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Re: London Life. Tales

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14 Oct 2018, 19:42

London Life
London Life | 1933
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The Strange Experiences Of A Lover
by Wallace Stort
In the three preceding articles of this series the narrator, "Marcel," a Frenchman now residing in London, told how he discovered in himself the love for limbless beauty, and then went on to describe his many strange experiences encountered in Paris. Among these was his meeting with Zelie, a young, chic and sophisticated Parisienne with only one leg. Zelie appeared to know all about his monopedic weakness, and naturally took a certain keen delight in encouraging it. Marcel playfully accused her of herself having fancies of a similar character; but Zelie did not agree, attributing her own point of view to the force of peculiar circumstances. She then went on to explain her meaning by telling her own story, with which the present article opens.
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Zelie was barely ten years old, she told me, when, as she walked with her mother along a Paris street, a motor-car, out of control, mounted the pavement, killed two of the crowd, and severely injured her mother and herself. Her mother recovered without any personal hurt, but little Zelie's left foot was so badly crushed that it had to be amputated near the hip.
To a child of ten — particularly if she is, as Zelie was, a happy, carefree child — the loss of a leg is not, for the time being at any rate, a very terrible affair. It can, in fact, have its exciting and amusing sides. The child, for example, can even get a good deal of fun out of being one-legged, the using of crutches, the hopping about, etc. Zelie confessed that she did; and she was even the envy of other little girls she played with, and they used to ask her to lend them her crutches in order to play at being one-legged. So, instead of being depressed, she had the satisfaction of being different from her little friends, and perhaps in some odd little way superior. And she grew up very happily, quite unconcerned far the most part about her loss.
But when she began to enter her teens things looked rather different. She was still a very cheerful girl, and had come to take her one-legged condition as naturally as she accepted the fact that she was blonde and exceptionally pretty. But she had to realise that, pretty as she was, she was looked upon as only a cripple, and that such very pleasant things as "boys," for instance, were not for her. This really did depress her.
She was naturally the type of girl that would ordinarily attracted boys and that frankly wanted boys to be attracted. But she had to recognise the unpleasant facts and to do her best to face these facts as courageously as she was able.
Something in her nature, some stubborn coil of pride, prompted her, instead of retiring hurt and crushed, to face the world with a "don't care a hang, you can't hurt me" attitude. She had always been fond of dress; now she dressed in smartest and most daring way, always in the vein of fashion. Her frocks, her little single shoes, her heels, her crutches, were all of the most noticeable kind. And certainly she attracted attention and a good deal of comment. "Fancy a one-legged girl making such a display of herself!" was the burden of most of the talk that came to her ears.
Every now and then she could not help the curious, very exciting certainty that she was often being followed. There came to her the thrilling possibility that perhaps one day someone might be attracted to her and fall in love with her in spite of her being one-legged. But for some time nothing came of such pursuit or of her hopes.
And then one day when she was about eighteen a boy followed her persistently and finally spoke to her. He proved to be a boy from the South staying in Paris for a fortnight — a good-looking, very pleasant youth of about her own age. Zelie, tremendously excited, agreed to meet him; and it was after the second meeting that he confessed that he was attracted to her not in spite of the fact that she was a lame duck, but because of it!
He did his best to explain, but Zelie could only think him at the very least eccentric, and probably a little mad. But it so delighted and comforted her to be taken about by a charming boy, who at any rate did not look upon her as an object of pity, that she shut her eyes to his queerness and kept him by her side.
She was quite certain, however, that there could not be anybody else in the world with his extraordinary outlook, and when he eventually left Paris it never entered her head that she ever would come across anyone else with the same strange fancy.
Curiously enough she had her second experience within two or three months. This time her admirer was a well-to-do man about town very much older than herself. To Zelie's amazement, he, too, confessed to having exactly the same views; and not only that, but he told her that he knew other men who had the same abnormal outlook. Incidentally, Zelie parted with this particular admirer over a point of difference concerning her misfortune. But from this time onward, Zelie knew that this extraordinary limbless beauty kink not only existed but was to be encountered with comparative frequency.
The knowledge made a great difference in her life. She now knew that she was not altogether doomed to a solitary, unloved life, but that certain types of men would always find her attractive. She began to look forward to meeting such men, in fact to look out for possible admirers as she swung gracefully along the streets on her crutches. She began to take a greater interest in her own one-legged condition, to take more pains than ever to display her charms to the best advantage. Her pretty single leg actually assumed greater importance in her eyes.
It was extraordinary how many men she met during the next eight years who confessed to her charm for them sooner or later. Some wanted her to wear an artificial leg or even a peg-leg, which she resolutely refused to do, as the idea did not appeal to her.
One admirer made her many presents of expensive jewellery, rings necklaces, bracelets, earrings, anklets, etc., including a specially made thin, jewelled circlet to be worn on her shortened limb, all of which he liked her to wear when in his company.
There was even a diversity of idiosyncrasies in connection with her crutches, some liking her to use a pair of crutches on all occasions, some preferring a single crutch, while others liked her to discard the crutches altogether when indoors.
During her friendship with the boy mentioned above, her crutches were all packed away for the time being, and Zelie either hopped or he carried her whenever she wanted to move.
It was while she was revealing to me these intriguing little by-ways of affection that I understood why she had asked me in the taxi whether I preferred her to have a stump or not, and later, in the flat, whether I should like her to use a single crutch or no crutch at all. She was simply ascertaining what were my peculiar idiosyncrasies in this matter.
"And so you see, darling," she said as she concluded her most interesting and very revealing account, "you can hardly convict me of having a kink in just the same way as you have. I agree that I recognise its existence, and even that I get a great deal of pleasure out of indulging in it; but, as I said, this attitude of mine has arisen from circumstances outside myself. I am pretty, I am one-legged -— and because of that I have discovered, I confess very gladly, that I am attractive to certain people. I have simply taken advantage of that very fortunate and intriguing discovery, that is all."
I had to agree with her, at any rate in the main. But, all the same, serious little unanswered queries were floating through my mind.
"Tell me, Zelie," I asked, putting one of them into words, "doesn't it seem apparent to you that you have at last actually come to prefer to be a monopede?" She shot a little sideways glance at me and smiled.
"I shouldn't say that altogether," she replied slowly. "I don't know what I should say if I were offered a really new flesh and blood leg -— probably I should grab it thankfully with both hands. But as that is an impossibility, I can confess that I do not now mind in the least being as I am. In fact, to be candid, I do get a decided 'kick' out of it. I certainly get a real thrill when I attract someone, knowing that he is fascinated by my one and only limb. And the fact that my stump is another of my charms has naturally resulted in my becoming -— well, rather fond of it and perhaps foolishly vain about it."
She suddenly sat up and pinched my cheek between her fingers. "And that will do in the way of intimate confessions for the time being," she said. "Heaven knows what you'll get me to agree to if you keep on asking questions. If it gives you a thrill, chere, to feel convinced that I thoroughly enjoy being one-legged, well, for goodness sake, feel convinced. I'll whisper one thing in your ear, at any rate, darling. I do thoroughly enjoy being one-legged when Fate sends me such a nice boy as yourself! Now, isn't that perfectly sweet of me?"
Well, that was the manner of my meeting with Zelie and the beginning of one of the most charming and intimate friendships of my life, a friendship that has lasted, I am glad to say, to this day.
We went about a good deal together to restaurants, theatres, pictures and all the rest, and all the time Zelie certainly saw to it that I was kept interested and thrilled by this intriguing friendship of mine with a pretty one-legged girl.
It was all very well for her to maintain, as she had done so vigorously, that she herself had not her own particular kink; but certainly her attitude towards her own misfortune could not be called entirely normal.
All her frocks at this time, for example, were undoubtedly designed for display. They were all formfitting sheaths, tight, and daringly short. Her outdoor frocks barely reached the knee, and very few of her indoor gowns came as low as that; and beneath them she wore with her silk stocking only the briefest of silk or lace trunks.
She had one or two frocks -— or so-called frocks -— that she wore even when other visitors besides myself were present, that took one's breath away. The skirts were little more than the briefest frills about her hips.
I was always conscious of Zelie's appearance when she was walking with me in the streets, either on a pair of crutches or on a single crutch; and I felt that passers-by could not help but notice it.
All this has reference to what I may call Zelie's public display among her friends in the house or any stranger in the street. No matter where she was, she was completely unembarrassed about the way her loss was constantly revealed; and, in fact, as I have suggested, she obviously assisted in the process of revelation.
When we were alone together, however, she naturally indulged her love of display much more frankly. She was fond of lounging about in my presence in various airy negligees, some of them even more daringly revealing than the one in which I had first seen her, and worn over the flimsiest wisps of lingerie. They usually clung very precariously to her shapely figure, often floating like a soft, fleecy cloud from her shoulders. And it was amusing to observe how inevitably the little rounded broken limb, clad in its sock of transparent silk, was in evidence, and how obviously delighted Zelie was when I showed my interest in it and made approving references to its charm and shapeliness.
I would also often find her in the daintiest and most delicately fragile of silken or lacey pyjamas; and, I don't quite know why, but there was something extraordinarily intriguing in the way the slack, empty left pyjama leg floated airily as she hopped about.
There was certainly no doubt at all that she took a very keen delight in all these little tricks of hers, and it almost seemed as if she were constantly thinking out new tricks with which to astonish her friends.
I remember one evening when she was entertaining a little crowd of gay friends, that she took everybody's breath away, including my own, by appearing in a skin-tight, barely knee-length evening frock of most daringly open and delicate black lace, beneath which, it was most embarrassingly apparent, she wore only close fitting cami-trunks and hip-length stockings of the thinnest and palest nude silk.
I can see her now as she entered, swinging along with that languorous, slinky sway of hers, upon a single, very slender, white and silver "pole" crutch, a tiny, very open black satin slipper with an amazingly high stilt heel on her little foot, and the taut lace of her marvellous and revealing frock fully outlining the oval of her shortened limb.
Well, I could go on giving all kinds of fascinating details about Zelie and her doings, but I feel I have already devoted an inordinate amount of space to her, and that I had better get on to other, I hope, equally interesting experiences.
I am not, however, going to dismiss her altogether from my narrative, as it was though her that I had some of my most intriguing encounters. As I listed at intervals I was able to gather that she had made the acquaintance of one or two other limbless girls in Paris, but for a long time I was unable to get any further than that.
It was, perhaps, understandable that Zelie was not going out of her way to introduce a boy like myself, susceptible as I was to such influences, and whenever I broached the subject of her girl friends she always became completely non-committal in an amusingly feminine way.
But he matter was taken out of her hands in an unforeseen manner, as I hope soon to relate.
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London Life March 25, 1933 pp. 22 — 23
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London Life | 1933


London Life
London Life | 1933
________________________________________
The Strange Experiences Of A Lover
by Wallace Stort
In the preceding articles in this series the narrator, "Marcel," a Frenchman now living in London, confessed the strange attraction which beautiful monopede girls had for him, and went on to describe his experiences with them in Paris. Among those he met was Zelie, a pretty, chic, sophisticated Parisienne, with whom he fell in love. Zelie admitted that she knew other limbless girls in Paris, but naturally did not go out of her way to introduce Marcel to any of them. But matters were taken out of her hands in an unforeseen manner, as will be seen in the present narrative.
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One evening when I paid a visit to Zelie's flat I found a visitor there. He was a man of something over thirty, dark, handsome, well-groomed. He was introduced to me by Zelie, with a tiny frown and just the slightest shrug of her tiny shoulders, as M. Georges Laroche. (I substitute another name for the actual one she gave me, by the way.)
M. Laroche was very friendly, and he appeared to know quite a lot about myself, though he obviously had not known my name prior to our introduction. I guessed correctly that Zelie's new "boy" had been talked about among her friends, and that was how he had come to know about me. As we chatted and smoked over our drinks, I regarded M. Laroche with unobtrusive interest. Had he also the "kink" and was he one of Zelie's old admirers? He was certainly very charming to Zelie, in spite of her apparent lack of warmth; but then that is second nature to a Frenchman. However, I was soon to learn all about him, for when he rose to go he invited us both to dinner for a couple of days later.
"I shan't take a refusal," he said with laughing persistence when Zelie started to make halting excuses. "Denise sent me especially to dig you out. She says you haven't been near her for centuries, and she is not going to allow you to become completely selfish. Besides," he added, sending an amused glance in my direction, "she wants to meet your Marcel, and thinks it's high time he was on view. So Friday night, at seven -— and don't be late. The thing's fixed, absolute."
Zelie knew when it was time to capitulate; and, to do her justice, she did so quite sportingly.
"Very well, mon cher Georges," she said with a laugh, "we'll be along on Friday evening exactly at seven, just to show you. And if Denise thinks for one little moment that I am frightened of her, tell her to think again!"
"She doesn't think you are frightened," purred Laroche, grinning maliciously. "She knows you are!"
Then he made quickly for the door just as Zelie, kicking off her high-heeled slipper, jumped up from the couch on which she had been sitting and hopped swiftly after him on her little silk stockinged foot.
He was out of the flat and had the door banged behind him before she could reach him, but she was still laughing as she surrendered herself confidingly to my arms and let me carry her, in a close embrace, back to the couch.
"And who is Denise, darling?" I asked. "And why exactly should you be frightened of her?"
"Denise, sweetheart, is Madame Laroche, George's wife," explained Zelie. "And Madame Laroche is a very beautiful woman, and though a very dear friend of mine, she is just a little bit of a vamp. You see, I haven't taken you along to meet her, and so she suggests, or Georges does, that I was afraid to do so -— which is, of course, absurd. She isn't your type at all."
I wasn't so sure that it was as absurd as Zelie made out, but I agreed with her whole-heartedly. I speculated, however, on the intriguing little problem: If Madame Laroche wasn't my type, what particular type was she? And I looked forward to meeting her with a great deal of interest.
The Laroches, I found, had a very charming villa a few kilometres beyond Neuilly, a very pleasant north-western suburb of Paris. Laroche was obviously well-to-do; for the house, though termed, after the French fashion, a "villa," was a large one standing in its own extensive and very beautiful grounds and run by a perfect retinue of servants.
Zelie and I were admitted by a pretty, neatly attired maid, and as we were handing over our outer things Laroche himself hurried hospitably into the beautifully appointed hall to greet us. Exchanging laughing banter with Zelie, whom he obviously delighted to tease, and getting from her, by the way, quite as good as he gave, he led the way into a small salon, a very bright, typically French room, exquisitely decorated and furnished throughout in cream and gold. And here, awaiting us, was Madame Laroche.
I could not help but be immediately attracted and impressed, for Madame was indeed a very lovely woman. She was quite young — in fact, I was surprised to find her so young. Laroche was, I suppose, about thirty-five; but Denise was only about Zelie's age, not more than twenty-three or twenty-four.
She was a very delicate pink and white blonde, her beautiful, miraculously coiffured hair so flaxen as to be almost white. Nowadays she would be called a platinum blonde, but bleaching to that extent was unknown at that time, and Denise's wonderful hair was quite natural.
She was most strikingly clad in an evening frock of pure white clinging velvet, shaped to the figure on princess lines which, leaving the lovely arms and lovely shoulders very completely revealed in all their white and enticing beauty, moulded her shapely body in a glove-tight, smooth-fitting sheath.
A few gleaming rings on the slim, dainty fingers, and a single rope of very fine pearls encircling the perfect throat, was all the jewellery she wore.
This lovely, smiling vision greeted us with an outstretched hand of welcome from the nest of cushions in which she was ensconced on a very ornate couch; it was the somewhat odd fact that she did not rise to receive us that gave me the first hint that there was anything out of the ordinary about her. When, however, I reached the couch and bent to kiss the slender, white hand she held out to me, I was immediately aware -— and the knowledge shook me with a sudden shattering thrill of astonishing truth.
The beautiful frock was lying in fact unusually long for that particular period when even frocks where daringly short, and was, for example, in notable contrast with Zelie's striking evening frock, which did actually reach the rounded knee of her single, shapely leg.
But this exceptional length and the skin-tight fitting of the very thin, supple velvet to the perfect figure, only heightened the extraordinary effect. For after closely moulding the slim hips and the shapely, rounded thighs, the clinging velvet of the skirt, at a point about five of six inches below the hips suddenly narrowed to slender vacancy and fell in a flat, shimmering cascade, quite slack and empty, to the edge of the couch.
Considering all the preliminary it had been natural, before I met Madame Laroche, for me to suspect that she, too, like Zelie, had only one leg. I had been more or less prepared for such an eventuality. But I certainly had not expected to find that the lovely Denise had no legs at all! Yet that was the patent, startling fact, made all the more evident by the cunning, subtly revealing way in which her frock was fashioned. Below the hips, the thin, clinging velvet, just before falling emptily over the edge of the couch, fitted so snugly and revealed that she was devoid of nether limbs.
I had naturally very often speculated on what might be my attitude, if ever I met a beautiful girl entirely without lower limbs. I was not prepared to say that such a girl would attract me as strongly as would a pretty one-legged girl. Perhaps, in fact, she might not attract me at all. The display of the single leg below a short skirt, the magnetic appeal here always was in the contemplation of a perfectly fitting silk stocking and with the added appeal of the small, neat, only foot in a dainty, high heeled slipper, the various fascinating incidentals such as the expert use of neat, slender crutches or the even more expert accomplishment of being able to dispense with crutches altogether and hop blithely and smoothly an a single little foot -— all were very important facets of the strange inexplicable attraction onelegged girls had for me.
There could be none of those alluring characteristics about a girl entirely legless, however beautiful she were, and so it was highly probable that such a girl would make no appeal to me whatever.
But emotions are strange, incomprehensible things and one can never be sure how they will react to certain stimuli. I was absolutely astonished at the strength of my feeling when I made that unexpected discovery and my eyes gazed for the first time on the unfinished beauty of Denise Laroche.
I was able, thank goodness, to hide my feelings to a great extent by busying myself with Zelie, taking her crutches, seeing her comfortably seated on the couch by Madame Laroche's side, and other little offices of that kind. And I know that Zelie, though she naturally sensed my interest in Denise, had, happily, no idea how hard hit I was.
But even while busying myself in this way, my eyes, in spite of myself, were all the time drawn, as by some magnet, to that slim, white-and-gold, half-goddess, smiling in such friendly fashion at Zelie's side. She had, by the way, laughingly made room for Zelie on the couch, and she had done this by simply pushing herself easily on her hands and moving her beautiful shapely torso sideways with a supple swing.
But as we sat and chatted together, drinking a pre-dinner sherry, I was, thankfully, able to give tolerable imitation of an ordinary, rational human being, and nobody noticed my disturbed condition.
I had another odd, inexplicable thrill when, after dinner had been announced, Laroche tenderly took Denise's lovely half body into his arms, kissing her soft cheek as he did so, and carried her into the dining room, the supple folds of the white velvet frock as they hung emptily, practically from the hips, giving her a curious resemblance to a baby in his arms.
And during dinner as I talked and laughed with Denise with as much control as I could muster, I was filled with a queer excitement, simply because, though I could now see only her body above the table from about the waist upwards, I was all the time acutely conscious that below the table, the skirts of her frock were hanging emptily over the end of the chair, concealing all she possessed in the way of lower limbs. The point is perhaps subtle, and I don't know whether I have made it plain or not. In any case, the whole basis of the thrill is quite inexplicable.
Now I want to make it quite plain at the outset that Zelie was exaggerating in the way a woman will, when she said that Denise was a little bit of a vamp. Actually she was not. Also she was very much in love with her husband, who had fallen in love and married Denise.
There was no "affaire" between Denise and myself during the long period of our acquaintanceship. Candidly, though I was still very much in love with Zelie and had no desire at all to break with her, I was at the same time tremendously attracted by Denise.
But Denise had no feelings of that kind for me at all. She was very interested in me and delightfully friendly because I had a kink similar of that of her husband's and she was highly intrigued by my frank interest in her.
I was quite aware, for example, that many of her little tricks, very similar to those employed by Zelie, were designed to draw my attention to them. And she would make all kinds of frank, yet playful, references to her condition, about which she was just as completely unconcerned as Zelie.
I was also granted the privilege of carrying her about -— though, of course, as she preferred to move about the house in somebody's arms, she would quite frankly ask anybody to carry her when her husband or her personal maid were not available.
But though Zelie might still have been convinced that Denise was "vamping" me, I knew better. Georges Laroche was her king, the man who had changed her, as with a magician's wand, from a pathetic little cripple, whose extraordinary loveliness had made her helpless condition only more wretched and hopeless, into the happy and adored wife, whose very helplessness had become one of her greatest charms, a condition to be vain of rather than weep over.
Chapter II.
THE ROMANCE OF DENISE.
Zelie told me the story of the romance of Denise and Georges, and a most interesting and charming one it was. At the age of eighteen, Denise, then a beautiful mannequin in a famous Paris couturiers, was involved, while travelling to the coast on holiday, in one of those dreadful railway smashes that occur, with such terrible frequency, on the French State railways. There was a shocking list of dead and injured, and poor Denise awoke in hospital to find both her beautiful legs amputated within a few inches of the hips.
It is not surprising that as soon as she was well enough to realise her condition, the first thing she did was to attempt to commit suicide. But she was restrained, and at last left hospital, her life finished, a hopeless, helpless, legless cripple with no interest in anything and only a longing to die. She still had, however, a splendid, adoring mother, who nursed her back to both physical and mental health, and managed to bring back a little cheerfulness into her life.
It was her mother, too, who instituted the proceedings about a year after the accident, against the railway company that were to lead to such a tremendous change in Denise's life and outlook.
Incidentally, Denise was granted compensation, a wretched sum enough, as it is usually in France, but something to live on. But this action for compensation had other and astonishing effects. It was attended by a good deal of publicity, for example.
Photographs of her in court and being carried from the court in her mother's arms, as well as others specially taken of her in her wheelchair and on her couch, appeared not only in Paris papers but in a number of foreign ones. One in particular, which was published in an American paper, was faked to show her in a skirtless costume resting an a low, cushioned stool, and giving the impression that she had not even stumps below the hips.
Denise learnt about these accounts and photographs in foreign newspapers in an extraordinary way. She received more than fifty letters from all over the world, some of them expressing sympathy. One was from a girl who had lost all four limbs in a railway accident. But most of them were from men, a good many of them proposed marriage! It was from an American admirer that she received the cutting of the faked photograph, by the way.
But the most important outcome of the whole strange business was that a certain M. Georges Laroche, young, well-to-do, charming, made a point of calling at her home. He called again and again. Gradually Denise began to look at life through different eyes. There seemed to be still some happiness left in the world for her. The love affair -— for that was what the friendship had became -— developed. At last Georges asked her to marry him.
But now Denise was troubled. She was little more than a beautiful trunk of a woman. Georges, no doubt fascinated by her beauty, had allowed himself to forget that she was only a cripple and that he would have to live his life with a helpless wife. One day he would realise the truth.
She told Zelie that one day, during that agonising period, she wheeled herself in her chair to a long mirror in her bedroom and gazed at her reflection in the mirror and broke down completely.
"He will have to see my stumps," she told herself through her tears, "and that will be the end!"
The poor girl mustered up sufficient courage to tell Georges that she could not marry him. But she reckoned without Georges. In the end, in reply to his persistent question, she had to tell him why.
"You don't seem to realise at all that I am completely legless," she began and unburdened her soul of her fears.
Georges was simply laughing; was still laughing as he lifted her from her chair and swung her in his arms so swiftly that she had to cry out to him to be careful or he might drop her!
"Why, you poor, darling little idiot," he cried as he held her close, "why do you think I sought you out in the first place? Wasn't I able to read in the newspapers that you were legless? Didn't all your photographs make it only too plain? Didn't every headline shout out the fact, and every paragraph enlarge upon it? My dear, darling little imbecile, I came just because you were so! Your beauty completed your conquest of my heart, but though you will think me utterly crazy, the actual candid truth is that your greatest charm for me is that very helplessness about which you are so troubled. So dry your eyes, dearest, and forget all your silly little worries. It's going to be my job to teach you an entirely new way of looking at things. I want to bring back happiness to your life and laughter to your eyes and lips. I want to care for you and love you and keep you from all harm. And I want you to get it right into your lovely but silly little head that if you were not as you are and in the way you are I, with this queer kink of mine, would not have taken the slightest interest in you. There you are. There you have the whole extraordinary truth. The trouble may be, of course, that you may think me too utterly crazy to have anything more to do with me. But I have to risk that."
Naturally Denise did not think him crazy. But she was also very much in love. Moreover, as she confessed to Zelie, she discovered, during the days that followed, that the knowledge that Georges found her helplessness attractive had power to send tiny thrills of happiness through her, even though she was still a little frightened about the whole amazing situation.
Then came the day when Georges brought the engagement ring. The beautiful, expensive thing was placed upon Denise's finger to the accompaniment of passionate kisses, mingled with her tears of sheer happiness. And then Georges, with a little secret smile, produced something else -— two beautiful glittering things that looked like bracelets, each of fine, gold, jewelled chain work, made in the form of a very thin, flexible strap about half an inch wide, with a jewelled clasp.
As Denise, with a little cry of delight, took them in her hands, she saw that they were considerably larger than ordinary bracelets.
"But what are they?" she asked doubtfully. "Necklaces?"
"No," said Georges, still smiling. "As a matter of fact, they are also engagement rings." And, ignoring her bewilderment, he went on, "You see, darling, this is no ordinary engagement; if I may say so, it isn't every day that a lovely, legless girl, is engaged to be married, and there really ought to be something more than an ordinary engagement ring to mark the wonderful occasion. I have placed the ring on your finger as the outward and public sign of our engagement. These" -— as he took the glittering, jewelled straps from her -— "these are to be our own secret engagement tokens, and they are to adorn those dainty, shapely little stumps which you were so absurdly afraid I should find unattractive. Don't you think the idea original and charming?"
The wedding followed within a few months -— a private ceremony, of course -— Georges holding his beautiful legless bride in his arms throughout, and carrying her into the waiting car afterwards.
Thus did love and happiness come to Denise Laroche; and certainly her husband made good his boast that he would teach her an entirely new way of looking at life. For at the time I met her, a very happy adoring and adored wife she was completely untroubled. With strangers she was always most careful not to do or say anything, or make any display that might embarrass them in the least. But among intimate friends, especially among those who she knew, she was delightfully frank, showing not the slightest sensitiveness about her misfortune, joking about the fact, obviously quite unconcerned about it, and also obviously and absurdly happy in her husband's quite unconcealed pride and delight in her unfinished beauty.
I discovered, for instance, when I became an intimate friend of the delightful couple that Denise only very rarely wore skirts in the house. Whenever strangers were expected, she always wore them for the reasons I have already given; but ordinarily her dainty and delightful costumes were little more than hip-length. To be quite just, this practice of hers was not altogether designed for display. It was easier for her to get about unhampered by skirts, to move herself, as she did with a dainty ease and grace from her couch to her wheelchair, or even as I have seen her when a chair she wished to gain was out of reach and she did not want to bother anybody, to drop nimbly to the carpet and leap with perfect ease into the chair she wanted.
Frocks of this type were also less awkward to manage when she was being carried about, as she was a great deal in the house. Her indoor wheelchair, a very slim, neat erection of steel tubing on comparatively small pneumatic-tyred wheels, and rather taller than her outdoor chair of the ordinary type, was electrically driven and worked by herself. But she used this mainly for travelling about the grounds, and really liked to move about in somebody's arms, preferably her husband's. He, by the way, was never happier than when carrying his lovely wife about; and they both, in some strange, inexplicable way, obviously got a queer kind of thrill out of this helplessness of hers.
Denise actually confessed to me one day that one of her compensations was that a good deal of her time was spent in being carried about in Georges' arms. I have found this curious trait in other helpless women.
To return to Denise's frocks, however, those for the house might have been designed for use, but they did, nevertheless, manage to be very fascinatingly revealing. Some of them had skirts of a kind, little lacey frills frothing about her hips. Others were made in pyjama fashion, with delightful tiny trouserettes, a couple of inches or so long.
But her most daring creation, which she wore at a big gathering of intimate friends, was a gown that was fashioned on the lines of a very modern bathing suit. What there was of it was of thin, clinging black velvet, fitting the lovely figure quite tight, and cut very low both back and front. At the hips it was cut an the lines of an acrobat's trunks.
Ordinarily she was not given to a display of jewels; but with this costume, probably obeying a safe instinct, she wore a good deal of valuable jewellery, necklaces and rings, long glittering earrings and flashing bracelets and a most wonderful diadem of scintillating diamonds in her marvellous hair.
I know I gasped when I saw her, but nobody else seemed embarrassed; and her husband, who carried her about most of the evening, was quite proud of the alluring display.
My friendship with both Laroche and his charming wife was one of the pleasantest of my life. But, as I have insisted, and in spite of Zelie's suggestion, there was nothing more than very warm friendship between Denise and myself, perhaps a little more close than an ordinary friendship because of the kink that allied me with her husband.
But it was at one of Denise's parties that I met another girl who, if I may be pardoned the appearance of conceit in saying so, did make a decided attempt to detach me from Zelie. I suppose I can say she was, in her way, one of the most remarkable girls I have ever met, and I shall have the pleasure of introducing her in a future narrative.
________________________________________
London Life April 29, 1933 pp. 30 — 32



