked, so why would they continue? Is it for revenge? It is a most strange revenge, since they apparently never witness the plight of their victims.”

     “We can’t really be sure about that,” I reminded him. “After all, that could be the reason the girls are always blindfolded: to keep them from seeing the men responsible.”

     Peugeot nodded slowly.

     “That is a suggestion with some method you make, my friend. But careful thought tells us that the motive is all wrong. It is at once both too much and too little. Mademoiselle Julia and Mademoiselle Daphne are several times partially undressed, bound and gagged, and left in public, yet out-of-the-way places. If this was done as a cruel joke or some sort of revenge designed to humiliate them, why were they not disrobed completely and left in the village square at once? Why repeat rather timid crimes again and again? And why have women do the overpowering, binding, and disrobing? One would think that if these men had their lust aroused and their advances refused, they would take particular pleasure in man-handling and restraining the ‘tender flesh that had been denied them,’ as your sensational English press would say.”

     We had made quite a long swing about the grounds and had come back in the direction of the house. We stopped and looked at the beautiful red-brick Georgian manor.

     “But there are two even stronger objections to the theory of the suitors’ revenge,” Peugeot added. “First, the young men seem quite happy to go on to other girls, as we saw in the village. And second, it in no way explains the binding of the two actresses in London.”

     “I’d quite forgotten that,” I admitted.

     We began walking toward the house.

     “There is a comedy being played here, but not, I think for much longer,” Peugeot concluded.

     After our stroll, which had given us a working familiarity with the grounds, gardens, tennis courts, outbuildings, and stable (mostly unused in these days of the motorcar), Peugeot and I returned to our rooms. We were on the second floor^[2] with a grand view of the rolling lawns and attractive flowerbeds. My room had a window overlooking the tennis courts.

     I had just finished unpacking and putting away my clothes when the delightful sound of women’s laughter came from outside. I went to the window and saw the Ellsworth women taking to the courts for a game of doubles. It took several long looks, but I finally recognized the fourth player as Melinda Riddle. They were all dressed in white tennis togs with the daringly short skirts that were becoming popular with women players. I sat in an armchair near the window and tried to read the book I had brought with me, but my eyes invariably strayed to the attractive sights below. The quality of play was less than expert, but the beauty of the participants and their charming enthusiasm and good humour over their shortcomings made the game irresistible. After a time I abandoned all pretense of reading and watched the ladies with shameless pleasure.

     My eyes continually returned to Brenda Ellsworth, whose graceful form and movements spoke volumes to me about the joys of feminine presence. When she made a poor stroke she usually made a remark to her fellow players that caused silvery laughter to ring across the grounds. The daughters, while showing less grace than their beautiful stepmother, played with the endearing earnestness and athleticism of the young. Julia, slender and elegant, was paired with Miss Riddle, while Daphne, stunning in a low-cut tennis dress, gamely assisted Brenda. Miss Riddle was quite changed from the dowdily clad artistic pilgrim of the day before. With her auburn hair neatly bound back, the hideous spectacles gone, and clad in a form-fitting white outfit, she was a lovely and shapely young woman.

     As I watched these visions below, I began to feel unaccountably restless. My bachelor existence with Peugeot, usually so interesting and enjoyable, now seemed barren and lonely. The lovely eyes of Daphne, Julia, and especially Brenda dance through my memory. Peugeot had said that they had spoken to me with their eyes. Was he right? No! Certainly young women look the same at everyone. The appeal that men think they see in those eyes is caused only by their own yearnings, the desire to believe that a lovely young creature could look upon them with favour.

     As for Lady Brenda Ellsworth, she seemed to cast a spell over every man in her presence. Yet, I could not escape the feeling that there was something familiar and affectionate in the looks that cast upon me. I shook my head to try to return to reality. Besides, she was a married woman, wife of one of the most important men in Britain. I was ashamed of the feelings I was having.

     So lost in thought was I, that I failed to notice Peugeot standing over me until I felt his hand on my shoulder. Startled, I looked up to see his egg-shaped head cocked to one side like an inquisitive bird. The hint of a smile was on his features.

     “You are deep in thought, mon ami.”

     He looked out the window at the tennis game and back to me.

     “Yet it is not, I think, the Greenhampton mystery that occupies your grey matter,” he added. “They are quite beautiful, are they not?”

     “Rubbish, Peugeot,” I said crossly. “Those girls are nearly young enough to be my daughters.”

     “Unless your journey has greatly aged you, you are not that old,” he chided gently. “And I think not only of the daughters.”

