The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Three Nights Later

The night had seen a long, light rain.

The bakery wagon sat in the shadows across the street from the Torniver’s Gate. The driver waited until the cop had sauntered past on his rounds. The short, wiry man dropped the reins and stepped down to the street. He went to the back and opened the double doors.

There were no loaves of bread. Instead, six feminine figures sat on side benches. They were all dressed in black, silky outfits that ended in flared, sailor-like bell bottoms. From the leggings of these pajama-like outfits, twelve pale bare feet emerged. Their heads were swathed in silk scarfs from which only the girls’ eyes and noses were exposed. Despite the Asiatic aspect of their garments, those eyes were all Caucasian in appearance.

The driver took from his coat a small music box, wound it, then moved a small switch. The air filled with delicate music.

As one, the girls turned their heads towards him. The man then took out a piece of paper, and strained to read it in the dim glow of the gas street light.

“Right....here we go....gotta get this right.” The man mumbled, his accent redolent of the Italian tenements in the Bronx. When he read aloud from the note, his voice became slow and melodramatic, as if he was in a vaudeville act. “Kathleen.....are you with me?”

Kathleen Murdoch sat closest to him. “Yes, Mr. Grimnaldi, I am with you. I am your barefooted servant.”

Grimnaldi sighed in relief. “Servant.....yeah....What I’d have you do.....but Time is Money.” He looked to the paper, and voice became theatrical again. “You will lead you your cohort and perform the task....just as I have taught you....just as you have re........wait a minute.....oh.....just as you have rehearsed back at the Institute. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Gimnaldi, I understand perfectly well, and I shall obey.” She almost sounded like a nanny patiently speaking to a spoiled child. She got out of the wagon.

“Cynthia, Maeve, Agatha, Marie, and Candence......Are you with me?”

The girl’s responded in unison. “Yes, Miss Murdoch, we are with you. We are your barefooted servants.”

“Cynthia and Maeve....eliminate all the guards.”

“Yes, Miss Murdoch, we obey.”

The two silk clad girl’s closest to her reached down and each picked up small hollow bamboo tubes about two feet in length. Without further ado, they stepped out, looked around to make sure they were unobserved, and ran to the museum wall. They were nearly silent, their only noise was the slap of their bare soles on the wet street.

Grimnaldi moved to better observe them and slipped on the wet pavement. The music box slipped from his hand and landed with a loud crack. After retrieving it, he tried the winding key, but it was broke. He shrugged and threw the silver box to the gutter.

The insistent knocking on the door finally broke through Briar’s slumber. She did not respond, but luxuriated in her large canopied bed. She felt conflicted. Part of her would have liked more repose, but coffee and breakfast would also be welcome. It was then she noticed the time.

“The city better be on fire, Singh, if you’re rousing me before Seven.”

The door opened, and the giant Sikh lowered his turbaned head and entered. He held a tray with toast, a coffee service, and a white envelope.

Singh, or more fully, Manhomat Singh Kawali, was a terrifying sight to many. Nearly seven foot tall, he had a long black beard that covered a vivid scar across his throat. But both sharp intelligence and warmth emanated from his eyes, especially when he looked upon Briar.

The story of his friendship with Armand, and how he gained the scar and lost his voice, were the only secrets Dupuis ever kept from her. After numerous attempts on Briar’s life, Armand insisted that Singh live with her in the guise of a servant. Briar, perhaps unfairly, thought it was more Armand’s preference to live alone than any actual concern for her.

Singh put the tray down, and handed her the envelope. He then left. Once the door was closed, Briar slipped off the bed covers and stood. Seconds after opening the envelope, her face burst into a radiant smile. Without putting on robe or slippers, she ran and opened the door and saw the Sikh at the top of the stairs.

“Singh!...We must hurry! Get Hattie up here to help me dress. We have a case! Ready the carriage. Oh... and Mr. Dupuis wants us to bring the Murder Trunk!”

“He must be livid we’re not there yet.......” she thought.

Armand snapped his watch closed. “Where is she? It’s nearly nine.”

“Now, Mr. Dupuis......don’t be harsh on Miss Gasdsen.....she surely puts up with more vexations from you.” Detective Sanderson was one of the few local policemen Armand could stand. He was of an upstanding family and had a degree from Yale. He had forgone a career in the family law firm to devote himself to the forensic arts.

Dupuis simply made a gruff noise. Sanderson continued.

“You’re right though, time is a tad dear. The note from Commissioner Roosevelt will keep my fellows away from the crime scene a while longer.......but not forever. The boys aren’t too happy about you stealing the Department’s thunder. How’d you get it, anyway. It’s not like Teddy....I mean Commissioner Roosevelt....to do favors for the Pinkertons and their like.

“Theodore doesn’t care a wit about the Pinkertons. He does care about the Department becoming something more than a gaggle of corrupt brutes.. He sees men like me......and perhaps you, as the future of applied forensic science.”

Dupuis wrote some notes then kneeled, next to the closest corpse. It was one of the Pinkerton boys. Dupuis uncovered the face, which was frozen in a horrible rictus. “Curare derivative.”, he muttered.

He was in the process of standing when he noticed something by gate. He strolled over and crouched again. He seemed transfixed by something in the mud. Sanderson watched him.

“Find something, Dupuis?”

Before he could answer, a carriage pulled up to the gate. A patrolman called out: “Look lads....the circus has arrived”. This caused a gale of laughter from the assembled cops and newsmen on the street. Then, some whistled wolf calls could be heard.