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Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 34055Unread post Bazil
14 Oct 2018, 19:43

London Life
London Life | 1933
________________________________________
The Strange Experiences Of A Lover
by Wallace Stort
I should like to offer my sincere apologies for the break in this series. Business affairs called me abroad, and I was unable to continue the record for the time being. The narrative is now resume with, I hope, the approval of indulgent readers.
It will be recalled that in the preceding articles "Marcel," a Frenchman living in England, is greatly interested in such members of womankind as have suffered from the loss of a limb, either from birth or otherwise. Marcel has previously described his varied experiences in Paris. Among those was Zelie, a pretty, chic Parisienne with only one leg. Zelie introduced him to the household of Monsieur Georges Laroche, a wealthy Paris business man, and his beautiful young wife Denise, who is quite without her lower limbs. Marcel also became very friendly with the Laroches, to whose beautifully appointed house Zelie and he were constant visitors. Continuing his narrative, he says:
________________________________________
I had not long been intimate with the Laroches before I discovered that among their very extensive circle of friends there were, in addition to Zelie, other pretty women minus one or more limbs. This, in the circumstances, was not altogether surprising. The Laroches were most hospitable folk, throwing their beautiful home open to their numerous friends. And, possessing the special interest they both had, it was natural that they should always be delighted to offer friendship and hospitality to such — and, in fact to any individuals of their own class, both men and women, who shared this interest.
Of course from the very nature of things their circle was comparatively small. But I met there at different times no fewer than nine — four of whom, in addition to Zelie, were constant visitors.
I thought it rather extraordinary, considering the odds against such a thing happening, that Denise Laroche should number among her limbless friends another lady, like herself, suffering the loss of both legs. This lady, who, with her husband, was a very frequent visitor and whom I shall call Madame X, was a very handsome and attractive, if rather plump, woman of about 35 or 40, a Roumanian married to a very rich Frenchman of well over 60.
She was even more completely helpless than Denise, as below the hips she possessed no suggestion in the way of lower limbs. There was a little mystery about her, and discreet rumour had it that before her marriage she had appeared on show in many parts of the world as a "Beautiful Halflady." I understood, however, that she would have indignantly denied the imputation had it ever been made in her presence.
She was fond of referring, with a little sigh, to her "accident," but I was assured by both Zelie and Denise that from the formation of the lady's body at the hips it was very obvious that no amputation had ever been performed and that she had undoubtedly been born as she now was.
The amusing part of it was that — like practically all woman so born — she was really secretly vain of her uniquely formed body. I have heard her, for example, though I must say not in Madame Laroche's presence, make it quite plain that she thought her own formation more neat ("chic" was the word she used) than Denise's, whose condition below the hips she frankly described as "untidy."
And all her frocks, at any rate, those she wore at the Laroches were specially made to fit with glove-tight smoothness of a perfectly fitting silk stocking. She could have adapted no surer means of revealing the extraordinary way in which the lower part of her body was rounded off. It made it quite obvious to anybody sufficiently interested to think about the matter, that no surgeon could possibly have performed the operation in so complete a manner, nor could he possibly have been able to model the lower part of the trunk on such perfect, shapely lines.
She was a most charming woman, with an attractively effusive manner, and, except when she felt it necessary to sigh over her "accident," she accepted her misfortune with as complete a cheerfulness as did Denise.
One can get used to anything even the most bizarre outlook on life, and I came to take things more or less for granted at the Laroches. But you can imagine how odd it was to see Denise and Madame X both seated on the same couch, with Zelie occupying a big easy chair nearby, all gossiping happily together quite unconscious of the amazing appearance they presented.
Madame X looking as if her shapely hips had been poured into one of the smooth-fitting, pocket-like sheaths she liked to wear. Denise in a delicious, practically skirt-less confection which afforded fascinating glimpses of her little silk-clad stumps; and Zelie in a wisp of a frock that revealed, as she sat, nearly the whole of her single limb, and every now and then a movement of that restless little stump. Three beautiful women, laughing and talking together, completely unconcerned about the extraordinary fact that they had just a single leg among them! An amazing, unforgettable and, to me, an intensely fascinating sight.
Two other charming visitors to the Laroches' parties were Corinne and Judith. Corinne was 19, dark and petite, and had been a dancer before she lost her right leg in a motor accident. She was usually accompanied by her "boy," a pleasant young fellow a few years older than herself, whom she obviously worshipped.
She had lost her leg only a couple of years before I met her, and she was still almost incredibly and yet delightedly amazed at her wonderful discovery that she could still fascinate a handsome boy now that she had only one leg. Her amputation had taken place at the knee, the long, slender stump being neatly rounded off at that point.
She obviously liked to draw attention to her condition, for I noted that all her pretty, slim-fitting frocks were fashioned to fall just short of the knee.
Judith was also a dark, plump, lusciously pretty little Jewess. She, too, had lost her right leg; the amputation had taken place 3 inches from the hip, but what remained was very fully in evidence, whether she walked or sat, straining itself quite unmistakably against the taut silk of her extremely tight-fitting frocks.
She always used a single, neat crutch, upon which she swung in slow, lazy undulations, her body clinging to the crutch as if it were part of her. Judith knew all that there was to know about the "limbless kink," she was quite aware of the provocative effect of her shortened limb. It was often commented upon in her presence by the more cheeky of her boy friends, whereupon she would only laugh unrepentantly.
She had three or four admirers among the young fellows who, like myself, were frequent visitors to the Laroche house, and she eventually married one of them some time after I had left Paris for London.
The fourth member of this group of pretty limbless lady friends of the Laroches I have purposely left to the last, as she was certainly the most remarkable of them all.
Now, I want to say at the outset, before, as it were, introducing this girl, that none of her intimates in the Laroche circle found her extraordinary attitude entirely credible. Zelie and Denise were quite certain that she had simply adopted a bizarre pose. Laroche, like myself, was inclined to be skeptical, though we sort of left the matter open. After all, we argued, you never know. The minds of men and women are unplumbed depths, and one is always making the strangest and most incredible discoveries as one goes through life.
It certainly possible that this particular girl was telling the plain unvarnished truth. I know, at any rate, that medical annals can furnish more than one authentic parallel case. On the other hand, she may either have been deliberately lying or, having convinced herself in some way that things had happened in a certain way, she had come to believe firmly in her amazing story. I leave the matter open.
When I first made the acquaintance of Zelie and the Laroches, Lulu — as the girl was called — had been away from Paris for some time. On the night when she did make her first appearance — as far as I was concerned, that is — at the Laroches, Zelie herself was not present. She had been called away from Paris on some business, the exact nature of which I now forget, and was to be absent for some weeks. I remember feeling quite blue at the prospect of being parted from Zelie for so long. But her absence enabled me to establish more friendly relations with Lulu than I should have been able to do with Zelie in the offing.
The occasion of Lulu's reappearance was one of the big parties Denise was so fond of giving, and a crowd of very jolly people were present, including Corinne and Judith, with their admirers; the beautiful Madame X, as usual, most revealingly legless and complete with husband and one or two other girls whom I had met only once or twice before.
Denise, I remember, received her guests resting on her husband's arms, and wore a marvellous, extremely inadequate creation of net completely sewn with silver sequins that flashed dazzling lightning fires at every moment. This glittering costume was provided, instead of a skirt, with tiny, wide pantalettes, from which protruded the beautifully shortened limbs, wonderfully clad in perfectly fitting socks of wide-meshed silver thread. As always, she was an unforgettable figure and, as I heard a quite normally minded guest say, "the beautiful half-body was so exquisite that leglessness in her seemed the most natural thing in the world."
It was while we were all chatting volubly over our first cocktails that I also heard a girl near me say with a little sequel of pleasure, "Why here's Lulu!" And turning, I caught my first glimpse of her framed in he doorway, showing perfect teeth in a dazzling smile and waving a shapely white arm in greeting.
I must confess that I found her immediately and extremely attractive, she was very pretty in a bolder, very provocative way even than Zelie. Her beautifully marcelled hair was of a wonderful red-gold that contrasted attractively with the creamy whiteness of her piquant face, which in turn, accentuated the startling crimson of her heavily carmined lips. Her upper eyelids were painted a delicate shadowy blue, and she was probably the first person I had encountered off the stage to adopt this very theatrical type of make-up.
She stood near the door for a minute or so exchanging friendly greetings with a number of acquaintances — she seemed to know nearly everybody present. Then, locating Denise where she sat on her couch between Georges and myself, she waved gaily and made her way towards us, swinging swiftly and easily along, with a graceful, clinging movement, on a single, very slender pole crutch of gleaming ebony.
As she neared us my eyes fairly goggled at the daring nature of her frock. It was not so much that the frock was of the scantiest proportions. It was fashioned on the usual low-cut, very short and narrow-skirted, glove-fitting lines of the evening frocks of that year.
Its daring was of the fact that it was of the frailest and most delicate, completely transparent flowered chiffon, entirely without any under-slip or opaque lining, and that this flimsy garment was worn over nothing but a one-piece suit of skin-fitting, diaphanous black silk tights. The shapely, black-tighted figure, fully outline beneath the gauzy chiffon, would have been striking enough in the case of a normally shaped girl. But when through the gossamer, all revealing frock, one saw only too clearly, just a single, slender leg and on the left side below the hip, the rounded contours of a plump, shapely stump, the effect was, to say the least, startling.
The whole wonderful ensemble was given its appropriate finishing touch by the little slipper of the same bright-hued chiffon as her frock, perilously perched on the most incredibly high, slender stilt heel I have ever seen.
As she swung along on her crutch I was sure that each time the little single foot took its turn in supporting her, only the very tips of her toes could possibly have touched the floor.
I rose as Lulu reached the couch, and Denise performed the appropriate introductions.
"Marcel is one of us, by the way, Lulu," she added with a little secret smile, and I could see the frank interest already in Lulu's eyes quicken perceptibly as she looked at me. For Denise had used a formula with which I had become familiar since joining her circle, and which had a special meaning for the initiated. "One of us" meant that the individual referred to was one of those peculiarly constituted beings for whom limblessness exercised a deep fascination.
"But, of course," was Lulu's comment, as she showed perfect white teeth in a dazzling smile, "one can see with half an eye that Marcel is one of us."
Then she handed her crutch to the maid who had come to receive it and, settling herself on the couch beside Denise, smiled invitingly up at me and motioned to the vacant place at her side.
You will have gathered by now that where limbless beauty is concerned, I am as weak as water. Zelie was far away; Denise's attitude was one of quite friendly, but slightly malicious amusement. Lulu was a new divinity, devastatingly pretty, highly sophisticated and, as was only too frankly demonstrated, most fascinatingly one-legged. She had little need to use the battery of her many charms, which, to tell the truth, she at once turned quite openly at me. I had already capitulated at sight.
Within a few minutes she had learned all about me; my lifelong preoccupation with the fascination of limbless beauty; my recent friendship with Zelie and how it had come about; my other experiences, and anything else I cared to tell her.
She was extraordinarily — in fact, I might say abnormally interested in every detail connected with my kink, putting the oddest and most searching questions to me, quite obviously as fascinated with the discussions I was myself.
And, as we talked, I noted an odd thing. Her stump had lifted so as to be very fully outlined on the gossamer chiffon of her frock, and all the time we chatted the slim, jewelled fingers of the left hand were busy in some way or another with it, smoothing the silk over it, drawing the silk taut so that the outline became more pronounced, pressing the soft flesh through the silk, and caressing it in all sorts of other ways.
I was quite certain that these caresses were not intended to draw attention to the very shapely stump — though, of course, they inevitably and thrillingly did so. I did not fully realise it at the time, but later, when I came to know Lulu better, I knew that these caresses were simply the unconscious revelation of her own tremendously keen interest in the curious topic we were discussing.
Well, the party, I suppose, followed the usual course of all parties; candidly, I was much too occupied otherwise to know how it went on. Of course, Lulu and I paired off for the rest of the evening, and did not concern ourselves a great deal with the doings of our fellow guests. We had kissed within an amazingly short time of our meeting. Then we danced — yes, that is quite true! Lulu, strongly supported by my encircling arm, was able to dance so easily and lightly that my first misgiving was quickly changed to amazed appreciation of her dexterity.
Finally, and inevitably, I escorted her home. She had a tiny but very charming flat off Bois, and I confess I did not hesitate when she invited me in for a final cocktail before continuing my way to my own place. So delightfully intimate had become our swiftly formed friendship, that when Lulu had opened the outer door of the flat with her latchkey, I just picked her up in my arms and carried her inside.
Naturally she did not resist, but nestled closely and confidingly in my embrace. And just before slipping from my arms her lips sought mine in a long kiss.
Her maid, she explained, as she switched on the lights in her tiny, delightfully furnished salon, had gone to bed long ago, so we should have to attend to ourselves. Then she disappeared, to return within a few minutes, pushing before her a dainty tea wagon running noiselessly on light rubber-tyred wheels, and on which were all the ingredients for making cocktails.
But it wasn't the tea wagon that I stared goggle-eyed. I had, of course, expected Lulu to change her frock for a becoming negligee — a French girl, and for that matter the chic English girl, I suppose, always makes such a change after arriving home, especially when she is wearing one of her daintiest evening frocks. Lulu had certainly removed her frock, but that was not all that she had done. Her slim, lovely figure, with its dainty, slender single leg, was now fully revealed, clad only in its skin-fitting open-piece suit of black silk tights.
The beautiful shoulders and slender arms, white-skinned and satin smooth, were covered only by the light dust of powder through which they gleamed. But the rest of the lovely, incomplete body seemed almost as unclad, as the silk of the moulding tights was so thin and transparent that it seemed rather to cast a delicate shadow on the rose-pink flesh than to clothe it.
Nor was that all, for Lulu had discarded her crutch and had changed her little high-heeled slipper for a soft, close-fitting, open, heelless sandal of black velvet. And as she pushed the wagon in front of her she just hopped behind it with that perfection of ease and grace which I knew from experience came of long practice.
Among the many intriguing little things I learnt about Lulu, by the way, during my friendship with her, was that she never used a crutch indoors. In fact, her first act on returning from a walk was to put her crutch away in a special rack in which she kept a variety of crutches — all single ones, be it noted, as she never used a pair — and she always followed this up by changing her high-heeled street slippers for one of her many neat little "hopping" sandals.
I also made the very interesting discovery later that silk tights of the thinnest and most diaphanous kind, worn without any other garments, constituted her favourite indoor costume, and I usually found her thus alluringly clad whenever I paid a visit.
However, hopping in her dainty, effortless way, she pushed the wagon to the couch on which I sat. Then, disdaining even to keep an assisting hand on the wagon, she stood before me smiling demurely, perfectly balanced on her single little foot, her slim fully revealed one-legged figure poised for my inspecting eyes, her hand inevitably slipping down to the lifting stump, so daringly displayed in its smooth-fitting casing of silk, and fondling it in the soft, caressing way that gave her so much satisfaction.
"Well, cheri," she asked softly, "will I do? Do I satisfy all the requirements of that fascinating kink of yours?"
Of course I smilingly made the only possible reply and candidly, with Zelie and Denise for the time being completely forgotten, I meant everything I so fervently avowed. Lulu smilingly made a little mock obeisance and then, still maintaining her perfect balance, turned to the wagon and the business of making cocktails.
"You are quite sure I satisfy all the requirements?" she went on with an odd, inscrutable smile. "You see, when we met, you happened to be with the lovely legless Denise. Tell me, Marcel, if the question is not too personal, do you find Denise's condition more, shall we say, thrilling than mine?"
"Denise is certainly fascinating," I replied, "and she has her own particular thrill. But the ideal effect is far more charmingly exemplified in your own sweet self."
"What a nice boy," laughed Lulu, in obvious pleasure, "and supposing I were quite armless as well, how would you regard that?"
It was an odd question, and somehow I felt that there was something more behind the light, airy manner in which Lulu asked it than was apparent. But I replied in the same light vein.
"I shouldn't mind — if you wouldn't!" I said. I have seen one or two armless girls on show, and found them most fascinating."
Lulu laughed outright, and there was an odd, delightful ring in her laughter.
"Do you know, Marcel," she said gaily, "you are a most satisfactory person. Your kink is so satisfactorily comprehensive. As a kindred soul, I salute you. And we'll drink to our continued happy friendship."
I was still puzzling a little, not only over Lulu's rather odd cross-examination, but also the somewhat cryptic nature of her final remarks, as she drew up to the couch a little, ornate table, and, pouring out the cocktails, set the thin, delicately fashioned glasses upon it. And her next action only increased my astonishment and whetted afresh my curiosity, as well as it might.
She settled herself comfortably on the couch at my side. Then, as if the action was the most natural in the world, she kicked off her little velvet sandal, revealing the extraordinary fact that the foot of her silk tights was neatly and daintily "mittened" at the toe, leaving her long, slender toes quite bare.
I had just time to notice that the shapely toes were beautifully manicured, with the little shining nails varnished in scarlet, and that two miniature jewelled rings gleamed from them.
Then, as if quite unconscious of my wide-eyed stare, she reached out with her foot, took the glass in her toes with exactly the same dainty neatness as if she were using her fingers, and bending her leg with perfect ease, conveyed the glass to her lips with an indescribably graceful and effortless gesture.
Then, as she daintily replaced the glass on the table, she could hold the strain no longer and suddenly dissolved into peals of laughter.
"My dear!" she gasped, "Your face! I don't know how I went through it without laughing. Please, darling, don't you like my little trick?"
Of course, I had to laugh too. I told her I had never seen anything so marvellous. But the puzzled light must still have lingered in my eyes. The situation was more than curious. That "little trick" of Lulu's must have meant years of practice. It was not just a case of fumbling and bringing off the trick by a lucky chance.
Her toes were obviously as flexible and prehensile as her fingers. She could use them with exactly the same expertness. And no contortionist could have bettered the supple ease with which she had used her leg. That lissome agility was also the result of long, long practice. Why? surely not just to show her friends how cleverly she could perform a "little trick!"
Lulu was naturally perfectly aware of the puzzled nature of my thoughts as, with a demure little smile up at me, she settled herself cosily in my arms. But I was again more than a little astonished when, drawing her leg up on the couch so that the calf and ankle lay across my knees, she slipped her little bare-toed foot in my left hand and let it rest there just as she might have done with one of her hands. Incidentally I thrilled at the touch of the shapely, velvety toes, and found an exquisite pleasure in caressing them.
Then, without looking at me, but with her cheek pressed close to mine, she began to talk in soft, low tones.
(Marcel will continue the narrative and report Lulu's extraordinary revelation in the next article in this series. W. S.)
________________________________________
London Life October 28, 1933 pp. 27 — 28