     “What!” I cried. “Do you suggest that I could be such a cad as to covet the wife of one of the finest men in England? And do you think that I could come to his home in his absence if I, for one moment, had such feelings?”

     “Calmez vous, calmez vous, mon cher ami,” he said placidly. “I suggest nothing. I merely note that you appreciate the beauty that le bon Dieu bestows upon women.”

     He started for the door. I sprang up from my chair and apologized for my outburst. He gave a dismissing wave.

     “Ce n’est pas necessaire.”

     “What was it that you came for?” I asked.

     “It is but a trifle. It can wait.”

     After Peugeot had gone I returned to my seat at the window and watched the tennis game. Presently, it began to grow dark, more from approaching rain clouds than the dusk. Our fair weather was about to break. Seeing the threatening sky, the players gave up their game and returned to the house. For a few minutes I stared into the dark clouds, which were a perfect mirror for my gloomy thoughts. At last, I closed my unread book and began to dress for dinner.

     It began to rain just before dinner. As Peugeot and I came to the table, my spirits were as foul as the weather, but by the end of the meal I felt much better. It would have been difficult for us not to be enlivened by our very attractive companions.

     Julia and Daphne were effusive in their praises of us as kindly, sympathetic, intrepid, and brilliant investigators. Lady Ellsworth made several kind remarks about my books and accounts of Peugeot’s cases, the other young ladies agreeing warmly. Even Melinda Riddle was complimentary about our work on behalf of the Ellsworth family. All of them voiced the hope that we would be equally successful on this case. Being seated next to Brenda was a tonic for me, though I had to reproach myself a time or two for the glances I stole at our beautiful hostess.

     Just before dessert was served, while the younger ladies were pressing Peugeot for the details of his well-known experience on the Alpine Express, Brenda laid a delicate hand on my arm.

     “I’m so glad that my stepdaughters are taking an interest in such fine men as you and Monsieur Peugeot, Major Bosworth.”

     Her green eyes were filled with happiness and gratitude I knew to be genuine.

     “I’m sure that they could hardly be interested in men who were unworthy,” I said.

     She made a charmingly rueful expression, raising one eyebrow and slightly crumpling a smile.

     “There have been times when I nearly despaired over them,” she replied. “A man of your experience has probably seen many instances of perfectly nice young women becoming involved with completely despicable young men.”

     The faces of the two wastrels we had seen in the village sprang to mind, and the word ‘rotters’ nearly escaped my lips.

     “I can scarcely believe that would happen with Julia and Daphne. They seem very level-headed girls, especially Julia.”

     “A good man such as you can only see the good in people.”

     I wondered if Peugeot had been prompting her with sentiments such as this.

     “Julia,” she continued, “can be very strong-willed. If any fault is found with a potential suitor, she automatically leaps to his defence, even if her own good sense tells her that the fault is real.”

     She gazed with exasperated affection at Daphne.

     “And Daphne is a hopeless romantic who is convinced that the heart never leads one amiss, and that all will turn out happily.”

     “Too many times such beliefs can cause great unhappiness,” I noted.

     Brenda smiled warmly. Her eyes appeared to be shining.

     “Too many women do not see the value of a good man.”

     After dessert, the women continued to press Peugeot for more stories. The rain had stopped so I excused myself to have a pipe on the terrace. There was a fine coolness to the night, and I strolled along the stones breathing in the refreshing air. Through the partially open doors I could hear Peugeot’s voice, punctuated by the laughter and cries of delight of his audience. I stared into the night, lost in thought.

     “Are you enjoying the night air, Major Bosworth?” a female voice asked from directly above.

     I leaned out and turned my head upward to see Daphne on the upper terrace.

     “Hullo, Daphne,” I said. “I thought you were all inside listening to Peugeot.”

     “Your friend is an engaging raconteur, Major,” she said. “But I prefer more sympathetic company, so I came up to my room to find a wrap and go in search of you. Come and join me.”

     I climbed the stairs at the end of the terrace to find Daphne wrapped in a long, dark cloak against the chilly wind.

     “Of course I’m glad to join you,” I said, “ but I don’t understand your remark. I’ve always found Peugeot to be most sympathetic to everyone.”

     Daphne wrinkled her small, upturned nose.

     “I’m sure he is a kindly gentleman in most ways. But he is rather old, you know, and I think that he no longer understands young women.”

     “Why would you say that?” I asked.

     She gave a little shiver and thrust a bare arm out from under the cloak to take mine.

     “Oh, it is cool tonight! May I draw closer?”

     I drew her nearer. Her other hand clutched the cloak about her throat.

