her husband is unfaithful to her. She decides to revenge his disloyalty in a manner as startling as it is unique. She hires some, ruffians to enter the house and bind and gag him securely. When this is done she has him placed behind some curtains in her boudoir where he will, perforce, be obliged to witness all that transpires within the room, but without being able to move or interfere.
“Then she calls an old servant who has served her all her life and gives her some instructions. Following these instructions the old woman, after wandering about the streets for a time, accosts a young man of genteel appearance, and getting his ear, asks him whether he would appreciate, an amorous rendezvous with a young and beautiful woman of nobility sufficiently to bind himself to certain simple conditions, viz: that he permit himself to be blindfolded while being conducted to and from the assignation; that during the amorous engagement he lend himself unreservedly to all the delicate refinements of eroticism for which the French people are noted.
“The first condition being one of no great consideration, and the second one which could be easily complied with if the lady were as young and fair and lascivious as the servant claimed, the youth, who was of a naturally adventurous and romantic disposition, did not hesitate long in accepting the mysterious assignation.
“Whereupon the old woman signaled a hack, and when he was inside blindfolded him and conveyed him to the lady's boudoir. Here the blindfold was removed and the young gallant found himself in the presence of a vision of nude loveliness which far surpassed his expectations.
“For an hour the youthful pair disported themselves with voluptuous abandon, neglecting none of the more delicate and refined artifices in which mouth and tongue play an important part.
“When the cup of love was finally drained to the last drop, the lady sprang from the bed and jerking some curtains aside revealed to the horrified gaze of the youth the securely bound figure of a man who glared at him with baleful eyes.
“What transpired later when the outraged husband was liberated is left to the imagination.”
“A very interesting story,” I observed. “Get me the book so I can read it someday. But what has it to do with your wife? Do you want her to have you tied up and make you watch from behind a curtain while she Frenches with some fellow?”
“Heavens, no!” he exploded, “I'd tear her limb from limb if she were to play such a game on me. But there's no danger. She's too prudish. I was tickling my face with quite the reverse of the plot in the story, thinking what fun it would be to tie her up and then have some girl come in, you for instance, and do just what that French couple did, right before her eyes. Maybe strip her clothes off first, so she'd enjoy it more.”
“What a horrible idea!” I gasped. “Why do you want to torment and aggravate her? Why don't you leave her alone?”
“She's tormented and aggravated me plenty,” he growled vindictively. “I'll get even with her, though. Do you know what I'd like?”
“Yes, I do! It's not a bit hard to guess! You'd like to fuck her, and you won't rest until you do!”
“Wrong, you little spitfire. I'd like to find some way to make her so hot she'd go down on her knees and beg for it, and when she did, I'd tell her exactly where to go.”
“Feed her some Spanish fly then,” I suggested dryly.
“By Jove! That's a dashed good idea! Wonder where one can get the bally stuff?”
“You'd better be careful. I heard a funny story once about a fellow who sneaked some into his wife's tea to make her passionate. He thought he'd better keep out of sight until it took effect so he went out and walked around the block a couple of times. When he came back he didn't see her around, so he looked in her bedroom. And there she was, on the bed, with her clothes up, and the butler on top of her. And the pantryman, the coachman and the gardener were all standing around holding their cocks, waiting their turn.”
“The moral being, that a chappie had better stick around after feeding his wife Spanish fly,” he laughed. “I'll keep that in mind.”
“Well, come on, let's get started. I don't need any Spanish fly to make me passionate, I'm that way all the time.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Through the damp London night a luxurious car sped swiftly and surely, the soft purr of its powerful motors hardly distinguishable above the swish, swish, swish of rubber-shod wheels upon the wet pavement as they flew onward toward their destinations.
Outside of the curtained windows a macabre fog eddied and drifted, at times dimming the street lights with its wispy, ghostly vapors. Within was snug comfort, warmth, life and color.
Had curious eyes been permitted to peek inside the glass and curtain-shielded tonneau, a scene of revelry, profanely at variance with the dismal exterior of the night, would have been revealed.
Outside, the interminable procession of half suffocated lights vainly trying to pierce the gray shroud which drew ever closer and closer about them; inside, the ribald levity of alcohol-inspired abandon, the sheen of silken hose on diaphanous garments fluttered in careless disarray above silk-clad knees.
There were four occupants in the seclusion of the cozy, glassed-in, and softly lighted tonneau. Two of them were gentlemen, modishly attired in the habiliments dictated by the fashions of the times for evening wear, and two of them were young girls, whose apparel, if not exactly that which would have been considered in the best of taste by social arbiters, was at least beautiful and colorful. The gentlemen, regardless of their half inebriated condition, were patently at home in the atmosphere of luxury which both the car and their apparel suggested. The girls, had the imaginary observer surveyed them with a critical eye and taken note of the extreme shortness of their dresses, the rouge upon their cheeks, the exaggerated scarlet of their lips and their indifference to the indiscreet disarray of their clothing, would have been catalogued instantly as ladies of that vast assembly politely described as “not nice!”
One of the gentlemen was Monty and one of the girls myself. The second gentleman was another scion of aristocracy known only to me by the nickname Zippy, and his companion was a young Spanish girl of saturnine but piquantly beautiful features named Carlota.
This was not the first nocturnal outing I had participated in. Yielding to the influence of the magic wand of gold which Monty had waved before her eyes, Madame Lafronde had consented to this departure from the accustomed routine.
“I don't want to stand in the way of your doing the best you can for yourself, but watch your step, girl, watch your step!” were her final words on the subject.
Tonight we were, to be present at the clandestine showing of some naughty moving pictures which Zippy had arranged for with an exhibitor at some obscure point far over on the East Side of London. After the show we would dine in the seclusion of a private room in a popular resort.
Zippy was a genial chap of very likable personality. He was possessed of a humorous and witty disposition. His droll witticisms and antics kept one constantly laughing, and when he was half under the influence of liquor, he kept these around him fairly convulsed.
Carlota, whom I had met a few hours before, constituted something of an enigma. Her attitude toward me was perplexing; I had always been able to make friends easily, but my overtures to her left her unresponsive and I sensed some coldness, the reason for which I could not imagine. At times I found her looking at me covertly and imagined there was something baleful in the glint of her dark eyes.
Thinking that maybe she regarded my acquaintance with Zippy as a possible menace to the security of her domains in his affection, I was scrupulously careful not to presume upon the bonhomme spirit of the four-cornered friendship, and still this explanation did not seem to fit the circumstances exactly, for she seemed peculiarly tepid in her demonstrations of affection for the good-looking young aristocrat.
Tonight, however, she had apparently cast off her moody lack of animation and had entered into the festive spirit of the occasion. A silver-covered flask was being passed from hand to hand as the smoothly humming motor carried us onward toward our destination. Esconced in one corner of the luxuriously upholstered seat, Monty leaned back with me on his lap. At the other end of the seat, Zippy held Carlota in a similar fashion. A supple, beautiful arm was curved lightly about his neck, and a small, piquant face was snuggled against his.
In the pleasant spell of a mild alcoholic languour, I watched them dreamily. I felt happy, contented, and was