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Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 34056Unread post Bazil
14 Oct 2018, 19:45

London Life
London Life | 1933
________________________________________
The Strange Experiences Of A Lover
by Wallace Stort
Dear Mr. Editor, — In the preceding articles in this series, Marcel, a Frenchman now living in London, (one of those peculiarly constituted individuals who find an attraction to limbless beauty) detailed his experiences in Paris.
Among those he met was Lulu, a very pretty, chic, highly sophisticated Parisienne with only one leg, about whom he had already heard very curious stories. He escorted her home from a party one night, and after a final cocktail she proceeded to intrigue and astonish him, first of all by asking some very odd questions about his general attitude to limbless beauty, and then by using, in the most expert fashion, the bare toes of her only foot as fingers. At last after some amusement at his growing bewilderment, Lulu settled down at his side to tell him her story.
Marcel now continues his narrative.
________________________________________
Without looking at me, with her cheek close to mine, Lulu began to talk in soft, low tones. I shall report what she said as fully as I can recall it, and I should like the reader to remember what I said, just before introducing Lulu to these pages. She may, as I said then, have been telling the plain, undiminished truth; medical annals have provided similar cases. She may have been simply romancing. She may even have duped herself into believing that what she related was true. I don't know. The one thing true about her was that she had a most excitingly interesting personality.
"Of course, darling," she began, "You think I am a queer inexplicable being, and you are right in thinking so. I am queer and inexplicable to myself. You wondered why I asked you those odd questions a little while ago. I wasn't being merely inquisitive. I wanted to discover your standpoint; to find whether you were sympathetic. I felt that you were; and I think that I know now that you are.
You have no doubt heard all kinds of things about me. I am perfectly aware that some of my so-called friends regard me as an impossible spinster — or if not that, at least misguided. I want you to believe me, Marcel, that at any rate I am not an impostor. You have heard me discussed; tell me, did you gather any details about the loss of my leg?"
"Well," I replied, "I gathered that nobody exactly knew what had happened, but that it was generally understood that a poisoned thorn, which ran into your foot when you were a young girl, had begun the trouble — which eventually ended in the amputation of your leg."
"Was that all you learnt?"
"Actually yes. But you insist on my telling you. I heard a lot of vague talk about your telling one story about your amputation in private and another in public."
"And that the first story was frankly incredible?" Lulu put in quickly.
"Yes, that was what I gathered."
"Well, darling, I'm going to tell you the truth. Probably, like the others, you won't believe me. But I hope you will, because I like you very much and I want you to like me and believe in me."
She turned and smiled up at me as she made that last statement, and her fingers tightened over my hand.
"You see," she went on, "the story to the ordinary individual who is not, as Denise put it, 'one of us', is the one about the poisoned thorn. That is a pure fabrication. The other story — well, I shall begin at the beginning, I fell sure that you, with your own odd point of view, will be at least sympathetic.
"You, Marcel, were born or so constituted that you find attractive only those who have lost one or more of their limbs. You are not by any means the only man with such a kink. One finds it all over the world. Now, has it ever occurred to you that a woman may be similarly affected? Obviously some women are in exactly the same way. One-legged, legless, even completely limbless men usually find wives. I daresay pity frequently operates in such cases, but in a number I am sure it is otherwise.
"Well, as you may have guessed by now, I myself have a weakness. You are attracted by limbless womankind. I am not in the least attracted by limbless men. It will seem incredible — it is to most of my friends — but the extraordinary fact is that I am attracted only by limblessness in myself."
I suppose Lulu heard my gasp, but she took no notice and went calmly on.
I've been like that for as long as I can remember. I haven't the slightest idea how such an abnormality came about. I suppose nobody can explain the queer feelings that affect them. As a child, a favourite amusement of mine was to bend my leg at the knee, binding the lower leg to my thigh, and so give myself a one-legged appearance. When alone, I would hop about like that for hours.
"When I was about 12 or 13 I managed to persuade my alarmed parents that I couldn't use my left leg, and I was provided with crutches which, you will be amazed to hear, I used permanently from that time onwards. The doctors could not find out what was the matter with my leg — which was not surprising, as there was nothing at all wrong with it. Naturally, from lack of use it gradually wasted and by the time I was 19 I really needed crutches, as my left leg was quite useless.
I now began to complain not only of my leg, but of the continual pain I alleged I was in, and everything was done to try to cure my mysterious malady. My father had died when I was 17, and when I was 20 I lost my mother. I found myself alone in the world and quite comfortably off. Our home was in Dijon, and I am afraid that without any qualms I sold it up and came to Paris.
Not long afterwards I met a very clever but not too scrupulous surgeon. To him I described my alleged symptoms, told the little fairy story of the continuous pain I was in, etc., and, of course, there was the concrete evidence of my wasted and useless leg.
He examined my leg again and again with a minute thoroughness that alarmed me. In the end he stood in front of me as I sat in his consulting room, with a queer, cynical smile on his good looking face. 'My dear young lady', he said, 'I think you had better confess. The only thing the matter with your leg is lack of use. You've allowed a childish whimsy to develop into an overmastering obsession. Yours is not the only case of a somewhat similar character that I have encountered, though I have never known it carried so far. Confess — or I am afraid I shall have to dismiss you. I simply will not work in the dark'.
"Well, I confessed. Something compelling in his matter made me. And I am very glad I did. At the end of my embarrassing recital he laughed and, sitting down beside me, he took my hand. 'So very pretty', he said, 'and yet so very misguided. But I think I shall have to help you. Your leg will never be of the slightest use again, and — it does not add to your beauty, does it?'
"I could hardly speak for the excitement that choked me. 'Then you will amputate, doctor?' I gasped at last, and he nodded, still smiling. 'Yes', he said. 'Candidly it is the kindest thing to do. Your leg is now only a useless and unpleasing appendage; and besides, your complex has become so deeply rooted that the gratification of it, after so many years of repression, will be of undoubted benefit to your health, both physically and mentally. Personally, I have no qualms about operating in such circumstances — though I shall have to ask you to sign a document stating that you agree on the grounds of general health and absolving me of any blame in the matter. But it will be as well for you to have a satisfactory story to tell your friends.'
The doctor paused for a few moments in thought, then nodded his head. 'This, I think, will serve,' he went on. 'When you were a child a poisoned thorn ran into your foot. It was forgotten; but its poison remained and slowly infected the whole leg. Eventually, in order to stop the poison spreading, it was found necessary to amputate the limb. That is quite simple, easy to remember, and will satisfy the inquisitive. There only remains the arrangements for going into my nursing home — and my fee, which I am afraid will necessarily be a very stiff one'.
His fee was indeed large enough to make me gasp. Within a few days the amputation was successfully performed, my leg being removed at the thigh about 4 inches from the hip. The remaining stump was subjected to the necessary plastic surgery to render it perfect in contour and its flesh as unblemished as possible.
The thrilling day came when I left the nursing home on my crutches, a happy one-legged girl at last. Life now became for me a thrilling adventure, and you can imagine my excitement when, by accident, I got to know Denise and became one of her circle of acquaintances. For the first time I learnt that some men found women like myself attractive and met such men at Denise's house. As you know, in explaining my amputation to ordinary, normal people, I employed the neat little piece of fiction about the poisoned thorn invented by the doctor. But I told something of the real truth to Zelie, Denise, and others of our special circle. I am afraid, though nothing has been said to me in so many words, that they found it a little hard to swallow. Anyhow, that's my story up to now. I should be the first to admit its strangeness — but it is true in every particular."
Naturally, I was silent after so amazing a story, told in such a calm, matter-of-fact way. And I must admit that at the moment her cool, contralto, essentially sane tones still sounding in my ears, I could not easily bring myself to doubt her. Later, away from the allure of her beauty and personal hypnotism, I wasn't so sure. And yet, as I have said, I don't know. I leave the reader to form his or her own opinion, remembering that there is nothing stranger in an astonishing world than human personality.
However, I could not tell the girl I thought her story a brilliant effort of the imagination, even if I was of that opinion — which at the moment I wasn't. And when I assured her of my belief in her I was perfectly honest. In any case, the story had thrilled me as Lulu had promised it would. It was certainly an intensely thrilling thought that the story might easily be true, and that I was sitting beside a beautiful girl who had voluntarily had her leg amputated because she actually wanted to be a cripple.
Lulu received my assurances with real, almost tearful, happiness, and sought my lips with hers in a lingering kiss. For a few moments we sat there in friendly, intimate silence. Then she did something which awoke in my brain another question that had been slumbering there since immediately before the narrative of the story.
Once again she stretched out her beautiful single leg and, opening the silver cigarette-box on the little table, expertly selected a cigarette with her long, slim, uncannily flexible toes. Conveying the cigarette effortlessly to her lips, she waited demurely, with the little white cylinder still held daintily between her toes, for me to light it.
I did so, and lit one for myself as well. In a few moments I watched her fascinatedly as she smoked, taking her cigarette from her lips every now and then from her lips every now and then with the toes of her still upraised foot and flicking the ash as expertly as if she were using her fingers. Then I turned resolutely and faced her.
"Lulu," I said quietly, "I've got a queer feeling that you didn't really finish your story. I have an idea that there is another chapter still to be told. What exactly is behind this amazing, almost miraculous use of your toes as fingers? How on earth did you ever become so expert, and why?"
Lulu slowly stubbed her cigarette in the ash-tray. I waited for her to speak, wondering what exactly was to be the nature of her latest revelation.
"Then, darling," she said, after a little pause, "you don't think my use of my toes as fingers distasteful?"
"Distasteful," I echoed, with a little scornful laugh. "Of course I couldn't think it any such thing. I think it most fascinating and delightful. Besides, I've never seen anything so amazing as the way you use your toes. But, candidly, it's why you do it that beats me. I've been puzzling out the mystery all evening. It must have taken years of practice, and you can't have acquired such an extraordinary accomplishment merely in order to astonish your friends."
She flashed a demure little smile up at me once again. "My trouble, Marcel," she said, "is that I must show off.
Really I ought to have kept this little accomplishment of mine a secret, and then I shouldn't be compelled, as I am now, to test your credulity to breaking point. But I suppose I wanted you to know all there is to know about the strange being that is me. I shall have to plunge right into things and tell you everything in cold blood. And this time I shan't be offended if you find you cannot altogether swallow what I have to tell, I almost find I cannot do so myself.
You said it must have taken years of practice for me to have become so expert with my toes. That's the plain truth. It has taken long years of practice. And it has nothing at all to do with an attempt to astonish my friends. It is really all part and parcel of my extraordinary and inexplicable make-up. The willingness to be one-legged that I have already confessed to is actually only one aspect. It will seem astounding even to you with your abnormal outlook, but I have always had, in addition, a desire to be entirely armless as well.
I am not a bit surprised that this further revelation has left you dumb, darling," Lulu went on, with a half-apologetic laugh after the tense little silence that had followed her last amazing statement. "And, of course, I'm not going to try to explain or extenuate the incredible situation. I should only like to point out that, though the desire still remains as powerful as ever, I still remain in possession of my arms. You see, though I know I should get a tremendous kick out of being armless and one-legged, there is a limit to what even I should be prepared to sacrifice.
Being one-legged is a mere nothing as far as inconvenience is concerned. It is not a great handicap for the ordinary person, and to me it is too thrilling a condition to be a handicap at all. Besides, I am more active and sure-footed on my single leg than many people are on two. I went to the whole astonishing business of having my leg amputated without a single qualm, in fact I got quite a thrill out of it.
But to be armless and one-legged — well, that's a different proposition. Even allowing for the use I can put my leg and toes to, though I could hop about happily enough indoors, I should be otherwise helpless, dependent upon others for all movement out of doors, unable to visit my favourite theatres, restaurants, night clubs, etc., unaided, to drop in on my friends, stroll in the Bois, or do any of the hundred and one things that I can now do without trouble, though I am one-legged. Besides, I should need a fortune to render life at all comfortable. I have, I am glad to say, enough of this world's goods to see me through very pleasantly in my present circumstances, but nothing like enough to make life bearable if I gave up my arms.
So you see, cherie, so far I have successfully resisted the temptation to have my arms — "
"But, Lulu," I broke in, speaking as calmly as I was able, considering the astonishing nature of her confession, "how could you lose your arms — supposing you wanted to?"
"Oh, I imagine that part of it would be easy enough," she replied coolly. "I should simply pay another visit to my charming and accommodating surgeon, tell him the exact truth, convince him that the craving had become so overpowering that it was ruining my health and affecting my sanity, and plead for his help a second time.
I feel pretty certain that he would consent — if the fee was high enough! As for explaining the matter to my friends — well, the little poisoned thorn had unfortunately reappeared, this time in my arms, and their amputation had become necessary.
However, as I have said, so far I have resisted the temptation to appeal to him. Instead, I have to be content, for the time being, with playing a little game of pretence with myself. You remember my telling you that, as a child, my favourite game was to tie up my leg and so to give myself a one-legged appearance. Well, now I play a similar sort of game — one which you no doubt regard as just as childish. I have, as you noted with considerable surprise, educated my toes to act as fingers. It took me years to get my present proficiency, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.
And now, when I am alone, I am quite accustomed to act as if I were really armless as well as one-legged by keeping my arms out of sight and using only my toes. In fact it is such a habit of mine that in the house I use my toes quite as frequently as my fingers — probably more frequently. Marthe, my maid, has so got used to it that she now takes the whole thing as a matter of course.
"A little fairy tale, however, that I suffer periodic and crippling weakness in the arms, has helped matters with her; otherwise I am afraid I should have been regarded as completely insane and Marthe would probably have packed her things and departed. And now, darling, you know the worst; and, of course, you'll either doubt my complete sanity or think I've got an extraordinarily lively and morbid imagination."
I looked at Lulu in silence. I did not doubt her sanity. Her whole manner from the outset had had the perfect poise of complete sanity. I was sure an insane individual would never have discussed his or her abnormality with the calm lucidity that Lulu had displayed throughout her amazing story.
And yet there was the extraordinary factor of the use of her toes as fingers. That really did amaze me. Some very strong urge that could have had nothing to do with the acquisition of a parlour kink had forced her to devote many hours to the perfecting of this strange accomplishment. And if it had not a direct bearing upon her stated wish to be armless, what on earth was its raison d'etre? I admit, I was shaken by the consideration. The new idea, probably born of my deliberations, jumped into my mind, and I asked Lulu a question.
"Lulu," I said quietly, "are there any circumstances in which you might really succumb to the temptation to do this thing?"
She turned and looked up at me kindly. "As this seems to be my confessional night," she said at last with a little smile, "I'll answer your question. Of course, I am not at all sure that, if it came to the actual test I should in any circumstances make that drastic step. I've already given you my reasons why. But — well supposing someone came along who wanted to marry me and who would prefer me to be armless as well as what I am; supposing he were wealthy and therefore able to take care of me and have me taken care of in every possible way; supposing, of course, that I cared very much for him — well, then honestly I don't know what might happen. I might be terribly tempted and, if I succumbed, I might be deliriously happy."
She laughed suddenly again and gave me a little hug. "Please don't think I am putting now a proposition to you, darling," she went on, "because I'm not. For one thing, I think you really prefer, I think you really prefer me as I am — "
"I certainly do," I put in, decidedly, "and for another, I'm not wealthy -"
"Oh, you're not going on to say that you don't care for me?" she replied in mock anguish. And so the whole conversation, with its series of extraordinary revelations, ended in mutual laughter that certainly cleared an atmosphere that had become somewhat bizarre.
As will be realised, the night had grown during our most intriguing conversation. It was well into the small hours when I found myself at last strolling homewards, my thoughts full of this new and interesting friendship I had formed, and wondering how far I could credit Lulu's strange story.
It will not be surprising that I saw a great deal of her during the weeks that followed, taking her about and spending many happy hours in her company. An evening or two after my first memorable visit she sprang a characteristic little surprise at me that, considering everything she had told me, I might have been prepared for, but wasn't.
I was shown into the flat by Marthe, a pretty, typical Parisian maid, and found Lulu enthroned on her favourite couch. She was in her silk tights, and was wearing over them a beautifully fitting, very short-skirted little evening frock of supple black velvet, figured here and there with a dull gold design.
With an indescribable thrill, I saw that, instead of the beautiful, shapely arms, only the rounded white ends of her perfect shoulders protruded from the low cut, sleeveless frock, giving her an extraordinarily realistic appearance of being completely armless.
The remarkable thing was that, though her frock above the hips moulded her with glove-fitting smoothness, there was absolutely no indication of the skilfully hidden arms. She looked decidedly plumper than usually, but that was all. A stranger would, I am sure, have been quite convinced that she was, as she appeared, entirely without arms. The astonishing general effect can be imagined, with the swelling, apparently completely armless bust, and the slim, single leg displayed. Of course Lulu laughed when she saw my face; and I had to laugh myself as I took her little bare-toed foot which, after slipping off her velvet sandal, she presented to me in greeting. As I took my seat beside her, while she still clung to my fingers with her supple toes, I asked her how the apparent miracle was managed.
It was really quite simple, she told me. She was wearing beneath her frock a specially designed corset of very thin, flexible material, into which Marthe had laced her. The corset was worn next to the skin and over her arms to the best advantage, she folded them tightly and flatly beneath her breasts, clasping the sides of her body as closely as possible with the finger-tips of her flattened hands.
She had a swelling bust, but a very small, narrow waist, and the flatly folded lower arms fitted neatly and did not bulk as largely as one might have expected. In the appropriate places in its interior the corset was fitted with specially shaped padded cushions. The function of these was to fill out the corset all round the hidden arms and so give its exterior a perfectly smooth, unbroken appearance.
Had the padding not been there, the arms would have betrayed their presence by unnatural bulging. As it was the outward appearance was so perfectly neat and smooth that anybody, unaware of the way in which the arms were hidden, would never have suspected their presence.
Whenever Lulu felt like yielding to her desire to appear armless, she was laced into the extraordinary contrivance by the devoted Marthe. The lacing was done with extreme tightness, short of rendering Lulu completely breathless, so as to give her as slim an appearance as possible. The drawback to the whole amazing scheme was that she could stand the strain for only a few hours at a time, after which she had to be unlaced and her arms massaged until the blood was freely circulating again.
However, on this particular evening she maintained her wonderful armless appearance without apparent strain and certainly with the keenest pleasure, until I left her. She confessed that it was an added thrill to appear armless and one-legged before me; and she went through her repertory of tricks with immense gusto.
She hopped effortlessly and gaily about, poured out the cocktails, and "handed" me my glass with her bare toes; placed a cigarette between my lips, and lit it with the same means; startled me by playing the piano with the toes of her only foot, not particularly brilliant, it is true, but with astonishing skill in the circumstances.
I have just one more item on Lulu to narrate before I leave her and pass on to other experiences.
It was some years later that I put her case to a surgeon friend of mine, and he, too, was completely incredulous. He said no surgeon would have amputated for the reason put forward by Lulu. His own theory was that she had, when young, contracted a progressive and very virulent form of poisoning, and that after the amputation of her leg she had no doubt been warned of possible future amputations.
It was highly probable that when she made the exciting discovery that she was attractive to certain men because she had only one leg, she began to dramatise her condition and to find a certain abnormal pleasure in it. Also, her imaginative mind got to work on the commonplace, unpicturesque facts of her disease and substituted the highly picturesque and most bizarre story of her desire to be armless.
In a way, went on my medical friend, this imaginative daydreaming of Lulu's must have been of tremendous help in enabling her to face what would have been to other girls a dreadful fate. And she showed a sort of warped courage in devoting years to her education of her toes as fingers in anticipation of the possible amputation of her arms.
But she still found a kind of perverse pleasure in romancing about the whole business and in the pretence that she had her limbs amputated voluntarily.
He concluded by expressing the considered opinion that if Lulu had not had her remaining limb amputated, she would eventually have had to submit to that operation.
There I leave the matter. As I have already said, I still don't know quite what to believe, though no doubt my medical friend's theory is the most satisfactory solution of a very strange psychological problem.
And here I take leave of Lulu and the circle of friends of which she was a member — Zelie, Denise and the others. If able to write again, I will give experiences of a general, sporadic nature, embracing all kinds of odd and interesting encounters in Paris, London and elsewhere.
________________________________________
London Life XMas Annual, 1933 pp. 39 — 42