     “I simply mean that he moves so slowly in this matter,” she continued. “He cannot possibly understand the terror a girl in my situation feels.”

     I started to object, but she cut me off.

     “You are a very loyal friend,” she said, looking up at me with shining blue eyes. “I appreciate that. But I have been bound and gagged by intruders several times lately, and am in a constant state of apprehension and terror.”

     “But you’re a very brave young woman,” I argued. “While it must be frightening to be overpowered and bound, surely you know by now that this gang has no murderous intentions toward you or Julia. And now that we’re here you’re perfectly safe. There’s nothing to fear.”

     “Oh, but you are wrong!” she cried softly. “Why even if I were to be bound and gagged in conditions of complete safety, I’m certain that I would react in panic!”

     It began to rain again, very gently at first.

     She must have seen my doubtful expression.

     “If you don’t believe me, I shall show you!” she declared.

     “Surely that isn’t necessary---“ I began.

     “No!” she said firmly. “I insist. You shall bind and gag me yourself and judge my reaction.”

     I protested, but she pulled me toward the French window leading to her room. Since the rain had begun to fall harder, I allowed myself to be dragged to the shelter of her room.

     “If you don’t believe that a woman’s delicate nerves can be so affected, you shall see for yourself!” she said defiantly.

     Saying this, she swept off the cloak to reveal a nightgown of white, diaphanous material.

     “Daphne!” I exclaimed. “This is hardly proper! If we should be discovered we’ll both be disgraced.

     “I take full responsibility should Brenda burst in upon us. She would understand my views entirely.”

     I knew that it would be utterly wrong to go farther, but the lovely and buxom Daphne was too great a temptation. My moody reflections of the afternoon had left me unable to resist this charming creature. I said nothing, but somehow she divined my acquiescence.

     “Good,” she said, smiling.

     She turned her back and crossed her wrists behind her.

     “Begin with my hands.”

     “With what?” I asked.

     Daphne nodded toward her dressing table. A sizable quantity of rope lay upon it.

     “Those were left after one of the attacks,” she explained.

     I picked up a cord and stepped behind her.

     “And do be fair, Major,” she warned me. “If you don’t bind me securely, it won’t have the same effect. You must make it tight.”

     I looped the rope several times about her wrists, fashioned a seize at right angles to the main loops, and tied a reef knot. Daphne writhed experimentally.

     “Well done, Major Bosworth,” she approved. “You would make an excellent kidnapper. Now for my legs. Tie both my ankles and knees.”

     She sat on her bed and extended her dainty ankles toward me. I tied them securely and picked up another length of rope to bind her knees. I started to put the loops over her night-dress, but Daphne stopped me.

     “You must raise my night-dress above my knees to do it properly. Otherwise, you won’t be able to make a seize, and I could slip them off easily.”

     Numbly, I obeyed. Daphne’s calm and insistent manner had overcome any objections I might have made. My hands continued to work as though operated by someone else.

     She tested her leg bonds and pronounced them secure.

     “Now, tie my arms to my body,” she said. “There should be a nice long rope for that.”

     Once again I complied. The rope was long enough to pass completely around her eight times, just below her ample breasts, before I tied the ends in front of her. My throat was very dry, and I seemed to be feverish.

     “Is that enough?” I was able to ask.

     “My mouth and eyes are still quite free,” she said softly, looking up rather shyly at me.

     There were three scarves on the vanity. At Daphne’s direction, I wadded one into a ball, folded another into a long strip, placed the wad in the centre of the strip, and rolled it up. I placed the wad in Daphne’s mouth and tied the ends of the strip behind her head. My fair prisoner was now gagged. The other scarf I bound over her lovely eyes as a blindfold.

     I sat on the bed beside her. She toppled over on her side and pulled her legs onto the bed, and began struggling.

     I sat there watching, with a fascination I could never have imagined an hour before, as my captive rolled, tossed, and twisted against the ropes that held her. She moaned softly into the gag.

     She was incredibly beautiful. Even though I had been aware of the same sort of reaction to seeing her and Julia bound earlier, my natural impulse to rescue her had overcome the feelings now welling freely inside me now. Every movement she made was more compelling and beautiful than any ballet; her gagged cries were a siren song. The blood pounded in my temples.

     Finally, I could stand it no longer. I seized her and kissed her passionately, over the gag at first. I then tore it from her mouth and continued on her ripe lips. She responded eagerly.

     “You must do it all!” she whispered. “Just as they did.”

     I reached for the shoulder straps of her night-dress.

     [1] British Army rifle of World War I – F.K.
     [2] In the U.S. this would be the third floor – F.K.