Marcia chose a stunning black evening gown of lush velvet, enticingly low cut to the valley of her bosom and with dйcolletй almost to her waist; the gown was sleeveless and had a split skirt, with a long train bordered with ermine. Her arms were sheathed by Marie in wine-hued half gloves, which ended at her rounded elbows; three-inch-heeled black suede pumps with rhinestone buckles and flesh-colored exquisite silk hose, gossamer and fragile as the sensuous imagination could conceive, adorned her dainty feet and svelte, provocative legs.
As evening approached, Marcia grew more and more out of temper and caused her mother to have a fit of hysterical tears-fatigued by her labors in preparing this spoiled daughter for her elaborate coming-out party, Mrs. Thomaston was chagrined by Marcia’s rudeness and utter contempt for the trouble she had taken.
At last the hour came for the party to leave. Mr. and Mrs. Thomaston and Marcia, stunningly attired, left their apartment and descended in the elevator to the street, where their two town cars awaited them.
Marie also followed, for she had been given the evening off and, bidding them a cordial au revoir, got into a taxi waiting nearby and was soon driven off.
The parents got into the black limousine ahead, the younger chauffeur bowing them in politely, Marcia entered the Cadillac behind.
The limousine started and drove off in the direction of the Waldorf-Astoria; but Marcia noted that her chauffeur, who had his coat collar turned up in the shadows-for he had neglected to put on his partition lights-did not follow the lead.
Taking the speaking tube in her gloved hand, she impatiently said, “What are you waiting for, Henry?”
“Nothing, miss… just a moment…
“Well, be quick about it!”
“Yes, miss-we’re off now.”
Strange-his voice, coming back to her over the apparatus, did not quite ring true-Oh well, it must be her nerves; she was irritated at the whole affair;
Another little bother like this and she’d call off the debut; that would make good copy in the papers-”Wealthy Debutante Spurns Own Debut!”
At last the Cadillac drove off, following the route of the limousine.
But hardly had it come onto Second Avenue when, instead of taking the turn at Bellevue Drive, it swung off to the right, gathering speed.
Marcia’s irritation grew. Picking up the tube, she exclaimed, “This isn’t the way to the Waldorf, you fool! I’ll be late!”
“Not at all, Miss Marcia… the party won’t start without you” came back a suave voice but… was that Henry’s voice she heard? She could not be certain.
Presently the Cadillac swung off a side street, then to the highway en route to New Jersey.
By now Marcia was not so annoyed as uneasy; again she picked up the tube and exclaimed, “Where the devil are you going, Henry? I command you to take me to the Waldorf!”
A click-the chauffeur had turned off the mechanism controlling the tube so that she could neither speak nor hear.
And, pressing his, foot on the accelerator, he drove on down the highway, steadfast, not deigning to look back.
She grasped the handle of the door-to her consternation, she found it locked!
She was trapped-and where was this maniac taking her?
Now she was no longer disdainful or bored, but afraid and that emotion she had never before experienced; it struck at her perfect aloofness and aplomb with tenuous fingers of chilling portent.
She began to hammer on, the glass partition that separated her from the chauffeur; he did not notice her in the slightest, but, if anything, quickened his speed.
And so, she, tense, watching the.road, pounding against the glass, futilely trying to turn the handle, was being carried off-a prisoner in her own car, abducted by her own chauffeur.
The car sped on… night fell, adding to her anxiety, for now the driver turned the car off at a juncture of the highway and pursued a one way road hidden by great trees and bushes and, the darkness and mysterious quality of the unknown that lay ahead made her more and more apprehensive.
At last the Cadillac drew up before a lonely house, set off by a picket fence: a wooden structure, of three stories, antiquated… and yet, there were sumptuous red velvet curtains in the windows; here and there she saw the suggestion of light.
What was this house and why had she been taken to it?
The door of the house opened. She saw two men, rough-looking, uncouth individuals, make for the car.
The chauffeur got out, his cap pulled over his face, coat collar still turned up and the two men went up to him; words were exchanged and one of the men gesticulated toward Marcia; she, petrified with apprehension, watched through the window of the Cadillac.
Then, to her growing uneasiness, she saw the men advance to the door of the car; one, taking a key handed him by the chauffeur, opened the lock, then swung wide the door; his companion thrust his head into the car and in a harsh voice, growled, “O.K., baby, this is it! Get out and hurry it up!”
Marcia gasped. Used all her life to honeyed words, to obsequious deference to her slightest whims, she was taken aback by the uncouth address-and when she recovered her assurance, it was to rely on:her iciest tone, with which she had crushed many an insulting headwaiter at New York’s finest establishments. “How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice, you-you boor!” ~The fellow, whose head peered in at her, laughed and, turning to his companion, mockingly commented, “Uppity little bitch, ain’t she? She’ll give the customers a real treat, eh, Joe?”
“Let’s get her out, so’s I can take a look and tell,” said his companion.
“Are ya gonna come out, or do I hafta drag you by the hair?”
“Wh-what!” Marcia could not believe her ears.
Without waiting for her to affectatiously assume an expression of outraged dignity, the first ruffian reached in and grasped her by the wrist.
“Let-let go of me… if I must get out, I can manage for myself!” she exclaimed, her heart constricting at the loathsome contact.
“Let’s go, then! Get that frame of yours out and no tricks,” warned the ruffian.
And, her head held high, she got out of the car, with haughty manner, her gloved hand holding her skirt daintily, her fur wrap thrown dashingly around her slim shoulders.
She looked around, trying to learn her whereabouts. This section was totally unfamiliar to her. The two men stood close by, but her chauffeur had already disappeared into the house.
Joe, the older of the two, who had stood outside the car while his companion took charge of Marcia, now menaced her with his hand buried in his overcoat pocket. “Up the stairs, sister,” he growled.
Marcia, realizing that compliance was the most sensible policy, obeyed, the two men walking behind her.
As she advanced up the wooden stairway, Bill, the younger man, murmured to Joe, “Classy gams the gal’s got… wonder who’s gonna be the first to start her off? The Boss, maybe, huh?”
“Close your trap,” harshly whispered his comrade; but Marcia had made out some of the interchange and her uneasiness mounted.
When she reached the porch, Joe went ahead of her, while Bill stayed behind, on guard; Joe rang the bell and the door was at once opened by a buxom, stern-faced woman, dressed, curiously enough, in an evening gown, with diamond pendants sparkling from her ears; her face was rouged and powdered to hide the ravages of the years. Marcia at once felt a vague distaste creep over her in the presence of this witch.
The two men slipped around her, closing the door and stood, hands in their coat pockets; Marcia was now convinced she was the victim of a kidnapping plot and her old insolence returned to her.
The woman confronted her, her eyes intent on the lavish sable coat, the air of outraged dignity, the seemingly invulnerable hauteur Of the young debutante.
Marcia, collecting her cool poise, began, “I suppose you must be in charge of this gang, Madame-”
“Madame-that’s a hot one,” guffawed Bill, but Joe angrily murmured, “Can it, you sap!”