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Re: London Life. Tales

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20 Oct 2018, 17:26

London Life
London Life | 1934
________________________________________
The Strange Experiences Of A Lover
by Wallace Stort
Marcel, continuing the narrative of his experiences during his guest or limbless beauty, deals, in this article, with all kinds of odd and interesting casual encounters with limbless ladies in Paris, London and elsewhere.
________________________________________
Earlier in this series I made a statement to the effect that even though one constantly keeps one's eyes wide open for possible casual encounters with pretty limbless girls, such encounters are few and far between. But, all the same, one cannot devote years to a quest of this kind without having some very interesting and out-of-the-way experiences.
I do not propose to follow any chronological order in relating such experiences. I shall put them down in haphazard fashion just as they occur to me.
I had been some little time in London without anything startling coming my way, when one Sunday in the pleasant, sunny June of that year, I had a most intriguing encounter. I should say that while it was possible enough in London, I don't think it could have happened in Paris.
Coming towards me were a slim pretty girl and a boy hardly out of their teens. The boy was in white flannels, and the girl was daintily and immaculately clad completely in white; and both carried tennis rackets. Nothing so far unusual in that! But the astonishing thing was that the girl had only one leg and swung happily along on a pair of neat crutches. From the way in which the short skirt of her filmy silk frock fluttered out behind her on the right side, it was obvious that her missing leg was absent from quite close to the hip.
Had I been an Englishman I might, though startled, have accepted the situation as not being part of a hallucination. But as a Frenchman I was frankly flabbergasted, hardly able to believe my eyes. The one-legged girl was obviously on her way to play tennis somewhere — possibly in some tennis club.
Quite calmly and happily as if such a procedure was the most natural thing in the world, she swung along, her racquet, in its waterproof case, depending by a loop from her wrist. She was going to play tennis most probably in public; to maintain an almost miraculous balance on her slim, single leg; to hop nimbly about, to dart here and there, every second risking disaster if she fell — watched all the time, no doubt, by curious and perhaps disapproving eyes.
It was to me a most extraordinary example of courage and of the complete ignoring of what have been to nine girls out of ten an insurmountable handicap.
I have often thought about that girls since, and still regret that I was not able to follow her to her club and watch her give her amazing display of agility on the courts.
I got into a 'bus one evening and, taking one of the lengthwise seats near the door, I suddenly became aware, with the sick little thrill that comes to one at such moments, that the pretty girl seated opposite was holding a neat single crutch, and that below her short skirt only one shapely leg was revealed. On the right side, the thin silk of her skirt lay flatly over the seat, and every now and then the movement of a rounded outline near he hip, betrayed the presence of a very short stump.
I watched her covertly as she chatted in gay unconcern to the good-looking, well dressed boy she was with, and I noted with interest that she wore an engagement ring on her finger. Then she turned away from him to glance out of the window, and I got an added shock. The very short right sleeve of her frock was empty! The girl had lost her right arm as well as her right leg.
Incidentally, I saw that on her right cheek and temple were the remains of what had once been deep scars, which were no doubt the result of the accident that had left her without limbs on her right side. The scars were only faint furrows and did not detract from her prettiness.
As I sat there I could not help wondering how, in the circumstances, the girl managed her crutch. Had she lost her left arm instead of the right, she could have used the crutch in the usual way; but with her right arm missing, walking must be a difficult business for her. Here was a case in which an artificial leg would have been of the greatest help; but I supposed something prevented the use of such a leg.
However, after a little while the girl and boy got up to leave the 'bus, and I followed discreetly. The boy got over the difficulty of getting the girl off the bus by picking her up and carrying her. On gaining the pavement, she slipped from his arms and, balancing herself easily on her single foot, adjusted the crutch and set off.
I found that she solved her problem of walking quite simply, if not in a particularly attractive manner. The crutch, a black, neatly made affair, was of the pole variety — that is, it had only a single pole to support the armrest instead of the more common twin supports that are connected half-way down with a hand-grip and merge into a single support near the rubber ferrule.
She could not, of course, use the crutch on the stump side, as she had no right arm. And instead of keeping her crutch at her right side in the ordinary way, she adopted the unusual method of holding it between her leg and stump as she swung forward.
This apparently awkward way of using the crutch really resulted in her maintaining a much more even balance than would have been possible with the usual method. For the crutch was thus canted over to the right side, where it as needed, and by getting a purchase on it with her stump — this was very obvious, as one could see the fully outlined stump bearing upon the crutch — the girl was able to use it as a really dependable support.
One would have supposed that such a method of progress would be a very fatiguing and slow business, but the girl had become so expert that she swung along with an ease and rapidity that was surprising. The fact, too, that she had an unusually high, slender heel on her neat little open slipper, did not seem to inconvenience her in the least.
I took it that the boy was her fiance and the donor of the engagement ring she wore, and I remember being almost tearfully glad that this charming and attractive girl, who so cheerfully accepted the handicap of having no limbs at all on one side of her body, had found love and happiness. I have never before encountered, nor have I ever since come across a girl one-armed and one-legged in a similar manner.
I had another most intriguing and interesting 'bus experience two or three years after the one just related. Once again it was unique of its kind. I was waiting for a 'bus one afternoon, and had noticed nothing out of the ordinary about a young couple near me.
The girl, a very attractive blonde, clung very closely and lovingly, I thought, to the boy's arm as they laughed and chatted together, but that was all. Then she moved — and she moved in a peculiar, arresting manner. It was as if she had hurt one foot and was relieving the weight on it by shuffling on the other.
The boy was between myself and the girl, and as my curiosity was roused, I took a pace or two to the rear, thus bringing the girl into fuller view. I was at once thrilled and puzzled. To all appearances, the girl had only one leg — at any rate, there was no sign of another limb, which was highly incredible.
But she could not really be one-legged, I argued, for the simple reason that she was completely unsupported by a single crutch. If she had only one leg, then she must have hopped along the London streets on her single lower limb, which was highly incredible.
I had just decided that she was holding the other leg in such a position that it was hidden from me, when a 'bus came up and the boy and girl prepared to board it. My amazement and excitement may be imagined when, slipping her arm from the boy's, the girl hopped nimbly and swiftly to the 'bus. The incredible was an undoubted fact. She had only one leg!
Followed by the boy, she swung herself aboard with perfect easer and though the 'bus was not the one I wanted, I happened to have some time in spare, so I promptly followed and took a seat near this most intriguing couple.
I was a bit nonplussed when they took fivepenny tickets, but I was determined to see the adventure through, so I did likewise. What I was intensely eager to discover was what exactly was the girl to do when she left the 'bus? Surely she did not make a practice of happing along the street! Yet, short of being carried by the boy, what else could she do?
However, after what seemed an interminable time, the couple alighted — the girl hopping off as nimbly as she had got on. I followed casually, and from a little distance away watched the pair.
I had noticed when I first caught sight of the couple, before boarding the 'bus, that the boy was carrying something which my mind had vaguely registered as a sort of suitcase. But as my attention had naturally been immediately attracted to the girl, I had not taken particular notice of it.
Now, however, the boy began to open his contraption, which revealed itself not as a suit-case, but as a collapsible wheelchair, slimly but strangely made of buff-coloured canvas and black steel tubing, with small rubber-tyred wheels. In this the girl seated herself and the pair went happily off.
Well, that little mystery had been solved; but as I travelled back on another 'bus I was busy with a problem that had arisen out of it. Why did the girl use the wheel-chair? It was obvious that her remaining leg was quite sound, otherwise she could not have hopped so agilely upon it. Of course the simplest explanation was that she preferred a chair to crutches. But that wasn't altogether satisfactory — a young and active girl would surely not choose to be so completely dependent upon others.
Failing that, then there were, I reasoned, two possible theories to explain the phenomenon. The first was that while in town the girl's crutches had been smashed in some accident; that she had 'phoned her boy friend, or brother, whatever he was, telling him of the accident, and he came to rescue with the collapsible wheel-chair, which the girl very possibly had used when convalescing after her amputation and before she had been allowed to use crutches.
The second theory — and the one I considered the more probable — was that the girl was temporarily suffering from an attack of what is known as 'crutch palsy'. This, as all crutch users will be aware, is a sort of paralysis that affects the armpits, usually during the first few months after the adoption of crutches and before the individual concerned has become expert with these supports.
Sometimes, however, the 'palsy' returns long after the first adoption of crutches, particularly when a single crutch is used. The pressure of the arm-rest of the crutch upon certain nerves in the armpit causes the trouble. Some people can never really get used to the ordinary crutches because of this recurring trouble and, for them, the comparatively recent 'elbow' type of crutch is prescribed.
It is very possible that this girl was being temporarily troubled in this way, and while recovering from the attack was using the wheel-chair in the way I have described. But of course the solution of the little problem may have been something quite different and perhaps ridiculously simple. In any case, the episode provided a memorable and unique thrill.
It was a remarkable fact that whenever I have encountered a really pretty one-legged girl she has usually been accompanied by a boy and very often the presence of a ring on the appropriate finger has revealed the fact that she is engaged. In the normal, of course, boys are not attracted by one-legged girls; and the average girl handicapped in this way has, I regretfully suppose, to go through life unloved. But from my experience, and from what I have learnt of the incidence of the kink I am discussing, I am quite sure that a pretty, daintily dressed one-legged girl sooner or later encounters a boy who is willing to marry her. And in nine cases out of ten the boy is attracted not in spite of, but because the girl's lack of a leg.
Another interesting point in this connection is that a pretty one-legged girl who has attracted her 'boy' will almost always be found to be very noticeable smart and chic in her dress and apparently to radiate more happiness than her normally formed sisters. I think this is understandable in the circumstances.
First of all she makes the astonishing and delightful discovery that, though she is one-legged, a boy can still fall in love with her. Further, she learns and comes gradually to assimilate the additional amazing fact that the boy actually prefers her to be one-legged. very naturally she 'plays up' to this odd but, to her, very endearing eccentricity, dressing as smartly as possible and making her one-legged appearance as attractive as she is able. And also, very natural, she is supremely happy because of the love that has come so unexpectedly in her life.
All this explains in some measure what must have often puzzled the normally minded reader of articles and letters on this topic contributed to the columns of this paper. Most of the one-legged lady readers who have contributed to the correspondence columns have confessed that they find an odd kind of pleasure in being one-legged. The explanation of this extraordinary fact is not that the writers are just romancing; it is simply that they are happily engaged or married to men who prefer them to be as they are, and they have come to look at things in the same way.
It is for similar reasons that a pretty one-legged girl so often surprises and even shocks the more conventionally minded onlooker by the extreme smartness and conspicuousness of her attire. She sees no reason — and, for the matter of that, neither do I — why she should shroud herself in sackcloth because she happens to have only one leg. In fact she appears to take an odd delight in drawing attention to herself by the dainty chic, and even daring, of her dress.
I remember the minor sensation that was caused in Regent Street one afternoon during the fine summer last year by a girl who certainly did not see why she should not follow what, I suppose, was the most fashionable craze of the moment.
She was accompanied by a well-dressed man and, though not strictly beautiful, was extremely piquant and attractive, with smooth platinum curls, waved closely to a little shapely head, revealing almost completely below a ridiculously tiny hat saucily worn over one ear.
She swung along easily on a pair of neat black crutches, and her frock, — of the slim, form-fitting kind that appeared to be worn over only the very minimum of gossamer undies — clung in most revealing fashion to the very slender, yet rounded and shapely thigh of her one and only leg.
Incidentally, the empty flattening of the thin silk of the narrow frock on the left side made it pretty obvious to the observant eye that practically no stump at all of the missing leg remained.
She was, as will be realised, a sufficiently conspicuous figure in any case. But she had gone still further in this matter of daringly attracting attention to herself. For the slim leg below the frock was stockingless, and on the little bare foot she wore an extremely exiguous toeless sandal, a daintily delicate affair of just a paper-thin sole and a few narrow diamante straps, with a very high stilt heel, that left her very shapely toes, the nails varnished in gleaming scarlet, completely bare.
It was no wonder that people stared and, stopping after she had passed, stood there and stared again. Most of the stares revealed a lively interest in the girl, but inevitably, a few were sternly disapproving, even hostile stares that plainly said 'How dare a one-legged girl, a cripple on crutches, flaunt her disability so impudently and unashamedly in the public street? How brazen of such a girl actually to draw attention to her one leg by leaving it and her single little foot quite bare!'
The girl could not but be aware of this occasional disapproval, but obviously she was quite untroubled by it, as she swung along chatting in smiling unconcern with her man friend.
I, for one, as I watched her admiringly, was pretty certain that she was enjoying hugely the sensation she created, and didn't care a hoot for the few who would have denied her the right to make herself as charming and attractive as her normally formed sisters. Candidly, I watched her out of sight with a sad, cheated sort of feeling; for one thing the girl belonged to somebody else and, for another, I should probably never see her again — as, in fact, I haven't.
That is what practically always happens with these chance encounters. One never sees the charmer again — ships that pass in the night and never even speak to each other in passing! Life, alas, is like that.
So far, in this particular article, I have been concerned with encounters of a more or less ordinary kind. I mean that though the girls I met were one-legged, there was nothing otherwise very odd or bizarre about them. I have had, however, two or three experiences that were, in some way or another, distinctly unusual.
I became friendly with one very charming one-legged girl, for instance, and met her several times without making an astonishing discovery that really I ought to have been alive to almost at once. It was only when, after a while, I was invited to her home, that I learned the truth. Some feeling of reticence, I suppose prevented her from telling me the truth in so many words, for she adopted a curiously indirect way of allowing me to discover it.
The evening I made my call, I found her seated on a couch looking very obviously embarrassed in spite of an attempt to look unconcerned. As I approached her I noted at once the odd way in which the thin silk of her frock hung in empty folds from near her hips, and I simply could not help standing in questioning astonishment.
The truth was, and I had never dreamt of suspecting it, that the girl had no legs at all! Her left leg was absent practically from the hip, but a short stump of three or four inches in length remained of her right leg. The stump was useful enough to enable her to wear one artificial leg, though a pair was quite impracticable.
Despite the fact that her right amputation had been done so high up, she walked with surprising naturalness with the aid of her crutches. The very neat, perfectly fitting silk stocking which clad the artificial leg and the dainty high heeled slipper she also wore, helped the very natural effect, and it had never occurred to me for a moment to suspect the limb.
I was frankly surprised at being deceived, for I had always been sure, in fact I am still, that I could detect an artificial leg, no matter how natural its appearance or how expertly its wearer managed it. In this case, however, the use of the crutches helped to disguise that mechanical action which is usually detectable in even the most expertly employed artificial leg. And, Of course it would not occur to anybody that the single neat leg below her frock was in reality a false one.
However, there it was. The girl had lost her legs in a curious way. She had been a tight rope walker with her father and two sisters, and when only 16 had fallen from the very top of a great circus tent. Her legs were amputated practically at once, and in subsequent operations her stumps were further amputated until she was left with nothing below the left hip and only the short stump at her right hip.
I cannot say that she was altogether happy in her complete leglessness, though she was cheerful enough considering everything. She was one of the girls with whom I never discussed my kink. I am pretty sure she would never have understood if I had ever ventured to introduce the topic.
One curious point was, however, that she seemed more comfortable and natural when in her legless state. She always removed her artificial leg indoors, and swung herself happily and very expertly about the carpet whenever she wished to move.
Her leg was worn only in the street, and she did not seem particularly pleased with having to use it even then, I suspect it must have set up irritation in the stump — at any rate, she was always quite glad to be rid of it.
Readers may remember that some time ago one of the many onelegged lady readers of "London Life," in a letter contributed to the correspondence columns, confessed that she had herself extensively tattooed and described the artistic designs that adorned her only leg. This lady and other readers may be interested to hear that I have had the pleasure of seeing a tattooed one-legged girl appearing in public.
As a matter of fact, this particular girl did not exhibit herself as a tattooed girl. The tattooing was not extensive, and was only incidental to her performance. Actually, she was a high diver, the female half of a boy and girl diving act appearing some years ago in America, with the Hagenbeck-Wallace Circus.
I was in the States at the time and happened to run into a small town in which the Hagenbeck-Wallace outfit had given a three days' show only a few days previously. The circus bills were still on the boardings, and I was, as can be imagined, highly intrigued to see a big coloured poster featuring the Two Somethings — I forget the actual name now — "World's Only Onelegged High Divers. Amazing! Unique! Unparalleled!!!" Etc. etc.
I soon discovered that the circus's next stand was only 50 or so miles away, and thither I set off with all speed. The act was certainly amazing, and I should say unique. The pair were each not more than 19 or 20, the girl most attractive with a very blonde, Norwegian beauty and the boy, also very fair, a splendid specimen of humanity.
The girl had lost her right leg and the boy his left, and each possessed very short stumps almost exactly similar in size. The boy wore form-fitting one-piece tights, the silk moulding his stump as neatly as it did the rest of his figure. But the girl appeared, rather daringly, only in the scantiest of skin-tight silk swimming costumes that left her shapely leg and the oval of her stump frankly bare.
The act itself followed the usual routine of high-diving acts, and was very slickly done, neither of the pair, whether in diving or swimming, seeming to suffer any handicap from the loss of a leg.
I had a seat quite near the big canvas diving tank, but it was only when the girl, after some combined fancy and trick diving, retired to a chair at the side of the tank, while her partner did some difficult solo work, that I became suddenly aware that she was very attractively tattooed. There was no doubt about it. I was close enough to see the various elaborate designs tattooed on the white flesh.
As I have said the tattooing was not extensive. There were 'bracelets' round each wrist, a twining snake design round the upper left arm, with the head resting near the shoulder. The only other design on the right arm was a butterfly, also near the shoulder.
The most elaborate design was that of a magnificent peacock with a spread tail occupying the whole of the front of the thigh of her only leg, the body of the bird covering the knee with the spread tail behind and above it. There was also an elaborately designed 'anklet' round he slim ankle.
But the most remarkable thing to me was that the little round stump was also tattooed! Here again the snake motive had been used, this time two snakes being intertwined and encircling the stump, the two heads facing each other, as if attacking, close up to the hip.
The interesting point about this particular piece of tattooing was that it had quite obviously been done on the stump itself and not before her amputation. The design covered the whole of the stump from the hip right down to where the shapely oval narrowed to its rounded tip in a way to leave no room for doubt. It struck me as being an extraordinary fancy on the part of the girl to submit even her stump to the alluring but painful art of the tattooer!
It was, of course, probable that the girl was tattooed on other parts of the body, but if that were so, her costume naturally hid the evidences of such work. The pair, by the way, made a very original exit from the arena after their show. They had used no crutches during the act, and none were produced at the end. They simply put an arm each round the other's waist and went off looking like a double-bodied freak on two legs, and walking as easily and naturally as a normal two-legged individual. They were billed as brother and sister, but I learnt that they were actually man and wife.
There is one curious aspect of this particular kink of which the ordinary individual might easily be skeptical, but of the existence of which there is no doubt at all. This is the fact that in all the world's capital cities there are one-legged and otherwise limbless girls who are definitely out to fascinate such members of the opposite s*ex as may be susceptible to their charms.
There is at least one such girl in London; there may, of course, be others. She is now in the thirties but is still a very attractive brunette with a slim, shapely figure, always dressed extremely smartly and expensively, yet with a quiet distinction that unmistakably reveals taste and breeding.
Though an habitue of the West End, she rarely appears in its streets and is usually found in one or other of the smart hotels or restaurants, and later in some expensive and exclusive night club, one famous resort in particular. But now and then you may catch sight of her neat, exquisitely dressed figure in Bond Street, Regent Street, or Piccadilly, probably an hour or so before lunch, and she swings along on her slender, beautifully fashioned crutches.
She always presents a very noticeably slim appearance, and I am sure that, each of her perfectly cut three-quarter length coats is made purposely very narrow in the skirt to help this effect.
One gets the idea that there is just sufficient freedom for the shapely, neatly silk-stockinged, leg revealed below the coat and very little room otherwise to spare. Were she two-legged, such a coat would fit her limbs so tightly as to make walking difficult. The effect is very noticeable as she walks, as the narrow skirt swings closely round the single leg and certainly helps to accentuate her one-legged appearance.
Another characteristic of hers is that she always keeps her crutches, which are specially made to fit her height exactly, quite close to the body and moves forward in short, dainty steps as if she were meticulously choosing her way over uncertain ground. This may simply be characteristic of her neat, dainty personality, but I think it is really due to the fact that she invariably wears on her small, shapely single foot, a very highheeled slipper, upon which her balance must necessarily be somewhat precarious, despite the help of her crutches.
There is no doubt that her whole appearance is highly provocative; and while the normal spectator must, and does, follow her progress with puzzled surprise, wondering no doubt why a one-legged girl should choose to appear in public like some wonderful musical comedy queen or exotic film star, the man susceptible to limbless beauty, to whom she is consciously making a definite appeal, must get a tremendous thrill from his realisation that here at last is the ideal one-legged girl of his dreams.
There are at least two such girls in Paris — or rather one is now a woman of over 40, handsome and well preserved, who has been married three times. She is rather big and plump, walking with slow, somewhat heavy languor on well-built crutches; and one can never escape the short, but very big and plump stump that is invariably outlined with such fullness on her skin-tight frocks, as she swings lazily along. The girl, a pretty, very showy blonde has practically no stump and swings very agilely along on a single silver-mounted crutch which seems to be almost part of her, so closely does she cling to it as she walks.
There are several one-legged women of this type in Berlin. In fact I have been told of two who always go about together. And there is at least one completely legless girl who frequents certain cafes. The girl's photograph, showing her posed on a table and revealing the fact that she is quite legless from the hips, was one of the illustrations featured in an article on Berlin's night life in an American picture paper about five or six years ago.
No doubt examples are to be found in all the other European capitals, but according to my information, for I have never been there, the largest number are to be found in Buenos Aires. There is in existence there a special bureau which one consults when seeking an introduction to lady friends. Here are kept large collections of photographs of charming girls of every type, and one special section is devoted to pretty girls who are limbless in some degree.
I am informed that there are nearly a hundred such photographs in this section. The majority, naturally, are one-legged beauties, a few blondes, but mostly brunettes with every variety of stump or without stump at all.
But there are also photographs of completely legless or completely armless girls, including, actually three girls who are completely without limbs and, curiously enough, only a solitary example of a girl who is armless and one-legged.
I do not vouch for the accuracy of this information; it is probably exaggerated, though it has come to me from several sources. But it appears to be a fact that this particular kink is better known and more widely catered for in Buenos Aires than in any other city in the world.
In a succeeding and final article in this series I hope to narrate my experiences among what I may describe as the professional limbless beauties — namely, those on the side-show, together with odd and entertaining facts I have gleaned during my very out of the ordinary quest.
________________________________________
London Life April 28, 1934