Soon Briar and Singh strode through the gate. The giant carried the large, wooden Murder Trunk on his shoulder without exertion. Briar was radiant in her white blouse and black skirt.

Dupuis stood, and put his hands on his hips.

“You took your time.”

Singh looked guilty, but Briar smiled and approached Detective Sanderson. “Good Morning, Detective ” She took his hand in greeting.

The young policeman blushed. “Good morning......and Good Morning to you, Mr. Singh. Thank you both for your assistance”. Singh bowed.

The policeman continued. “May I compliment Miss on her lovely dress.”

Dupuis barely hid his annoyance, Sanderson always looked at Briar like a lovesick puppy. It distracted her and the young policeman from the task at hand, Armand told himself.

“You certainly may....but what tragedy is here?” She looked down at the horrid corpse. After a moment, she turned to Armand. “Obviously, Curare, or some derivative.”

Armand nodded his head. “Yes, my thought as well.”

Sanderson added:”I don’t know who I pity more, these dead here or the live ones up at Bellevue Hospital.”

Briar sharply turned her head. “Bellevue....Are you saying there’s still some alive? Good Lord, Armand!”

He looked blankly at her. Singh was now glaring at Dupuis, as well.

“Armand, for Heaven’s sake, remember when we were attacked by the Juku Tribe.....when we had to save Singh?” (The Mysteries of Armand Dupuis #17: Murder in the Amazon)

Dupuis sighed, then took out his small pad and pencil and begun to furiously scribble. When he finished, Briar snatched the pad and tore the note.

“Have one of your boys get this to Bellevue Hospital with alacrity. There still may be time to save those poor wretches. Tell your man to ask for Dr. Sidney Bronstein...he’s a dear friend...Tell him it’s from Armand and myself....he’ll take it from there.”

As Sanderson ran , Briar glared at Dupuis, who continued studying the ground, Finally, he muttered:

“What?.....I was focused on solving this crime, as you should be, if I might say.“ Armand’s voice was defiant.

She shook her head. “Armand, we have spoken on this.....saving the victims is more important than solving the crime.”

Dupuis had no response, and hung his head like a petulant child. He skulked about, still looking at the ground.

Sanderson returned. “It’s done, Miss Gasdsen. Thank you. But we should begin. There’s a lot of reporters out there, and they’re egging the boys on......”

The four went into the museum. Soon, they were in the gallery. It seemed the same as it had been, except the display case was empty.

Dupuis broke the silence. “Singh......I need the Aluminum Powder.” Singh put the Murder Trunk down, undid the four latches, and retrieved a bottle and a small brush. Armand took only the bottle.

“I say, Old Man, I can dust the case later.” Sanderson said

Armand ignored the policeman and kneeled. He opened the bottle, poured some dust onto his palm, then blew it onto the floor.

A bare foot print materialized on the floor. Singh handed a second bottle to Sanderson. Soon the floor all around the display case was covered with the dust. Many more foot prints were revealed.

“How’d you know these would be here?” Sanderson kneeled to look closer.

“I found similar prints in the mud outside, while you two prattled on about Briar’s dress.” He returned his attention to the floor.

“So the perpetrator goes about unshod.” Briar was now also looking down.

Sanderson answered her. “Perpetrators, Miss Gasdsen. There’s at least three sets of distinct prints.”

“More than that, Sanderson. Including the prints I found outside, I estimate five to six girls.”

Sanderson looked at him agape. “Wait.....Mr. Dupuis, did you say ‘girls’?”

“That’s exactly what he said, sir”, Briar answered. Singh, on one knee and staring at a print, nodded his head emphatically in accord with Armand.

Dupuis began his lecture. “The narrow width of the feet, the high arch......the gender is beyond question. Furthermore, none show signs of the malformation created by female shoe fashion, so I’d wager that none have reached thirty years. So yes, Sanderson, a gang of five to six ‘girls’. And, I might say, an especially well disciplined and trained set of girls.”

Armand’s voice grew thoughtful, as if he was now talking to himself.

“One pair, armed most likely with native blow darts, eliminated the guards. Another pair worked to disable the electrical alarms. The last two procured the Eye of Morgana, ignoring all the other treasures.”

His reverie was broken by Sanderson’s laugh. “Forgive me, Mr. Dupuis........but you must see how preposterous that sounds. A gang of young women overpowered a gaggle of Pinkerton men, then defeated the most modern electrical defences known to Man. And if that was not enough, these ladies did all of this with their tender bare feet.”

Singh shook his huge head side to side. Briar spoke for the giant.

“Sir.......Even as we witness the turn of a new century, many of the females of this world still find themselves barefooted for much of their sad lives.”

“No disrespect, Miss Gasdsen, nor to you, Mr. Singh.....but this is Manhattan, not Punjab.”

Armand had heard enough. “Sanderson.....you are a competent policeman, but you won’t be anything more than that until you stop seeing things as you think they should be, and instead, see them as they actually are.”

Outside the museum, amidst the throng of newsmen kept across the boulevard, a tall, gaunt man in a cheap pinstripe suit stood slightly apart. A straw hat covered his balding head, and his face was framed by fierce red mutton chops that united in a bushy mustache. While most of the newspapermen made jokes amongst themselves and the cops, the tall man intently watched the museum windows. Soon flashes of photography burst through the windows.

After a time, Dupuis and the Sikh emerged, the giant carrying the large trunk. The man forced his way to the front. He was rewarded as he found himself directly across from the blonde beauty as she waited to step into the carriage.

The odd man smiled wickedly, turned and walked away from the throng.