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Re: London Life. Tales

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20 Oct 2018, 17:27

London Life
London Life | 1938
________________________________________
The Clue Of The Purple Heart
by Wallace Stort
What has gone before
According to the extraordinary story he tells, a man calling himself Rudolf Muller has come to London to find the missing heiress of a recently dead German millionaire. The girl's mother, an Englishwoman, had years before fled to England with the child, after a quarrel with her husband, and bath had disappeared. A curious feature of the case is that the girl has only one leg; and upon the little stump of her absent leg is a tiny, purplish, heart-shaped birthmark.
Muller thinks he has discovered the missing heiress when he meets Elaine Hammond, a beautiful blonde with only one leg, dining with her fiance, Guy Saville, in the West End. But from Guy he learns that Elaine has no such birthmark.
Elaine, however, is in very great fear and very suspicious of the so-called Muller, because she knows only too well that she is actually the girl he is looking for; and, further, she is aware that the story the man tells is completely false, as she is not the daughter of a German millionaire, and her father had died before her mother and she had come to England. There is no doubt Muller is seeking her far no good purpose.
There is a mystery about Elaine of which only one person knows anything at all, and of which Guy himself is totally ignorant. The little birthmark is hidden in an ingenious way. Elaine has joined a society calling itself the "Society of the Black Butterflies," the members of which are all beautiful women who have lost one or more of their limbs. The emblem of the society is a tiny black butterfly, and each member has the emblem tattooed on the remaining portion of the lost leg. Elaine's butterfly is supposed to be tattooed like the others'; but actually she wears a 'transfer' of exactly similar design, and this covers and quite conceals the little birthmark.
The headquarters of the "Black Butterflies" is a luxurious and exclusive club called the "Phenomene," the membership of which includes, in addition, a large number of people interested in all kinds of strange kinks and fads. To this club Elaine and Guy take Muller — who has now accepted the supposed fact that Elaine is not the girl he is seeking — there to prosecute his search for the missing heiress, among the many crippled beauties who frequent it.
They meet there many odd and exotic types, including high-heel and dainty waist devotees, long-haired girls, tattooed girls, one-legged and legless, or armless beauties, and the like. And in particular Elaine's greatest friend, Tina Nicholas, a very beautiful girl who possess only one limb. Tina is the only individual who knows anything at all of Elaine's past, and it was she who introduced Elaine to the "Black Butterflies."
Leaving Elaine and Tina together, Guy and Muller go off for a tour of the club and, incidentally, to book a table for a cabaret; and Muller learns from Guy something of Tina's history. Tina is somewhat like Elaine and is of the same type blonde beauty, and Muller begins to wonder if Tina is not the girl he is looking for. The fact that she is now armless as well as one-legged would not affect the issue. He determines to keep an eye upon her and find out all he can about her.
Now read on.
________________________________________
Meanwhile, back in the lounge where Guy and Muller had left them, Elaine and Tina were deep in earnest conversation. Tina had swung round on the deep couch so that she now faced Elaine, her leg lying bent at the knee in front of her in characteristic fashion. And as they talked, the shapely, bare toes rested in Elaine's hand and gently fondled her slim white fingers.
Elaine has waited until the two men were well on their way before broaching the topic to discuss which she had sought out of Tina.
"Tina," she began, "what do you think of Muller?"
"Not a great deal, darling," replied Tina, with a little move. "Where on earth did Guy pick him up? And why bring him here? German, Isn't he? Pretty grim specimen, too. But why the concern about him?"
Elaine's fingers closed about the soft, warm toes.
"It's just this, darling," she said gravely. "The man has come to England to find me."
Tina's face became grave also.
"You are sure of that?" she asked. "It's not just a vague suspicion?"
"Oh, I'm sure all right. There isn't any doubt about it."
"What do you think he wants?" asked Tina. "Take you back with him? "
"I don't know. That's the whole trouble. You see, if he were authentic and above board, and had come to England in a perfectly straightforward manner, I could face the thing without worry though, of course, in any case I should not go back. But this man calls himself a German. He tells Guy a ridiculous trumped-up story about a search for a missing heiress — "
"Perhaps, darling, he is searching far a missing heiress," put in Tina, with an air of having made an enlightening discovery.
"An heiress exactly my age," retorted Elaine, "with an extraordinary resemblance to myself; with only on leg and with a little heart-shaped birthmark on her stump!"
Tina pursed her lips up in a little soundless whistle and nodded her head gravely.
"I see," she said. He knows all about the birthmark."
'That's what makes the whole thing so bogus," exclaimed Elaine. "If he knows about the birthmark, he knows everything about myself and poor darling mother. He knows therefore that the girl he is looking for is not the missing daughter of a German millionaire. He knows when and why my mother escaped to England with myself as a child. He must know, too, that it was because my left leg was shattered by a bullet during the fighting that it had to be amputated. He must even be aware, having heard it probably from the surgeon who operated, of the exact size of the limb that was left to me after the amputation.
Why therefore does he come secretly to England to tell this perfectly preposterous story of his search for a missing heiress? And why must this girl — if she is ever found — be kept in complete ignorance of the fact that she is being searched for? Who can he be, this pseudo German who calls himself Muller? And want does he want from me? Don't you see how sinister the whole thing is, how full of danger?"
Tina nodded slowly in grave agreement.
"It is certainly all very mysterious and frightening," she said. "But how did this man come to tell his story to Guy? Why Guy?"
Elaine explained the circumstances of Muller's encounter with Guy and herself, and of the subsequent meeting and conversation between Guy and the German.
"The fortunate thing, of course," she went on, "is that Guy has never seen the birthmark, and doesn't even know that it exists. So he was able to say quite truthfully that I had nothing of the sort, fortunately also, not thinking the matter relevant, he forgot all about my black butterfly and did not mention it. It might have occurred to an astute man like Muller that the birthmark was concealed beneath a supposedly tattooed butterfly design. That was a splendid idea of yours, Tina, darling, that I should join the 'Black Butterflies' and hide my little birthmark beneath the emblem of the Society."
"It wasn't a bad idea, I agree," laughed Tina. "But it was really one that might have occurred to any member of the Society, after hearing your story. Of course I immediately thought of the butterfly. Anybody would."
"Oh, you can set your mind at rest upon that point," said Tina, confidently. "Not another soul knows a thing about it."
"How about Princess Ottilie? I have always been a little afraid of her keen eyes and keener and very unscrupulous brain. She knows at last that I am a bit of a mystery, because I have always been dumb whenever she has shown her apparently quite affectionate interest in my affairs."
I'm not particularly trustful of the very charming head of our little Society myself," said Tina. "But I'm sure she doesn't know anything about you. You haven't told Guy anything yet, I suppose?"
"I can't tell Guy," cried Elaine, passionately. "I had hoped that he would never know — that nobody would ever know. I am sure I shall lose him the moment he discovers who I really am."
The supple bare toes were entwined with Elaine's fingers and caressed them comfortingly.
"You never know," Tina said, softly. "Guy won't want to let you go any more than you wish to lose him. But don't worry, darling. Nothing has come out yet, and we're going to see that nothing will come out. Muller has definitely crossed you off his list. He is not interested in you any more, at any rate as far as his quest is concerned. He is after other quarry. very well" — she laughed with sudden and secret amusement — "we'll see what we can do in the way of fixing up a nice little game of bluff for him."
At the moment, Tina, happening to glance down the lounge, espied two figures in the distance moving towards them.
"H'sh!" she exclaimed to Elaine as she swung round on the couch to a more normal posture. "Put on your brightest smile, darling. Guy and Muller are coming back. "
She stretched out her leg effortlessly and with expert toes selected a cigarette from the open case an the table. Accepting a light from Elaine, she lay back in lazy comfort, holding the cigarette daintily between uplifted toes. Elaine herself lit a cigarette also, and so the two girls, chatting together in smiling unconcern, awaited the approach of the two men.
The two eventually arrived at the couch, and Guy announced that he had luckily been able to secure a table on the dance floor. He suggested that they might as well get along, as the cabaret would begin very soon and they could get comfortably started an supper before the opening numbers.
Muller, as may be imagined, was all the time reading Tina with new eyes, wondering afresh at what Guy had just told him about her.
Meanwhile, Elaine has risen and had accepted her crutches from Guy; and now Tina sought for her discarded slipper with flexible toes, captured it, and slippered her foot into it. Then lightly and gracefully she rose to an easy, perfect balance on her single foot and, with the airy effortlessness of a bird, she smilingly hopped a few steps this way and that in a sort of dancing measure, obviously to impress the wide-eyed Muller with yet another example of her skill.
She answered Muller's unanswered query by hopping demurely to Guy, very much in the manner of a child that expects to be picked up and carried. Guy obviously took the matter as much for granted as Tina did, for without more ado he gathered the slim one-limbed body into his arms. Tina settled herself comfortably in his embrace, and the party made its way to the dance-floor, Elaine chatting amiably with Tina as she swung gracefully along on her crutches at Guy's side.
The dance-floor, Muller discovered, after they had descended the broad, shallow staircase and passed through the heavy curtains, was very much as are similar places in big hotels and restaurants. It was a surprisingly large oblong, charmingly decorated and discreetly lighted, each table having its own delicately shaded lamp in addition to he diffused warm glow of the indirect overhead lighting.
The tables were arranged round the sides, a balcony above, running round three walls and supported at intervals by square, mirror-faced pillars, being also set with tables. At the further end of the oblong, approached along its full width by three very shallow steps, was a low, open platform of stage, at the rear of which hung a heavy brocade curtain divided down the centre. On the left of this stage, occupying its own highly decorated platform, was the dance band, a very efficient combination of nine players led by its violinist conductor.
Guy had secured a table about half-way down the long room and conveniently situated on the edge of the dance-floor, and this the party reached at last, after running the gauntlet of the many welcoming friends they knew. They took their seats, Guy of necessity looking after Tina and seeing that she was comfortably installed, while an assiduous waiter attended Elaine and, taking her crutches, deposited them in one of the many neatly made racks placed at intervals along the walls. Then, when cocktails and food had been ordered, Muller settled down to watch with interested eyes the gay, kaleidoscopic scene about him.
It was with a little shock of surprise, though he realised almost the same time that he ought not now to be surprised at anything that happened amid these bizarre surroundings, that he saw Guy and Elaine get up from the table and, with all the naturalness in the world, swing off together into the dancing throng to the strains of a popular fox trot.
Before his experiences of this astonishing night, he would have thought it impossible for a one-legged girl even to attempt to dance. But as he watched Elaine moving effortlessly in Guy's arms, he was amazed at her easy expertness and grace. He realised, of course, that she was being firmly supported by her partner, as Guy completely encircled her slim waist with both arms, holding her body pressed closely to his.
In this way she was actually quite easily and lightly swung from Guy's body, and was thus able to fit her single-footed steps to Guy's with a perfectly natural and graceful rhythm. With her disengaged hand she had gathered up the long, clinging skirt of her frock; and Muller was thus able to follow with absorbed and charmed interest, the swift and nimble play of the little, bare-toed, sandalled foot as Elaine cleverly followed Guy through all the intricacies of the dance. Then at last they were lost in the crowd, and Muller turned his attention to other and not less interesting matters.
Incidentally, he had been so interested in Elaine's fascinating little exhibition of skill, that he had not noted the approach from a table some little distance away, of a tall, distinguished looking man who whisked Tina away on to the dance-floor. And it was only when he saw her swing past in her partner's arms, dancing just as easily and daintily as Elaine, that he missed her from the table. He followed the pair with his gaze, marvelling at this further display of one-legged virtuosity, until his eyes were caught by something new. And that happened pretty frequently during the next few minutes.
Girls tottered, rather than danced past, perched on perilously high heels, their waists so tiny that one felt that if they bent or swayed, they might snap in two. Heavily bejeweled beauties; slim, lovely girls clad only in silk tights or in the flimsiest of skin-tight swimming suits; girls whose only clothing, save for the scantiest of trunks and brassieres, was the long, shining cloak of their own wonderful hair; beautiful girls in slave costume, manacled and bound in jingling silver chains — all these and many other strange and exotic types swung past in the arms of smiling partners.
The pretty one-legged twins went by, dancing with unexpected neatness on their slender peg legs. A little, laughing blonde passed slowly and stiffly by, two slender spindles of silver revealing themselves below her short skirt instead of her absent legs. "Sylvia of the Silver Pegs" she was called, and she always insisted on "dancing" at least once or twice whenever she visited the club.
However, his musings were cut short by the return to the table by Elaine and Guy, and just about the same moment Tina floated past in the arms of her partner and came to rest at a table a little distance away.
" Oh, there's Ronnie with Tina," exclaimed Elaine as the couple past. Tina's escort waving a hand in greeting as they went by.
"Moira will be with him," went on Elaine. "Yes, there she is at the table. We must go over and say how do. Come along, Mr. Muller, and meet another of our club celebrities."
The first of the dishes ordered had already arrived, but luckily they were cold and would therefore not spoil by waiting, — a fact which comforted Muller, who was more concerned than most about the demands of a healthy appetite. He rose cheerfully enough, therefore, and followed his hosts as they threaded their way between he tables. Elaine did not worry to retrieve her crutches, but, with Guy's arm firmly about her waist and her arm encircling his, she performed her engaging little trick of "walking" at his side, neatly timing her one-footed steps with his.
At the table they found Tina chatting gaily with her handsome partner and a strikingly beautiful woman in the early thirties.
"So you have at last deigned to look our way," was the latter's smiling greeting as they came up. "We saw you come in, but we could not attract your attention."
"Terribly sorry, Moira, darling," laughed Elaine, "but we know you and Ronnie were here, and we were coming to find you sooner or later. In any case, here we are. Let me introduce Mr. Muller, a German gentleman visiting London." She turned to Muller. "Mr. Muller, this very beautiful and exacting lady is Lady Moira Pomeroy, and here is her husband Ronald."
Muller favoured each with his stiff little bow. Meanwhile a waiter had brought chairs for the newcomers and they sat down, Muller finding himself next to Lady Moira. He was about to open the conversation when an odd little bit of pantomime held him dumb. Pomeroy had picked up a cocktail glass from the table and, instead of drinking from it, he raised it to his wife's lips and she sipped daintily. Then, although he was already smoking a cigarette, he took another from his case, lit it, and after puffing it once or twice, he leaned across and placed it between his wife's lips.
Puffing her cigarette with enjoyment, Lady Moira turned to Muller to chat and at once became aware of his look of astonishment. She laughed softly in good-humoured amusement.
"You are puzzled about the drink and the cigarette, Mr. Muller?" she asked, moving the cigarette to the side of her mouth with flexible lips. "You see, circumstances compel me to use my husband's arms for all such services." And still smiling at him in her charming, enigmatic way she moved her shapely shoulders in a little dainty shrug.
Lost for the moment in his own chaotic, bewildered thoughts, Muller at last became aware that Guy was addressing him.
"Come along, Mr. Muller," Guy was saying, "we'd better run along and put on the old nosebags before the show starts.
Muller had only the vaguest idea of what connection "nosebags" could possibly have with the present situation, but he realised that his party was returning to the table and the thought of food brought him back to realities he understood and relished. They regained their table, where they disposed of the food served, Elaine and Guy fitting in two or three more dances in convenient intervals.
"And what are you thinking?" asked Tina of Muller during one of these intervals, as she accepted a cigarette and held it between uplifted toes.
Muller paused for a while, his eyes on the moving crowd of dancers. He had suddenly realised that for the moment he had Tina to himself, and here was the hoped-for opportunity of discovering something about her. When he did resume his talk with her, he flattered himself that this approach was full of subtlety.
"And your so charming self, Miss Tina," he said. "If I am not venturing on forbidden ground, I understand that you are not born as you are."
"That is so," replied Tina, quite cheerfully. "And there isn't any forbidden ground. I don't mind in the least discussing myself, if that's what you mean."
"Simply one's natural interest in a very lovely woman, with very unusual characteristics," went on Muller hastily, in apparent explanation of his very open curiosity. "You lost your leg as a child, wasn't that it, and then later had to undergo amputation of your arms?"
"I see that Guy has been gossiping," said Tina, cleverly allowing her words to convey that she did not deny the facts stated. Actually those facts were not as stated. Tina had been armless for some years before her leg was amputated; but she did not intend Muller to know that.
Muller nodded impressively, hiding his secret satisfaction.
"I have got the impression," he went on, "I don't know quite why, that you are not a native of these islands. I mean there seems to be something not quite English about you. Do I happen to be right, by any chance?"
Tina indulged in a little bit of pantomime that would have highly amused Elaine had she been there to see. She shot a quick apprehensive glance at her questioner, her eyelids fluttering swiftly. Then she looked away, her face grave and set. At last she turned and slapped her soft, bare toes over Muller's hand, looking pleadingly at him.
"Please don't think me discourteous if I don't answer that question," she said, falteringly. "You see, it's a matter I don't care to discuss. There are reasons--"
Muller could hardly keep the triumph that pulsed through him from shining out of his eyes as he patted the little foot. Surely here was the very girl he sought, sitting right at his side! To be sure she was now armless, as well as one-legged, but that did not affect that issue. He had only to find out one further important fact about her, and the whole mater would be settled. He felt he could not pursue the matter in the present circumstances, but he would learn all he wanted to know in good time. He did his best to appear gravely apologetic.
"My dear young lady," he said, "I am deeply grieved to have embarrassed you in this way. It was unpardonable of me. Please forget that I ever asked the question. And please try to forgive my impertinent curiosity."
"Of course I forgive you," cried Tina, gazing up at him in wide-eyed relief and gratitude that was extremely well done. But if there was triumph in Muller's breast, there was equal triumph in Tina's. She knew exactly what she had achieved. She had cleverly drawn a false scent across the path of the hunter. Elaine, his rightful quarry, was completely forgotten in his certainty the she (Tina) was the girl he sought.
For the time being, Elaine was safe, free perhaps to be spirited away without any suspicions attaching to her escape, while Tina led the deluded Muller further and further astray. A plan of campaign was already forming in her agile brain. The smile she gave Muller seemed very friendly. Fortunately, occupied as he was by he own exuberant feelings, he was blissfully unaware of the amused malice that lay behind it.
Meanwhile things were happening that draw their attention from their own immediate affairs. The band played an introductory fanfare, the dance-floor gradually cleared, and a master of ceremonies announced that the cabaret performance was about to begin. There was a general bustle as people from rear tables began to move forward, some to join friends at their better-placed tables, others to stand about in groups wherever they could find points of vantage. A gradual hush fell on the assembly and the band broke into the lively strains of the opening number.
(To be continued in our next double number.)
________________________________________
London Life October 29, 1938 pp. 28 — 32



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Re: London Life. Tales

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20 Oct 2018, 17:30

London Life
London Life | 1938
________________________________________
The Clue Of The Purple Heart
by Wallace Stort
What has gone before.
A certain Mr. Rudolf Muller, a German, has come to London to find the missing heiress of a recently dead German millionaire. The girl he seeks is a monopede with a heart-shaped birthmark. Muller thinks he has discovered the missing heiress when he meets Elaine Hammond and her fiance, Guy Saville, but he learns that Elaine has no such birthmark. Elaine is, however, in very great fear of the so-called Muller. She has realised from the outset that she is actually the girl he is seeking. She knows, too, that the man's story is a lying one, as her father was not a German, nor a millionaire, and died years ago.
In fact there is a mystery about Elaine of which even Guy is completely ignorant. The little birthmark is hidden in an ingenious way. She has joined a society calling itself "Society of Black Butterflies". The emblem of the society is a tiny black butterfly, and each member has the little emblem tattooed. Elaine's butterfly is supposed to be tattooed like the others, but actually she wears a tiny "transfer" of exactly similar design, and this covers and, of course, quite conceals the purple heart birthmark.
The headquarters of the "Black Butterflies" is an exclusive club in Mayfair called the "Phenomene". To this club Elaine and Guy take Muller, here to prosecute his search. They meet there many odd and exotic types, and in particular a great friend of Elaine's, Tina Nicholas, a very beautiful blonde.
Tina is the only individual who knows anything at all of Elaine's story.
While Guy and Muller explore the club, the two girls discuss the situation, from which discussion emerges the facts that Elaine's father was murdered in some mysterious circumstances when she was a child; that her mother fled with her during the fighting, and that during the flight a bullet smashed the child's leg and it had to be amputated. Elaine is quite sure that Muller must be aware of all these facts, though is ignorant of her own identity. In consequence, she knows that his story must be false.
Tina, half in mischief, but wholly anxious to help Elaine, determines to hoodwink Muller; and when he returns, she cleverly gives him the impression that she may be the girl he is looking for. She is a cripple of the same type as Elaine; and about the same age.
Eventually the party adjourn to the dining room, where Guy has secured a table close to the dance floor. Here they meet more acquaintances, and the cabaret performance is announced to begin.
Now read on.
________________________________________
One cabaret show is in essentials very like another, and this particular followed, for the most part, the usual routine. A pretty and attractive French diseuse sang risque songs in French with a sophisticated air and garnered the usual sniggers from the initiated. A couple of adagio dancers, a girl and a boy, performed impossible acrobatics to a dance rhythm, the girl
373 eappearing more like an incredibly flexible rubber doll than a human being. A famous cabaret light comedian sang topical and extremely libelous songs at the piano, to the accompaniment of roars of laughter. And other turns of a like character followed each other in swift succession.
But interspersed with these usual and for the most part conventional turns were a number that were by no means conventional and obviously could be presented only in a club as extraordinary and unique as the Phenomene.
There was, for example, the ingenious and attractive "Dance of the High Heel" — a dance performed apparently by six pairs of hip-length, glove-fitting scarlet kid boots, furnished with pencil-slim heels 7 inches or 8 inches in height. The lighting was so arranged that only the boots were visible, and the various intricate evolutions they went through were apparently performed without human aid. At the end, the spotlights lifted and revealed the comely upper portions of the six pretty wearers of the boots amid delighted applause.
Another warmly applauded turn was a clever and most difficult dance given by two pretty and most shapely girls whose bodies were shackled together with a network of silver chains. The dance required absolute precision and perfect timing.
Later in the evening there were amateur boxing and wrestling matches between the members in the club gymnasium.
After the combatants had bathed and dressed, Elaine and her friends left the gym and, like children at a party, seemed loath to go home, though midnight had chimed an hour or more ago. Eventually they drifted into the lounge they had left before supper, which still buzzed with the laughter and gossip of a goodly proportion of the members, who seemed as unconcerned as themselves with the passage of time. They were making their way to an unoccupied corner of the vast room when a musical call from near by halted them. They turned to a couch round which a number of people, both men and women, were collected, some seated and others standing. Elaine made a comical, half exasperated little grimace at Tina, but she was smiling with apparent amiability when the party joined that round the couch.
Muller had become, during that eventful night, almost immune to astonishment; but as he gazed down at the couch's beautiful occupant he realised the club seemed capable at any moment of producing just one further surprise, as it were, from its sleeve.
The woman to whose musical call they had responded, and who now smiled up at them from her nest of big colourful cushions, was a strikingly handsome, very distinguished-looking brunette, no longer young, yet with the beautifully smooth skin of a girl of twenty. But it was not her distinction and beauty that immediately struck the observer seeing her for the first time. It was the fact, remarkable even in so extraordinary a place as the Phenomene, that she was merely a beautiful trunk of a woman seemingly without limbs. The particular type of costume she wore was of gold lame, most daringly low cut to reveal the full beauty of her figure, perfectly modelled, smoothed skinned, without a flaw, and fitting the plump, attractively rounded contours of the shapely torso as if the gold had been painted on the bare flesh.
This wonderful and fascinating woman, Muller discovered on
3n3 eintroduction, was the famous Princess Ottilie, whose name he had heard mentioned several times during the evening, and who was the foundress and president of the Society of Black Butterflies.
Unkind fellow members of the society — and there were many where Princess Ottilie was concerned, for there was something slightly sinister and enigmatic about her — doubted if she was really a Princess, and circulated the malicious and no doubt entirely false story that she had at one time been a side-show exhibit appearing all over the world as "The Beautiful Half-woman". Whatever the truth was, she was now very wealthy, and her wonderful and luxurious house was used for many exceptional events.
She now welcomed Elaine and her friends with her usual graciousness, but as the party drew chairs about her couch she shot little, apparently casual, but actually searching glances at Muller, who had dropped at a chair almost at her side. Elaine, Tina and company had settled themselves away to the side and on the edge of the crowd, forming with two or three others a gay little circle of their own and practically out of earshot of the Princess. But Guy, having spotted one of his particular men friends over on the other side of the crowd, strolled away to chat. It was while he was talking, a little behind the seated Muller, that he noted the Princess's odd interest in Muller. It was as if she were trying to recall some memory that the man evoked. It would be interesting if the woman knew Muller, he thought; and as he chatted, he kept an eye on them both.
"And how did you leave Berlin, Mr. Muller?" Guy heard her ask suddenly, speaking in perfect German — which, incidentally, Guy himself spoke fluently. "It is ages since I was in the capital. they tell me that it has changed a great deal during recent years."
Muller, after favouring the Princess with his formal little bow, replied also in perfect German. And then, as the Princess continued the conversation, she suddenly interposed into the flow of German several rapidly spoken sentences that meant nothing at all to the listening Guy. Certainly they were not in German. Guy saw Muller stiffen for just a second and then, with admirable coolness, regain control himself. He smiled apologetically and shook his head.
"I am sorry Princes," he said," but I am afraid I do not quite understand."
The Princess laughed good humouredly, shrugging shapely, armless shoulders.
"It is I who should be sorry, Mr. Muller," she said, speaking again in German. "I forget. I speak five, ten, fifteen, oh, I don't know how many languages, and I slip into one or other of them without being aware of it."
"Ach so," responded Muller, nodding his head smilingly as if he quite understood so odd an idiosyncrasy. But to Guy there seemed something queer about the apparently ordinary little episode. He knew Princess Ottilie pretty well, and he knew that slips of the kind she had just confessed were quite foreign to her extremely alert and clever brain. He shrewdly suspected that, for some reason he could not fathom, the Princess had laid a little trap for Muller; and that Muller, if he had not actually fallen into
3¥3 eit, had at any rate, unconsciously indicated to Ottilie's quick eyes his sudden realisation of its existence.
The Princess, however, gave no sign that she had achieved anything by her ruse — if, of course,it was a ruse.
"You must come to see me, my dear Mr. Muller," she was saying amiably. "A fragment of a woman, like myself, is unable to do much in the way of travel nowadays, and I have to rely on my friends to satisfy my quite insatiable hunger from news from abroad."
"A very beautiful and exquisite fragment, if I may say so, Princess," murmured Muller. "I shall be most happy to be of service."
The sequel to all this came a little while later when, after the party had eventually broken up, Guy was taking Muller back to his hotel in his car, having first of all dropped Elaine at her flat.
"Who exactly is this Princess Ottilie?" asked Muller, after some talk about nothing in particular.
"Just Princess Ottilie," replied Guy, with a laugh. "That's about all I know of her. I believe she is a Russian all right, and it seems to be generally accepted that she is, or was, a Princess. She is very rich and a popular hostess."
"She seems a most remarkable woman," commented Muller. "I suppose she was born as she now is?"
"I don't think anybody knows for certain. Probably she was, but I have often heard it whispered that it was an act of vengeance by political enemies — Bolsheviks, and all that, you know. No doubt a lot of nonsense."
"Ach so," said Muller, slowly; and for a while remained curiously silent.
"Yes, a most interesting woman," he said at last, in his precise way. "I shall be most happy to avail myself of her kind invitation and call upon her. Perhaps, my dear Mr. Saville, you will be so good as to give me the address of the Princess's town residence and instruct me how I can most easily discover it."
Guy gave him the information he asked for and a few minutes later dropped him at his hotel.
"Now, I wonder," was Guy's unspoken comment as he resumed his journey, "if there is anything between these two. Muller's a bit of a dark horse, and so is the Princess. I shouldn't be surprised if Muller has a little game on that we know nothing about. I must tell Elaine all about it tomorrow. She'll be darned interested.
And, little dreaming how "darned interested" Elaine would be, he drove on homewards through the deserted streets.
* * *
It was after lunch next day, during a phone talk with Elaine, primarily to make a date with her for that evening, that Guy told her of his suspicions regarding Muller and Princess Ottilie and his reasons for them. When at last he had rung off, Elaine sat for a while in silent and troubled thought. Then, inevitably, she rang up Tina and recounted Guy's story.
"Not so good," was Tina's comment. "If there is really anything between Muller and our worthy president, the Princess, we had
3ܐ3 ebetter prepared for trouble. How about coming along and discussing ways and means over a comforting cup of tea?"
Accordingly, a little later, a pretty, neatly attired maid ushered Elaine into the charmingly appointed lounge of Tina's cosy little flat. Tina, who was deep in the recesses of a big couch, at once rose with effortless grace and hopped lithely over to Elaine and kissed her affectionately. It was a pardonable vanity of Tina's invariably to rise to receive her guests, quite obviously to demonstrate her uncanny agility and perfectly balanced poise.
She was attractively clad in one of her usual house frocks, of which she possessed many variants, all fashioned on more or less the same intriguing lines. This particular creation was of shimmering oyster grey silk fitting the perfect, uncorsetted figure skin tight and with unwrinkled smoothness from throat to hips, where it flowed into a many flared, extremely brief apology for a skirt, not many inches in length from the hips.
Certainly the rounded shoulders, the full swelling bosom, the shapely waist, and the beautifully curving hips were veiled by the skin-tight silk, but every contour was almost as fully outlined as if undraped.
Elaine was more conventionally clad in a tailored outdoor costume of thin white linen, the skirt extremely tight and short, and with it she wore a perilously high-heeled slipper of white kid, and neat, slender crutches enamelled in gleaming white.
After an intimate, mutual caress, which was a habit with them when alone together, they sat talking of this and that while the maid set everything ready for tea on a low table by the side of the couch.
When, at length, the maid had pattered out on slim high heels, the two girls turned their attention to tea. But Elaine, who, in the circumstances, might have been expected to preside at the ceremony, made no move to do so. A stranger might have rushed in with heedless helpfulness, but none of Tina's intimate friends would have done anything so tactless. They knew that nothing gave the fascinating beauty so much pleasure as displaying her skill on such an occasion.
Accordingly Tina busied herself with dispensing tea, putting milk in the dainty porcelain cups, pouring out the tea, "handling" the plates of delicate little cakes and the like — all with the clever, flexible toes of her shapely foot. And when at last the ceremony was over, it was she, too, who opened the silver box of cigarettes, selected a cigarette for Elaine and herself and, lifting her leg effortlessly, placed one little white cylinder between Elaine's lips and one between her own, and lit them with a tiny silver lighter that her wonderful toes manipulated with perfect ease.
Meanwhile neither had been forgetful of the main object of Elaine's visit. Tea was but the accompaniment of a serious discussion of the whole situation and its relation to Princess Ottilie and the part she light possibly play in it.
"But when supposing she does know, or thinks she knows, this Muller person," Elaine said, with a praiseworthy effort to pooh-pooh her fears, "what exactly can Ottilie do? She certainly knows nothing at all about me. She can't give the man any more information than he has already got, or to be truthful hasn't got from ourselves. We're probably worrying ourselves absolutely unnecessarily."
"I'd like to think so," said Tina, dryly, blowing smoke delicately from the cigarette she held daintily between her uplifted toes. "But the trouble is that our dear president is so devilishly intelligent. Hardly surprising, seeing that using the brain is about the only activity left to her. She can put two and two together more quickly than anybody else I know. Now you were able to head off the egregious Muller perfectly and easily -"
"I certainly hope so," sighed Elaine.
"Oh, you did all right. He has never given you another thought. It has never occurred to him that you were putting up a game of bluff. But do you think, you could have bluffed Ottilie so easily?"
"I can't imagine anybody bluffing Ottilie." Elaine agreed, spiritlessly.
"Quite," said Tina, "and so we have to face the very great likelihood that if Muller spills any beans at all, Ottilie will put her finger — or shall I say her shoulder — on the vital spot. Consider for a moment: Muller tells his story to Ottilie. Perhaps, as we suspect, she knows something about him, and so be able to get a little more of the truth than he has deigned to give us. He will tell her that he was quite convinced at first that you, Elaine, were the very girl he was looking for. You filled the bill in any way — except for the vital fact that you have not on you the all-important birthmark. "
"But what is the quick-witted Ottilie's immediate reaction to that little piece of information? She knows one or two things that Muller isn't aware of. She knows, first of all that there is some mystery about you, especially about your early days. Secondly she knows all about the Black Butterflies. How simple for any girl member of the society to cover an embarrassing birthmark with a supposedly tattooed butterfly!"
"Oh, Tina," breathed Elaine, the colour draining from her face, "that's exactly what she would think. What on earth are we to do?"
"Wait a bit, darling," said Tina, soothingly. "Hold everything. After all, Ottilie isn't the only lightning calculator in the immediate vicinity. Your little Tina happens to have just one more limb than the beautiful Russian torso, and that may enable me to get just one jump ahead of her. A pretty conceit, my sweet, isn't it? But you see what I mean?"
Elaine kissed her friend with sudden emotion.
"Sorry, dearest," she said. "I'm just a frightened little rabbit. I can't even think. It's just as well that you can think for both of us. But what can you hope to do if Ottilie suspects that I am the girl Muller is after?"
"Well, Let's see!" said Tina, with a bright, reassuring smile. "First of all, we know Ottilie well enough to be sure that, whatever she does, she won't come out into the open. She will work all the time behind the scenes, and if you are eventually discovered, she will apparently have had nothing at all to do with it. What we must be on our guard is some little subtle trick which she will spring upon us when we least expect it."
"Yes," nodded Elaine, "and we can at least be thankful that we are on our guard."
"Exactly. Now, secondly — and very importantly — it may surprise you to hear that yours will not be the only name mentioned when Muller discusses with Ottilie possible candidates for the position of the 'missing heiress'."
Elaine stared, not quite understanding Tina's suggestion.
"You mean," she asked slowly, "that Muller, having put me out of court, thinks he has found somebody else? But, if so, who?"
Tina made a comic little move.
"Me," she said in a small, childish voice. "Your little Tina!"
"But"— began Elaine incredulously.
"Listen!" Tina interposed, quickly. "I've had several nice, cosy, intimate little chats with Muller. I am very much your type, blonde, slim, about your height and age. Unless I'm very much mistaken, I'm pretty sure I have succeeded in leading him completely up the garden path. If he hasn't at this moment considerably more than half a suspicion that I am the girl he is looking for, then I'm not the clever little girl I think I am."
"But, darling, how about the fact that you are -?"
"That doesn't really affect the matter. It doesn't render me less likely to be the one-legged girl he is looking for."
"That's true, of course," said Elaine. "So — always supposing that Muller takes Ottilie into confidence — the Princess will believe that there is every likelihood of either you or myself being the missing girl."
"That's it. You see, Ottilie knows very little more about me than she knows about you. She will suddenly realise that I am in my own way as much a mystery as you are, and she won't know which to suspect. Accordingly, if, as we fear, she decides to keep Muller on his quest, she will try us out in some subtle way, play some characteristic trick upon us while we are supposedly unsuspecting."
"And then what?" asked Elaine, bluntly. "She will naturally concentrate on the important matter of the butterflies. Eventually she will discover than mine is a fake and that beneath it is the fatal birthmark, while yours is genuinely tattooed. How, darling, do you propose to get over that?"
"You can leave that safely to your little Tina, my child," said Tina, with a chuckle. That is the point to which I have been leading. I am about to take you behind the scenes, to unfold to you the mighty plot with which we hope to circumvent the sinister machinations of our wily Princess. Seriously, darling, it's just an ordinary, simple little peace of bluff, but let's hope it will serve its purpose for the time being."
She stretched out her slender silk-clad leg and pressed with her toes a bell-push set in the carpet near one end of the couch. The pretty, neatly attired maid who had served tea answered the call and stood smilingly attentive.
"Alice," said Tina, "you clear away the tea things. And, by the way, we are in an artistic mood this afternoon. Please fetch the big colour box — the oils only. And some warm water and a small sponge."
The girl nodded understandingly, went out with the tea things, and returned with a biggish, shallow, black japanned box. She drew up to the couch a long, low table. Upon this she set out the box and, opening it, revealed within a series of short, fat tubes of colour. By the box she placed a palette fitted with a number of shallow depressions in which to mix colours, and a flat quiver of brushes of every variety and size. Finally she brought in turpentine and spirit, a small bowl of warm water and a sponge, which she set by the other articles on the table. Then with another smile the girl withdrew.
Elaine was no stranger to the setting out of this paraphernalia, as she was aware of Tina's very marked artistic ability, and had often watched in wonder the skilful toes at work on a brilliant study in colour and composition.
"Now, darling," said Tina, briskly, "we shall see what we can do in the way of calling any little bluff that Ottilie may try to put up. Of course, there is always the possibility that Ottilie may not be taking a hand in this affair at all. But with our dear Princess you never know, an it's best to be prepared. By this time, you have no doubt got some notion of what I'm going to try to do. Simply, the idea is to transfer, at any rate as far as appearances go, the little birthmark from you to me — "
"Simply!" echoed Elaine, with the first genuine laugh she had allowed herself since she had arrived for the fateful conference. "That's good. It's going to be perfectly simpler of course! Just the entirely mad sort of idea you would get hold of."
"Laugh away, my child," said Tina, with unabashed cheerfulness. "In any case, we're going to have a shot at it. And we shall see what we shall see. Now then, my girl, the first thing to do is to have a look at your birthmark."
Tina bent down and examined for a moment the little black butterfly that adorned the smooth white flesh.
"By the way," she asked, suddenly looking up, "do you carry any of these transfer butterflies with you, darling?"
"When I think of it — yes," said Elaine. "I really should do so always, as there is the possibility that the transfer I am wearing may fall off or be rubbed off. Let's see." She drew her bag towards her and examined its contents. "A bit of luck," she went on. "I've got some with me now."
She produced a little flat silver box containing a number of tiny, wafer-like butterfly transfers, and placed it on the table.
"Splendid!" said Tina. "Now we can carry on."
With the aid of the sponge and the warm water, the little transfer butterfly was removed from Elaine's stump and the little birthmark, so cunningly concealed, was revealed.
"The cause of all the trouble," commented Tina, as she bent down to examine closely, while her toes gently smoothed the tiny, dark island of flesh. "It's really only a small, purplish discoloration of the skin," she went on, "shaped exactly like the ace of hearts in a pack of cards. It shouldn't be difficult to concoct a really veritable forgery. Anyhow, we're going to try."
Meanwhile Tina, with a brush held skilfully in her toes, was busy mixing a flesh colour on the palette.
"These are fast grease paints," she explained as she did so. "They'll stand up to a lot of wear and tear for quite a long time — long enough, we hope, to bluff our charming limbless Princess."
For some time she worked patiently, comparing at intervals the colour mixture she obtained with the colour and texture of the smooth flesh. At last, satisfied that she had got the tint as near nature as possible, she began to apply a first coat of flesh colour over the butterfly tattooed on the skin.
A second and third coat of the colour were smoothly applied after each had dried, and at last she laid back for Elaine's inspection. The tattooed butterfly had apparently completely disappeared, and only the closest inspection in a bright light would have detected the smooth coating of colour.
"Now for the birthmark," Tina said, taking up another brush and beginning again the business of mixing the appropriate colour. This done at last, she proceeded to sketch in the design of the tiny purple heart over the flesh colour on herself. The task was accomplished at last to Elaine's quite excited and elated applause. And then finally, when the painted mark was dry, Tina, selecting with her toes one of the little black butterfly transfers, affixed it neatly over the pseudo birthmark.
"Voila!" she exclaimed, holding up the shapely limb. "The job is done! For the time being we have changed places. The butterfly transfer hides the birthmark on me instead of on you. Now, let's see what we can do for you, darling."
Once again Tina turned to the task of mixing colours on the palette and, when satisfied, repeated on Elaine the skilful work she had done upon herself. Under several applications of colour, the birthmark gradually disappeared until at last the flesh appeared completely smooth and unmarked.
"So far, so good," Tina remarked, smiling up at the responsive Elaine. But the chef d'oeuvre is to come. Everything depends on that. We've got to be clever enough to deceive the sharp eyes of our beloved Ottilie, and there isn't any doubt that she is going to keep her eyes well skinned."
She selected with her toes a very fine brush and mixed a rich blue-black colour on the palette. Then, using one of the butterfly transfers as a model, she sketched in over the spot where the birthmark lay concealed, the neat butterfly design. Skilfully she filled the outline and picked out the high lights as in the original tattooed design, with tiny points of scarlet colour. As she drew back at last to examine her handiwork — or, to be exact, her "footwork" — Elaine softly clapped her hands and, bending forward, kissed her friend swiftly and affectionately.
"It's marvellous darling," she exclaimed. "All done with the cleverest little foot in all the world."
"It's not too bad," agreed Tina, coolly as with perhaps a little touch of bravado, she selected with her toes a cigarette from the box and, placing it between her lips, skilfully lit it with the lighter. The design is rather on the bright and new side at the moment, but it will naturally get rubbed, and after a day or two, it will acquire that dull, matt appearance a tattooed design always has."
She became grave and purposeful the next moment.
"You see the idea, darling, don't you?" she went on. "If by some trick or another the transfer butterfly on me is removed in the presence of Ottilie — and that's exactly what I am pretty sure Ottilie will try to manoeuvre — well, the little birthmark will reveal itself and there will be no doubt in her mind that I am in very sooth the missing girl. But your butterfly is not a transfer at all, and will remain permanent for quite a long time. It cannot be rubbed off or anything of the kind. So there you have the little counter-plot to whatever plans of campaign Ottilie and Muller may at this moment be concocting together."
Elaine nodded understandingly, yet with sudden gravity.
"Yes, that's all very well, dearest", she said slowly. "I don't think there is any doubt that your very ingenious plot will put both Ottilie and Muller completely off the scent. But, Tina, that's all fine and splendid for me. But what about you? We know, or at least we suspect, that Muller's intentions are sinister. God knows what evil he is plotting. And supposing he does become convinced that you are the missing girl — what's going to happen to you? Oh, Tina, I'm sorry I let you go through with this! I'm afraid — afraid for you!"
But Tina only shook her head with cheerful confidence.
"Nothing's going to happen to me, my sweet," she said. "I think I know how to handle Muller, if ever he decides on a little frightfulness. No, the idea is simply to lead him up the garden for as long as may be necessary. This is what I imagine may happen. Ottilie, let us suppose, divulges to Muller her suspicions that the birthmark is hidden by a fake butterfly. She doesn't know which of us two carries the fake butterfly, but by a trick she occasionally discovers that I am the guilty person. The whole interest will therefore shift to me, and neither Ottilie nor Muller will give you another thought. You therefore will slip quietly out of London and go into hiding -"
"I shall do nothing of the sort!" cried Elaine, indignantly.
You'll do exactly as you are told," said Tina, quietly. "You are the girl actually in danger — perhaps of your life; we don't know. If danger really ever threatens me, I can always reveal to Muller that I am only a fake, and that he is still to find his missing girl. "When that happens — as of course it will eventually — we'll have to think of some other means of circumventing this infernal meddler. But in the meantime — and this is really the important point — I may be able to find out exactly what Muller is after. You see that?"
Elaine nodded slowly.
"Yes, she said gravely. "I can see that — though I still hate the thought of your doing all this for me."
"Stuff and, I may add, nonsense," said Tina, gaily. "You would do just the same for me. Besides, it's a rag, an opportunity for a nice little bit of quiet fun that I wouldn't miss for worlds. And that's all there is to it."
Then, as Elaine started to utter a final halting protest, Tina's leg shot swiftly and flexibly upwards and the soft, bare toes closed firmly over the other's lips.
"Not another word," she said crisply. "You cannot deflect me from my grim purpose, so it's useless to try. And now I'm going to chuck you out. I have a heavy date with Marcel, and I'd hate to keep the darling waiting."
Elaine struggled ineffectively for a few moments against the imprisoning toes, and then with a laugh freed herself.
"All right," she said. You're madder than any hatter, but I suppose I shall have to let you have your way."
"You'd better, my girl," said Tina, closing the discussion with a final determined little nod of the head.
She bent down, and while her toes moved gently over the painted butterfly on Elaine, examined it closely.
"Yes," she went on, "the little work of art has dried quite nicely and is quite firm. You can safely cover your nakedness, darling."
She made the same test on herself and found everything satisfactory, and then pressed the floor bell-push for the maid.
Elaine's crutches were brought, and when they were adjusted, Tina, as if she were doing the most natural thing in the world, rose gracefully and hopped easily at her friend's side and saw Elaine to the door.
"Now, darling," she admonished, as she kissed Elaine, "just leave things in the lap of the gods, and goodness sake don't worry. The next move, if there is any move at all, is with Ottilie. And I fancy we have taken sufficient precautions to checkmate that move, unless it is unusually clever. Any further trouble we can simply leave until that trouble shows itself on the horizon. That's a philosophy of life, my sweet. It's always been mine. Take a tip from me and adopt it for yourself — now and always."
"That ought not to be difficult," said Elaine with an emotional little smile. "At any rate, just at this moment, with you hearing the brunt of the whole affair. But I wonder what exactly Ottilie will do."
"Something pretty snappy, or I miss my guess. However we shan't have to wait long. For our beloved Princess is a quick mover. If she's in the game, she'll very soon let us know. "
Meanwhile, at about the same time that Elaine was having tea with Tina, Muller was on his way to the house of Princess Ottilie, having rung the lady up that morning and fixed the appointment. The house, he discovered, was a fine old mansion in one of the big West End squares. He was admitted by a pretty, smiling maid, her slim figure clad in a neat, extremely short-skirted uniform of dull black satin, with a tiny lace apron and an attractive white cap set upon her blonde curls.
Muller followed her. At last she reached a door and, opening it, announced the visitor, ushered him inside and smilingly departed.
The room was obviously one of the smaller salons in a great mansion of very many rooms, and was charmingly appointed in the modern manner, without, however, comfort having been forgotten. Reclining in a nest of cushions in a big, deep, easy chair was Princess Ottilie; and Muller, concluding his series of ceremonial bows and formal expressions of pleasure of being permitted to be present, took his seat in a similar chair near by.
As he smiled amiably across at the Princess, he was struck afresh at the wonder of her. At one side of her chair stood a specially fashioned gadget consisting of a tall, spindle of ebony support in a narrow silver tray which contained a series of rows of cigarettes in its own slot and each protruding in such a manner that Ottilie was able to take one between her lips whenever she wished to smoke. By the side of this gadget was another made like it in ebony and silver, and finished on one side with a tiny glass flare and on the other with a silver ash tray, each within easy reach of the lady's head. The limbless beauty, as Muller noted curiously, was thus able to choose a cigarette when she wished, light it and flick the ash into the tray with her flexible lips as she smoked.
All this Muller, of course, observed within the first few minutes of his arrival. Meanwhile the Princess was being charmingly hospitable.
"You will have some tea, of course, Mr. Muller," she said pleasantly and, turning in her chair, pressed with her lips a silver bell-push set in the wing of the chair head. "For myself, she went on, "you must excuse me. I have not the afternoon tea habit."
Then, for a while, as he drank his tea and nibbled the delicious little cakes provided, and the Princess smoked her innumerable cigarettes, the two discussed generalities, arriving at last at the topic which was the real reason for the meeting.
"I understand, Mr. Muller," said Ottilie, "that you have come to England on a some-what strange mission. Last night I gathered only the vaguest details of it — something about a missing heiress. I should very much like to help if I could."
Muller examined for a swift few moments the smiling face of the princess, without appearing to do so. Then, with the earnest mien of one taking his listener fully into his confidence, he told the story he had told to Guy Saville the evening before — his search for the missing heiress of a recently dead German millionaire; the fact that the girl had only one leg; the bizarre element of the little heart-shaped birthmark on the stump of the absent left leg; and finally his first conviction that Elaine Hammond was the girl he sought, and his later suspicion that she really might be discovered in the person of Tina Nicholas.
Ottilie nodded gravely, watching the other's face with keen eyes.
"You understood from Guy Saville," she asked, that Elaine had no such birthmark?"
"That is so. That is why I began to look elsewhere."
"And you do not know yet whether Tina possesses the birthmark or not?"
"No; I still have to make sure of that important point."
"H'm!" murmured Ottilie, and her smile was inscrutable. For the very point that Tina had been certain the Princess would hit upon had in fact immediately occurred to her quick brain. The tattooed butterfly! It was pretty certain that either Elaine or Tina was sporting a faked emblem that ingeniously concealed the all-important birthmark! The question was — which?
She sat in silence amid her cushions, her eyes on Muller, her smile appearing to become more and more sinister.
Then out of the blue she hurled her bombshell.
"And now, my dear Colonel Von Strelnitz," she said very quietly, "suppose you tell me the real story — not the fairy story about the 'missing heiress'?"
(To be concluded in our Xmas Eve Double Number.)
________________________________________
London Life November 26, 1938 pp. 20 — 26



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Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 34716Unread post Bazil
27 Oct 2018, 14:16

London Life
London Life | 1938
________________________________________
The Clue Of The Purple Heart
by Wallace Stort
What Has Gone Before
A certain Mr. Rudolf Muller, a German, has come to London to find the missing heiress of a recently dead German millionaire. The girl he seeks is a monopede with a heart-shaped birthmark. Muller thinks he has discovered the missing heiress when he meets Elaine Hammond and her fiance, Guy Saville, but he learns that Elaine has no such birthmark. Elaine is, however, in very great fear of the so-called Muller. She has realised from the outset that she is actually the girl he is seeking. She knows, too, that the man's story is a lying one, as her father was not a German, nor a millionaire, and died years ago.
There is a mystery about Elaine of which Guy is ignorant. She is a member of the Society of Black Butterflies, all of whom have lost on or more limbs. Their headquarters are the 'Phenomene' Club, Mayfair.
Unknown to everyone but Tina Nicholas, Elaine has hidden the Purple Heart birthmark under a Black Butterfly transfer. Tina, to help Elaine, hoodwinks Muller and gives him the impression that she is the girl he is looking for, as she is a cripple of a similar type to Elaine.
Muller is introduced to a mysterious woman called Princess Ottilie, who was entirely without limbs, but beautiful, fascinating, and speaking several languages. While talking perfect German to Muller, she spoke some sentences in an unknown language, which Muller said he did not understand. Ottilie was obviously interested, and invited Muller to visit her at her flat and tell her the facts about the missing girl. After listening to his story, she hurled a bombshell.
"And now, my dear Colonel Von Strelnitz," she said very quietly, "suppose you tell me the real story — not the fairy tale about the missing heiress?"
Now read on.
________________________________________
The man who had called himself Adolf Muller had no time to ward off that knock-out blow. The thing had been so utterly unexpected that in spite of a no doubt well-exercised control, he collapsed completely and sat back in his chair visibly shaken.
"You — you knew me all the time?" he stammered at last, not attempting to bluff the thing out.
"I knew who you were," corrected Ottilie, "I knew where you came from. I have never seen you before, but I keep pretty closely in touch with European affairs, and I once saw your photograph. That was why I tried a little Illurian on you last night. You come from Illuria, don't you?"
Von Strelnitz nodded slowly; and then, after a while he sat up, something of the old confidence returned to his manner. After all, things were not altogether hopeless. This woman might easily be persuaded to became an ally, if he was careful to tell the true story in his own way.
He smiled ruefully.
"Well," he said, "you certainly scored that time, highness. But though you hit me pretty hard, there isn't really anything to feel guilty about. I came to London on a secret mission, and naturally I couldn't broadcast the real story to all and sundry."
Ottilie nodded smilingly, but her eyes were still wary.
"And so," she asked, "who exactly is the girl you are seeking?"
"Her Royal Highness Princess Illeana of Illuria," said Von Strelnitz, simply.
Ottilie's big eyes became bigger and her lips were pursed in a soundless whistle.
"Princess Illeana of Illuria!" she repeated. "I begin to understand a little."
"Yes," went on Von Strelnitz, "and if you know anything about the present situation in Illuria, you will understand the necessity for complete secrecy. Illuria has been a republic since the revolution of nearly eighteen years ago, which resulted in the death of the king."
"And now the hated Communists are in power!" Ottilie breathed the words with an extraordinary venom.
Von Strelnitz's eyes glinted strangely for a moment, and then became normal.
"Yes," he agreed, shaking his head mournfully. "That is so though I am being terribly indiscreet even to discuss such a thing, as I am, of course, to discuss this matter at all. however, the king was killed in the fighting, and the queen, who was an English lady of high rank, fled to England with her little daughter, the Princess Illeana. The child was hit by a stray bullet, which injury resulted in the amputation of the little girl's left leg. And it is the girl, Princess Illeana, whom I am now seeking."
"With what object?" asked Ottilie, watching the other keenly.
Von Strelnitz looked about him with every appearance of nervousness.
"If you were to make inquiries about me in Illuria," he said at last, "you would discover that I am high on the councils of the government. I have given the Government every reason to believe in my complete loyalty. But I have never been with them at heart. I remain loyal to my late revered King. I am here on behalf of Illuria's growing Royalist Party, the object of which is to oust the present Communist rabble and place Princes Illeana on the throne as Queen. I have to proceed very carefully and secretly for two reasons. Firstly and obviously, I must not allow an inkling of my mission to get back to the authorities in Illuria. Secondly, Princess Illeana, if she is alive, will naturally try to defeat any attempts to discover her whereabouts. She can have only the most terrible memories of Illuria, and will have no desire at all to go back there. I have to use cunning to find her, and then to persuade her that everything will be well if she decides to return."
Ottilie nodded, her eyes shining. Then her gaze narrowed and became speculative again.
"I am disposed to believe you, Colonel", she said quietly. "But I should be sorry ever to discover that you were deceiving me. I am not greatly concerned with Illuria or its affairs, nor in the project of restoring its Queen to the throne. But to circumvent the hated Communists, to destroy utterly all the Bolshevists in Europe — I should go to any lengths in my power — "
"You do not like the Communists, Highness?" Von Strelnitz asked, curiously.
Ottilie glared at her questioner with an almost insane ferocity.
"You see me as I am now," she said, "a fragment of a woman without a limb, a trunk! That is how the Communist comrades of our beloved Russia left me. It was remembered against me that I had kicked my unruly servants, that I had slapped their impudent faces, as they certainly had deserved to be kicked and slapped. After the Bolshevists came into power, a bench of peasant judges thought it humorous to have my offending limbs removed, and I was eventually carried out of Russia. Later I was able to employ a famous French plastic surgeon to render my limbless body as shapely as it is now. I have long since become reconciled, but I can never forget my hatred of my persecutors. And I remember that a number of Communists are now members of the Illuria Government. In fact the Illurian revolution was fomented by these scum. So, if your aim is truly to drive this rabble out of the country, I shall help you; and, what is more, I can help you."
Von Strelnitz, whose eyes had been, as it were, veiled all through this astounding and revelatory harangue, now regarded the Princess hopefully.
"How do you mean — you can help me?" he asked.
"Simply that I happen to be in possession of certain information of which you cannot be aware. And I think I know exactly how we can trick the Princess into revealing her identity."
"You know where she is?"
"Not altogether. But, all the same, I am pretty sure we shall locate her. There is just one little matter that I think worth discussing before proceeding further."
Ottilie regarded the other cynically.
"I will be entirely frank with you," she went on. "I have the reputation of being a wealthy woman, and I am vain enough, and I suppose silly enough, to do all I can to foster that idea among my friends. But, unfortunately, I am not as well endowed as I appear to be, and I am not averse to welcoming any little additions to my fortunes. So — "
Von Strelnitz nodded understandingly and with apparent good humour.
"My dear Princess," he said, "you can rely on me to be suitably grateful for services rendered. If you can lead me to our beloved Princess Illeana, then I can assure you that you will not be disappointed with the manner in which our organisation will assess our gratitude. More than adequate funds have been placed at my disposal in a bank here."
"Excellent, my dear Colonel," said Ottilie, sweetly. "But I hope I may be pardoned if I ask for, shall I say, perhaps a little more explicitness on your part."
The Colonel bowed and spread his hands. Then from an inside pocket he took a cheque book and, tearing out a cheque, rapidly filled in a figure. He stood up and held the cheque so that the lady could study it. Even Ottilie's eyes widened at the sum represented, and she smiled the smile of the gourmand sitting down to a resplendent banquet.
"You will observe, dear lady," Von Strelnitz said, "that I have not yet dated the cheque. I propose to present it to you to hold and upon the day you introduce me to the girl who is her beloved highness the Princess Illeana of Illuria, I shall have the utmost pleasure in dating the cheque and returning it to you. In the mean time, you are at perfect liberty to make all inquiries at the bank in question and assure yourself that my account there is more than adequate to cover the amount shown on the cheque."
Ottilie bowed graciously.
"That, I think, is perfectly satisfactory," she said. "If you will be so very obliging as to slip the cheque into my corsage, I shall be most graceful. You will, I am sure, accept my lack of limbs as sufficient reason for what might ordinarily be considered an unusual request."
Von Strelnitz with characteristic bow performed the strange little ceremony and, stepping back with military precision, bowed again.
"Within a few days," Ottilie went on, "I hope to send you a formal invitation to a little function I propose arranging. And at that function, unless I am very much mistaken, I shall have the great pleasure of presenting to you your Princess. Until then, my dear colonel, adieu."
Adieu, my dear Princess," responded Von Strelnitz, with a manner that was almost gay. "And auf wiedersehen. Here's to our next meeting — and the discovery of Princess Illeana of Illuria "
"And confusion to all Communists," added Ottilie, with a grim smile.
"Amen," concluded Von Strelnitz with an odd little glance over his shoulder as if he were afraid of being overheard.
Von Strelnitz made his ceremonious adieu and in the wake of the dainty handmaid, bowed himself out of the room.
* * *
It was just a week later that Elaine rang up her friend Tina in great excitement.
"I suppose you got your invitation card from Ottilie?" she asked.
"Naturally," replied Tina. "And a very ornate card it is. very Ottilian, if I may so. All gilt and gingerbread."
"It looks to me like the setting of a trap." said Elaine apprehensively.
"I've a strong suspicion that way myself," agreed Tina. I should say Ottilie invited the whole of the 'Butterflies' — 'and friends' — to the party. You notice that the invitation card says, 'Dancing and swimming. Fancy dress — but don't forget your swim suits'. I don't particularly like that swimming stunt; though its true, of course, that we've attended quite a few of Ottilie's swimming parties before this. I have a feeling that there is something more in it than meets the eye. And we can't very well refuse the invitation, or Ottilie might smell a rat. Still we are prepared for emergencies, and our worthy president doesn't know that. So keep up your courage, darling. All we be well."
"I sincerely hope so," said Elaine in tones that expressed he doubt. Then, with a change of tone, "do forgive me, darling, for being such a little coward," she went on. "I must sound terribly ungrateful to you. But really, I don't know what I should do without you, and I'm going to pluck up my courage and face the thing out. I'll run over to see you in a day or so, and we can discuss ways and means and also the not unimportant matter of costumes for the party."
"Well, at any rate, you haven't forgotten you're a daughter of Eve, in spite of your troubles," laughed Tina. "And that's all the good. Let's decide to enjoy the party, and if there happens to be any excitement, well, let's enjoy that, too, particularly if we can manage to put one across the honoured and revered Ottilie, Princess of the late Holy Russian Empire, and her partner in crime, Muller, if that is the real name of that nasty piece of work — which I very much doubt. Cheerio, darling. I'll be seeing you."
Princess Ottilie's mansion looked imposing enough, with its noble pillared frontage and great double doors; but even that frontage was deceptive. Like so may big West End houses of the kind, it was in reality a good deal more spacious than even it appeared to be. In addition to its many smaller salons, there was one very large room, known as the 'Grand Salon', running the whole length of the house, which was more like one of the large entertaining rooms in a big hotel than a room in a private house.
It was because the house possessed such a room that Ottilie was able to give those tremendous parties for which she was famous and which naturally sapped her resources in a way that dismayed her.
Below this great chamber, actually in the basement, but of a like size and breath, was the magnificent swimming pool, which was another notable feature of the house, and in which the hostess gave her famous swimming parties. The pool, a beautiful affair carried out in variegated marbles, did not occupy the whole of the floor space. At one end and down one side there were charmingly furnished lounges, from which guests could watch the swimmers. Hanging galleries, from which spectators could also watch the sport below, ran round the walls. And the amenities also included a railed rostrum from which, on the Princess's gala nights, a dance band discoursed appropriate music.
The other end and side of the pool were given up to prettily designed and appointed dressing cubicles and a most realistic imitation of a sandy beach, with wicker tables and chairs, big multicolored sun umbrellas and all complete. This beach was the swimmers' special preserve, were they could disport themselves, without inconveniencing the ordinarily attired non-swimming guests.
On the night of Ottilie's special party given to the 'Black Butterflies' and their friends, the 'Great Salon' was certainly the scene of an astounding and colourful spectacle. A stranger gazing on the glittering show, with its crowd of dancers in every variety of fancy costumer gyrating to the strains of a famous dance band, would first of all have been charmed by the glamour and kaleidoscopic beauty of the scene.
Apparently every beautiful women in the room, swinging past in her partner's arms was minus a limb, but dancing skilfully and gracefully.
And so the gay crowd swept on — richly attired kings and queens, musical comedy shepherds and shepherdesses, cardinals and nuns, herdsman and convicts, ballet dancers, Robin Hoods, Cinderellas, principal boys, Egyptian queens, cowboys and cowgirls, pierrots and pierrettes, artists' models in every variety of undress — all representative, colourful figures that are to be met with at every big fancy dress carnival.
There was nothing either startling or bizarre about the costumes of Elaine and her party which, though charming, were conventional enough. Elaine was a very lovely Columbine in short spreading skirts of pure white tulle, with nude silk tights which displayed her slender single leg to advantage. She was supported, when necessary, by only a single crutch, a beautifully made, very slender affair in white enamel with silver fittings. Escorting her was Guy Saville, a splendid figure in the gay patchwork of a Harlequin's tights.
Tina, as a Naiad, was a delicately exquisite dream figure, lithesome ethereal unfinished goddess from a bizarre fairy story. her filmy, daringly scanty costume, of the thinnest delicate green ninon, floated airily about her lovely monolimbed body like translucent waves, revealing, rather than concealing, the beautiful single limb, veiled in frail, cobweb tights of green silk. From out the skin-tight, very low-cut bodice, as from a green wave, there emerged in all their purity of their white nudity, the peerless, satin-smooth, armless shoulders, unencumbered by shoulder straps.
Of the many lovely women there that night, none drew more admiring glances than this amazing beauty whose incomplete charms were so skilfully set off by the revealing costume she wore. And nobody enjoyed her success more than the smiling girl herself. With her was the devoted and attentive Marcel Duval, very attractively attired in the white ruffles, black satin knee breeches and black silk stockings of a French pierrot.
Dolores, the beautiful armless girl friend of both Elaine and Tina, who was also one of the party, had had the perhaps obvious but none the less very effective idea of appearing as the Venus de Milo. She achieved the truncated effect of the statue's lopped-off arms by wearing specially made papier mache attachments fitted over the shoulders, concealed and kept in position by the nude silk fleshings that clothed the upper part of her beautiful body. Below, she wore the traditional draperies of the statue, and attracted interest every now and then by pausing and adopting the famous Venus de Milo's pose.
The revels proceeded gaily, the floor being generally thronged with the beautiful women dancers and their handsome partners. And threading its way slowly through the maze, there move a strange yet imposing cortege. Four stalwart men, made up as Nubian slaves, in loin cloths and little else, carried, supported by poles resting on their shoulders, a flat, square platform, or dais, ornately decorated in cloth of gold. And upon this, resting on a square, be-tasselled, richly brocaded cushion, was perched the lovely Princess Ottilie.
She was not actually in fancy dress, though she appeared exotic enough. She wore, with that appearance of having been "poured" into it, a skin-tight sheath of pure white velvet, fitting her truncated body with unwrinkled perfection and leaving the whole magnificent, swelling bust and smoothly rounded shoulders daringly and attractively bare.
She was literally loaded with a glittering regalia of jewels, heavy necklaces of pearls hanging in graduated ropes from throat to waist; long, swinging, diamond-studded earrings; a gleaming tiara in the hair; and on the smooth skin of her right shoulder was imprinted the emblem of the society of which she was president.
And so, bowing and smiling to her guests, with a gracious word of welcome every now and then to her special friends, she made her slow triumphal progress through the throng. By the side of her swaying throne, looking slightly self-conscious in spite of an effort to appear unconcerned, walked Von Strelnitz, the man who had called himself Muller, making a not ineffective show as an Elizabethan gallant in doublet and hose, his left hand resting or the jewelled hilt of the long, slender rapier slung at his side. With him and following the "throne" were other gallants, forming an imposing retinue; and bringing up the rear, strutted a trumpeter gaily attired in the emblazoned tabard and Satin knee breeches of a herald.
After a protracted tour of the room, the Princess was eventually carried to a specially prepared dais at one end, and there ensconced in a big chair where, with her gallants and a group of special friends, she held court. At intervals the herald, after a preliminary fanfare on his trumpet, made whatever announcements that were necessary, including the various items in a well-chosen and well-staged cabaret.
Then, at last, came the announcement, Tina and Elaine had been awaiting with mixed feelings.
"Ladies and gentlemen," cried the herald in sonorous tones, "the grand swimming carnival is now about to begin. Will everybody kindly make their way to the pool, and will those ladies and gentlemen taking part in the various events please make the necessary change in their costume as soon as possible?"
"Now for it!" said Tina, in a rapid undertone to Elaine who sat at her side. "I've a feeling in my bones that this is the high spot of Ottilie's show to-night. Now, darling, if anything happens, please don't do anything foolish. Act as if you know nothing at all about it. Understand?"
"I understand all right. I'll do my best to play my part." About half an hour later the brilliance, gaiety and colour that had filled the Grand Salon was transferred to the great pool and its surroundings. The non-swimmers, still in their fancy costumes, thronged the spacious lounges and galleries. Ottilie, surrounded by her court, with Von Strelnitz by her side, occupying a raised throne at the end facing the bathing beach, with the band a little distance away on her right.
If the imaginary stranger, already referred to, had thought the scene in the Grand Salon fantastic and unusual, he must assuredly have regarded the present scene as still more extraordinary.
The male swimmers, in their ordinary costumes of 'Varsity' type, or just plain trunks, were normal enough; but the girl swimmers certainly presented a spectacle undreamt of in the ordinary man's philosophy. Clad in wonderful creations of glowing colour and of the scantiest proportions, some of them consisting only of a wisp of diaphanous brassiere and the merest apology for trunks, the throng of alluring beauties revealed their incomplete charms in the frankest possible manner.
The lovelies had all left their crutches in their dressing cubicles and, when not in the water, hopped about, each on her soft-slippered single foot, with that ease and grace that they all had acquired as a sort of second nature accomplishment.
But all the beautiful swimmers shared one thing in common. In every case the tiny trunks of the scanty swimming suit left prominently displayed on the smooth white flesh of the dainty ovals was the neat emblem of the society, the little black tatttooed butterfly.
For a spell, only general swimming and diving was indulged in by the swimmers, while the band played popular dance tunes. Elaine and Tina, with Guy and Marcel, joined in the fun, the two girls in similar costumes.
Tina, the amazing monolimbed beauty, obviously added to her other accomplishments that of being able to swim with astonishing ease, despite her deficiency. She did not dive, but slid head foremost into the pool from a lower step and, propelling herself strongly with her flexible, agile leg, more than held her own with Elaine and most of the other crippled girl swimmers who delighted in challenging her prowess. Marcel Duval, however, always escorted her during her swims, and she graciously allowed him to help her out of the water whenever she left it. Though once out, she insisted in being completely independent again, hopping effortlessly — and it must be admitted with full consciousness of admiring eyes — on her single little foot.
"Noticed anything?" she asked of Elaine in lowered tones as they lounged together for an interval and smoked a cigarette.
"How do you mean?" asked Elaine, wondering a little.
"I know Ottilie always had the pool specially warmed for these occasions and, of course, highly perfumed — too highly perfumed for my taste. But it strikes me to-night as being very much warmer than usual."
"I believe it is," agreed Elaine, "now you mention it."
"H'm! wonder if that is part of Ottilie's little game? I think I begin to have an idea of what she may be driving at. But we'll see the thing through."
Tina did not offer any explanation of her cryptic remarks; and in any case, their discussion was cut short by a sudden fanfare on the trumpet. The herald announced a series of events for which valuable prizes were offered, and there ensued the chatter and bustle consequent upon such an announcement — the entry and assembly of the competitors, discussion of the prospects by friends and the like.
Neither Elaine nor Tina took part in the events preferring the role of spectator to that of performer. But at the conclusion of the series and the presentation of prizes, another fanfare was blown, and this time the announcement was made by Ottilie herself.
Tina who was sharing a wicker couch with Elaine, suddenly turned to her, and her flexible, bare toes closed over her friend's fingers.
"Hold everything," she whispered. "Don't lose your head. Here it is at last, or I'm a Dutchman!"
"My very dear friends," Ottilie was saying, in clear, ringing tones, "as many of you will know, we are honoured to-night by the presence of a notable foreign visitor, and I may say, admirer, a famous gentleman — Mr. Adolf Muller."
Von Strelnitz, in his role of Muller, bowed stiffly to the outbreak of applause.
"Mr. Muller," continued the Princess, "had made to me a proposition which I am sure you will all regard as original and very acceptable, and one which reveals his interest and admiration for our society and its aims. Briefly, he has empowered us to offer on his behalf a very handsome and valuable prize — to be revealed at the proper moment — for the lady, who in his opinion, possess the most perfect and beautiful remainder of her lost limb — ."
"I thought so, "interpreted Tina in a rapid whisper. "Simple and obvious, when you come to think it over. And, of course, friend Muller has had as much to do with the proposition as my foot. It bears the stamp of Ottilie all over it — ."
"As this is a swimming gala," Ottilie continued, "each competitor will enter the pool from the bathing beach end, swim one length, and then present herself before Mr. Muller and myself for examination of her qualifications. will those ladies who are entering please assemble to the bathing beach? A specially selected committee of gentlemen stewards will be in charge of the arrangements at the beach, and will decide the order in which the competitors will take part. That is all, ladies and gentlemen, thank you."
There was a prolonged outburst of applause, followed by a buzz of animated chatter. Then, with the assistance of the stewards, the business of choosing and lining up the excited competitors began.
"Ottilie is slick," said Tina, unemotionally. "I must say that for her. It's a good job we fixed up our little counter-plot."
"But we need not enter," urged Elaine. "I don't like the business one little bit, and I'm sure you will be in danger, darling. Let's slip away and leave them to it."
"And give Ottilie and Muller the information they require. They'll guess perfectly well why we've shirked the issue. Besides, I want to see this thing through. I'd hate now to miss the chance to trick Ottilie and her partner in crime."
"I'm glad you think it's fun," said Elaine, with a sigh. "All right, let's get on with it. I'll be thankful when the whole wretched business is over."
Amid a continued buzz of talk and sporadic applause, the competitors were assembled, a bevy of beautiful, laughing, excited one-limbed girls.
One by one each lovely dived into the pool, swam the required length and then, dripping with the warm, perfumed water, appeared before the two judges and presented herself for inspection.
Both Ottilie and Von Strelnitz played their parts admirably. They set aside four of five as possible finalists. And Elaine, to Tina's grim amusement, was one of those selected.
When at last Tina, in her turn, slid gracefully into the pool, she was at once conscious of one very significant fact. The water was very much warmer than ever it had been. In fact it could at most have been described as hot! And when, after being helped out at the other end, she presented herself before the judges, she saw that what Ottilie had cleverly schemed to bring about had indeed come to pass.
The over-warm water of the pool had not only loosened the little 'transfer' butterfly, it had washed it away completely! and there, on the gleaming whiteness of the soft flesh was revealed the tiny, purple, heart-shaped birthmark — a clever forgery, of course, but realistic enough to deceive at the moment both Ottilie and Muller.
To do them justice, neither gave a sign of triumph that must have filled them both. Perhaps Tina detected a momentary glint in the eyes of Von Strelnitz; but if there was anything, it was gone in the moment. Apparently the judges regarded the birthmark as a tattooed butterfly, the details of which had become somewhat blurred by the passage of time. With a gracious word of commendation, Tina was set aside with the other chosen beauties as a possible finalist. And after the whole of the competitors had carried out the required conditions, the final judging began.
At last, amid prolonged and tremendous applause, Tina was declared the winner. And, as Tina was one of the most popular members, the choice was obviously very much to the liking of the enthusiastic crowd.
A further outburst of applause greeted Von Strelnitz when he came forward bearing in his hands a glittering, expanding circlet, apparently of platinum and encrusted with jewels, but, as Tina shrewdly guessed, really an attractive fake made specially for the present occasion.
A chair was drawn forward, and in it Tina was seated. With a courtly bow, Von Strelnitz knelt before her and, after the presentation, midst laughter and cheers, he took the little bare foot in his hand and, lifting it to his lips, pressed a kiss upon the long, slender toes.
Speeches of congratulation were made by Ottilie, very maternal and indulgent in her praise of "our darling Tina," by Von Strelnitz, who expressed himself very well in his grave, formal manner, and finally by the heroine of the occasion herself, characteristically light-hearted and debonair as she stood in a perfect balance.
Finally, Von Strelnitz again came forward, this time holding a silver goblet of wine. This he first of all gallantly touched with his lips and then held to Tina's lips for her to drink from.
Without thinking, excited and thirsty, Tina drank deep. Then, for the first time, a sudden misgiving shot through her. The wine had a bitter, acrid taste. She tried to tell herself that it was the natural, dry tartness of the vintage. But already she was feeling dreamy and full of sleep. She tried desperately to keep her balance on her one little foot, but she was now swaying perilously. Then, with her drugged brain trying to tell her that she had indeed been tricked, she slid forward into the waiting arms of Von Strelnitz and, went down into deep and engulfing darkness.
"Poor darling," cried Ottilie, to those about her, "the ordeal has been to much for her. She is not as strong as she thinks she is, and puts too much upon that one little limb of hers."
And amid a general buzz of sympathy, Von Strelnitz gathered the lovely body in his arms and went swiftly from the room.
There was no reassurance for Elaine, as she dressed herself in her cubicle preparatory to leaving, in Princess Ottilie's explanation of Tina's sudden collapse. She was sure that her friend had been tricked, and her heart was full of dread. Unconscious and helpless, Tina was in the hands of the enemy, and heaven alone knew where she had been taken. And Elaine, at any rate for the moment, could do nothing. Tina had warned her not to interfere — in fact had ordered to disappear and leave the working out of the business to herself. But at least she could question Ottilie. That was a perfectly natural proceeding in the circumstances.
The guests were rapidly departing, chattering excitedly over the events of the night, with its thrilling denouement. Ottilie still rested upon her throne, bidding good-night to her guests and offering, as was her habit, a shoulder to be kissed by her special friends. At last only a few intimates remained and, with Guy and Marcel, Elaine approached the regal, limbless beauty.
"Ottilie," she asked urgently, "what has become of Tina? Where did Mr. Muller take her?"
"Home, I expect, you little goose," replied Ottilie, with a cheerful laugh. You don't think he has abducted her, do you? He is a charming man, and courteous to show interest in ourselves and our society. He is something of a doctor, I understand, and Tina will be quite safe in his hands."
"Oh, thank you," Elaine stammered, and wondered if Ottilie was really telling the truth and if all their fears had been groundless.
The two hurried away to Tina's flat. There all Elaine's misgivings returned a thousand-fold. Tina had not returned. They rang up Muller's hotel. But he, too, had not yet returned.
"It will be all right," said Guy, reassuringly, knowing nothing of the play of plot and counter-plot that had been going on during the past few weeks. "Muller's bit of a blister, but he wouldn't dare to run away with a girl in London like that. No doubt he's having her looked after somewhere. We'll learn all about it in the morning."
But the morning brought no news of Tina; and Elaine, despite her friend's express orders, decided that she could not possibly leave things as they were. She made an early call on Ottilie and found that lady, abominably light-hearted and cheerful, ensconced in her gay, airy morning room, the wide French windows of which, now flung wide open, afforded a view of a pleasant, formal garden.
"Ottilie," Elaine began without preface, "Tina has disappeared. She hasn't returned to her flat, and Muller has not returned to his hotel. What in heaven's name can have happened?"
"My dear!" Ottilie was suddenly gravely sympathetic. "What an extraordinary thing! I simply haven't an idea what can have happened. Amazing! What can Mr. Muller have been up to?"
Elaine, in her sudden exasperation, might easily have revealed all she knew; but at that moment one of the pretty maids hopped effortlessly in.
"Mr. Muller, your highness," she announced. "Shall I show him in?"
For a moment, even the resourceful Princess was nonplussed. Then she quickly recovered herself.
"Elaine, darling," she said, "leave this to me. I'll find out what this Muller person is after. Nadine," she continued, addressing the maid, "please take Miss Hammond upstairs and make her comfortable." Then again to Elaine, I'll let you know about it all, darling, after Muller has gone. In the meantime, don't worry."
Elaine, with mixed feelings, swung gracefully out on her crutches.
A few minutes later Von Strelnitz was ushered in, bowed formally and stood stiffly to attention.
"My dear Mr. Muller," Ottilie greeted him with friendly raillery, "I should say, of course, my dear Colonel Von Strelnitz. And how was everything gone? Perfectly, I hope."
Von Strelnitz bowed again and in a queer, grating voice, asked;
"Have you the cheque I left with you, Highness?"
"Certainly," said Ottilie, with a smile. "you will find it where you placed it. You have only to append the date, and our little deal will be satisfactorily concluded?"
Von Strelnitz approached and took the cheque from the limbless beauty's corsage. Then, to her sudden consternation, he tore the oblong piece of paper in half, tore it across again and again, and flung the pieces into a bowl on a nearby table.
"So you hoped to trick me, Highness," he stormed. "You foist upon me what you would call a fake. You imagined that the poor little forgery of the birthmark, painted — yes, painted, upon your accomplice's stump would deceive me. I may have done so last night, but to-day I discovered the poor little trick."
"I don't know what you mean," said Ottilie, with dangerous calm, though she had suddenly guessed the truth. This was Tina's doing. Just the sort of trick Tina delighted in. She would have something to say to her 'darling Tina'.
"Don't you?" Von Strelnitz was saying raspingly. "Well, then, I'll talk a little more plainly. You'll be delighted to hear that I, too, have tricked you. I came over here to find the Princess Illeana, yes; but not for the reasons I gave you. You lecture me on your hatred of Communism. You tell me how the Communists lopped off all your limbs. How I laugh inwardly! How I gloat! How I should like to see a good Communist comrade lop off your cursed head! I came over here in the Communist cause. There is a movement in Illuria among the cursed loyalists, to put the missing Princess on the throne. I was sent here secretly to find the Princess — and put her out of the way! Do you hear that, Highness? And now, in spite of your treachery, I think I know who exactly the missing Princess is. I shall find her — and I shall put her out of the way. And now good-bye. I thank you, at least, for putting me on the trail, in spite of yourself. Please do not summon a maid. I shall let myself out through the garden. Good-bye."
He bowed with exaggerated politeness and, with a grin of triumph, swaggered towards the French windows.
He just stepped over the low sill when suddenly he threw up his arms and, with a shrill, strangled cry, slumped in a heap on the pathway.
Ottilie screamed in a high-pitched, penetrating screech. Maids came hopping in on their single legs, consternation on their faces. Elaine hurried in, also hopping, with skirts lifted, her crutches left behind in her sudden alarm.
"Look!" cried Ottilie, and nodded towards the window.
The man who had called himself Muller lay dead on the pathway, a slim-bladed, razor-like knife buried in his throat.
The case was a nine day's mystery. Nothing was ever discovered by the police of Von Strelnitz's attacker or attackers. They had to be content with the theory that he had been shadowed all the time he was in London, by members of the rival faction in Illuria, and that at an opportune moment one of the enemy had struck and then fled with his fellow conspirators out of the country.
But Tina advanced a theory that had a good deal to be said for it, though she was careful not to take the police into her confidence. She had been discovered a prisoner in a house on the outskirts of London, and very soon recovered from her unnerving experience. And it was some days later that she and Elaine paid a visit to Princess Ottilie in her great London mansion.
Tina did not mince words in her direct attack upon the Princess.
"We have to thank you, my very dear Ottilie," she said grimly, "for a great deal of what we both have gone through. No doubt for a consideration — a pretty big consideration, unless I'm mistaken — you conspired with this rat Von Strelnitz to put Elaine in his power."
"I had better ring for a maid to show you both out, I think." said Ottilie, in cold wrath.
"I don't think you'd better," returned Tina coolly. "You see, I know too much."
Ottilie regarded the other steadily, but could not quite keep the uneasiness out of her eyes.
"Do you realise," she said, "that I know who Elaine Hammond really is, and that I could, if I wished, reveal that knowledge to certain parties in Illuria?"
"But of course, you won't, my dear Princess," said Tina, sweetly. "Because, you see, if you ever even dream of doing such a thing, I might suggest to the police an amazing, but feasible theory of how exactly Von Strelnitz was murdered!"
"What do you mean?" Ottilie was now visibly shaken.
"Listen," said Tina. "And after you've heard, please decide to forget all you know or have ever heard about Elaine. It will be healthier for you. Personally, I'm overjoyed the reptile was destroyed, and I haven't the slightest grudge against the killer. But we are not standing any nonsense about Elaine.
On the face of it, a woman entirely without limbs could not possibly have killed a man eight or nine yards away particularly with such a weapon as a knife. But a woman without limbs is not the entirely helpless individual ordinary people might think her. She still has her mouth and lips, for instance, and can teach herself during the years to use them in an astonishing variety of ways. For instance, you, my dear Ottilie can write as easily and legibly as anybody else, with the pen held between teeth and lips— you can paint and draw in just the same way. You can even thread needles with your lips and tongue and do plain and fancy sewing if you wish to. All miracles in their way, but miracles that limbless wonders on show all are able to perform.
But particularly, you can pick up an object in your teeth and throw it with an accuracy that has amazed your friends when you have performed the little trick before them. I know — I've seen you doing it. And the knife that killed Von Strelnitz — that belonged to you. I recognised it from its description in the papers. Von Strelnitz, I have no doubt, tricked you in some way. Perhaps he refused to part with the money he had promised. At any rate, you picked up the knife in your teeth, threw it, and it got home in his throat."
Fury suddenly got the better of the Princess, she lost what little control she now possessed. She bent her head swiftly and flexibly, picked up in her teeth a cup that stood on a tray near by, and hurled it with deadly accuracy straight at Tina's head. Tina dodged just in time, and the cup crashed to pieces against the opposite wall.
"Voila!" she said with a gay laugh. "I don't think we need say any more. Good-bye, my very dear Princess, and remember — mum's the word!"
She raised her beautiful leg flexibly and pressed with her toes the bell push by Ottilie's head. A one-legged maid hopped in and was asked to summon Guy and Marcel, who had been waiting in another room.
Then in Marcel's arms, with Elaine swinging easily on her crutches by her side, she went out smilingly, with all the honours of war.
So it was that Elaine's secret remained inviolate. And when, some months later, Guy Saville laid his beautiful bride to the altar — attended by a lovely bridesmaid who, though carried into the church, insisted on standing entirely unsupported when necessary during the ceremony — he was still unaware that he was marrying a girl who was in reality Princess Illeana of Illuria.
Elaine wished it so, happier to be an Englishman's bride than a queen of an unhappy country — and that was that.
The End.
EDITOR'S NOTE. This concludes a remarkable monopede story that we regret has had to be considerably "cut" in order to bring it within the limits of our available space. We hope it will one day be published in book form, as it will then be available as a "classic" on the subject to which it is devoted.
________________________________________
London Life December 31, 1938 pp. 43 — 49



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Re: London Life. Tales

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27 Oct 2018, 14:17

London Life
London Life | 1940
________________________________________
Amazing Account Of A Limbless Beauty Show
by Wallace Stort
Dear Sir, — I am sorry that pressure of other business has prevented me from writing to you for something like a year, and I am afraid that this state of things is likely to continue. But, as you know, I am always very glad to report anything out of the ordinary resulting from my travels, and I am snatching a few minutes here and there to record an unusual recent experience that may interest readers.
I was on one of my periodic visits to the States a month or so before the outbreak of the present war, and, as usual, was on the look-out of anything out of the ordinary in the side-show line.
By pure luck, I happened to be in Seattle when the "Mighty Haag" Shows pitched their acres of canvas on the outskirts, and amongst the hundred and one attractions there was probably as unique a show as has ever been got together by an enterprising impresario of "kid-shows" — i.e. "side-shows": nothing at all to do with children, by the way.
This particular show had its own, big, important-looking marquee, with a line of fine, well painted banners, and altogether was reckoned one of the star items of the outfit. The long streamer running the whole length of the big tent announced:
"UNIQUE AND STUPENDOUS ATTRACTION. AMAZING GALAXY OF STARS NEVER BEFORE ASSEMBLED UNDER ONE ROOF. WONDERFUL AGGRESSION OF INTERNATIONAL LIMBLESS BEAUTY."
All of which was, of course, "slightly exaggerated," but at the same time the show was unique of its kind, and even I had never come across anything quite like it before. The interior was attractively got up, a series of small, ornately decorated stages being set side by side in a shallow semicircle, with a platform running the whole front of the series. Two "lecturers" in full evening dress were in attendance.
The curtains of all the stages were kept permanently up, so that the crowd throning the tent had a general view of the respective occupants all the time, though one of the lecturers dealt with each exhibit in turn.
The "stars" were all really international, two of which I had seen before, but as single exhibits and not in combination with other attractions as in the present unusual instance. And as I was very pleased to note, the ladies adorning the stages were all undeniably attractive. It is so often disappointing to discover that extensively advertised "armless beauties" and "legless lovelies" are in the flesh not so alluring as they are painted on the banners outside! Also as I stood taking a general view of the show, I made an odd calculation. There were altogether seven ladies included in the show, and they had between them exactly thirteen limbs!
Above the first stage on the left of the semicircle was the name "Christina" in many coloured Neon lighting. And lounging nonchalantly on a couch, so far taking no interest in the curious crowds, was Christina herself — a dark, alluring Italian beauty who, rumour had it, was in private life the wife of an Italian nobleman.
As she was not yet presenting her turn, Christina's charms were at the moment shrouded in a stunning negligee of clinging, shimmering gold-coloured silk. But she happened to be smoking a cigarette, and the open-mouthed spectators nearby saw that she removed the cigarette from her scarlet lips with the heavily beringed toes of a little brown bare foot, from which, and from the shapely limb above it, the thin silk wrap fell revealingly away.
Eventually the lecturer came to her stage and Christina skilfully stubbed out her cigarette and rose with a sort of insolent grace and eyed the crowd with a slow, sleepy-eyed smile.
Then she wriggled her shoulders daintily, her wrap slid to the floor behind her, and she stepped forward with a feline, undulating movement.
The usual little "ooh" came from the closely pressing crowd. Christina's slim and shapely brown body was attractively bare except for the briefest of diamante trunks, a narrow diamante brassiere, and tiny little heelless slippers trimmed with the same material. She was, of course, as one had guessed entirely without arms, only the rounded, perfectly symmetrical shoulder ends protruding somewhat prominently from the shapely bust.
Still smiling her dreamy sleepy-eyed smile and while the lecturer rattled off the usual would-be humorous patter about her, she kicked off her right slipper and, keeping a perfect balance on her left foot, raised her right leg with an extraordinary ease and grace, and began calmly to adjust with her long, jewelled, scarlet-nailed toes, the heavy, jet black coils of elaborately waved hair at the back of her head. She did it exactly as any normal girl manages the job with her hands, patting her hair into place and curling up the loose ends, with slender toes as skilful as fingers. You can imagine the laughter and cries of admiration the came from the girls in the audience.
After that she went through the usual "armless beauty" routine lighting and smoking cigarettes, pouring out wine and drinking from the glass, playing dance music excellently on a miniature piano, etc., etc. — all with her clever toes; finally "shaking hands" with the many admirers who crowded round the stage.
Meanwhile, the occupants of the other stages were also "doing their stuff," but for the purposes of this record I propose taking the exhibits in turn.
The name in Neon lights above the next stage was "Sally." As I had seen her before, I knew that she was Sally Bauer, an American girl, a comparative new-comer to the fairs and the carnivals. And I also recognised the buxom, attractive woman by the side of the little stage, as her mother, who always travels with her.
Sally, billed as the "Beautiful American Half-Girl," is a very pretty blonde of little more than school age, probably about 17. As her attractive costume of all white and silver, skin-fitting silk tights revealed, she is entirely without legs. Sally was born without legs.
Sally is an amazingly clever acrobat, trapeze artist and contortionist, and went through a routine that would be impossible to a normally formed acrobat. She is much at home on her hands as other people are on their feet, and her normal method of getting about at home is to turn about on her hands, sometimes with her body between her hands, sometimes with her body between her arms, and at others swinging her limbless trunk in a flexible arch above her head. The latter as her usual method of "running" up and down stairs, which she does as easily and swiftly as a normal person on legs and feet. She is perfectly happy and enjoys the show life immensely. And already she has her admirers and has received heaps of proposals!
The next stage was the central one of the five that formed the semicircle. I stood out from and was rather more ornate than the others, and obviously its occupant was the star attraction of the show.
The name of it above in brilliant Neon lights was "Violetta," and the lady was no stranger to me, as I had seen her and chatted with her two or three times before. Older readers of "London Life" may remember that I have referred to her more than once in my articles.
Violetta is probably the most outstanding of all the limbless ladies on exhibition, and is, I think, at the moment the only example of her particular type now before, at any rate, the American public. While the lecturers were busy with the other attractions, she remained perfectly calm and detached, neatly poised on her slender-stemmed, heavily brocade-topped pedestal, set in the centre of the stage. Now and then she would glance aloofly at the staring crowds, apparently undisturbed by their curiosity.
I remember her as a rather plain schoolgirl of 17 or 18, just over from Germany with her fair hair worn in a straight, flat fashion that did not add to her attraction. But that was ten or more years ago. Nowadays she has blossomed out into a real beauty, her blonde hair beautifully marcelled, her piquant face attractively made up, still grave and aloof, but undeniably charming.
Violetta possess a perfect figure, firm, beautifully curving bust, small neat waist and slim, rounded hips. But those are the beginning and end of her charms. She is merely a beautiful torso, completely without either arms or legs, even to the rudiments of limbs. Except that the usual limbs are absent, there is no suggestion of deformity about the neat trunk, which would not suffer comparison with that of any beauty queen or national Venus. In fact her usual billing, in her case no exaggeration, is as the "Beautiful Armless and Legless Venus."
According to her medical history, the torso is not only faultlessly modelled, but is without blemish of scar of any kind. Doctors and artists who have examined her have actually stated that, in her case, the absence of limbs constitutes no deformity. The doctors' verdict is that "the formation of the body is perfect within its own limits, and no provision has been made by Nature for the presence or functioning of limbs". And artists have described the wonderful torso as "a perfect, if unfinished, piece of natural sculpture."
When I first saw Violetta on her arrival in the States from Germany, years ago, she was very modestly clad in a costume of unrelieved black velvet, moulded to her figure, certainly, but quite opaque and clothing her from neck to hips. She still remains faithful to that type of costume, but it has subtly altered and has become much more alluring and revealing. The costumes of hers, by the way, can only be described as a specially designed figure-moulding pocket into which the torso is neatly fitted by her maid. The particular one she was wearing at this moment — with, by the way, a profusion of glittering necklaces — was of sheer black silk of a cobwebby fineness and transparency and clinging with the unwrinkled perfection of a skin-tight silk stocking. In fact it was obviously drawn on and smoothed into position exactly like a silk stocking.
I should say that the whole costume, when stripped from her, could easily be crushed into a loose, flimsy ball within one's closed fist. I could certainly be said to cover Violetta's charms from armless shoulders to shapely hips, but every curve and rounded contour of the beautiful torso was as fully revealed, and much more alluringly, as if she had been nude. AS she rested, gracefully poised on the cushioned top of her pedestal, one could easily note the faultless perfection of the limbless body.
At length the lecturer came round to Violetta's stage. She at once became the professional artist, aware of her public, bowing to right and left, with a charming, unaffected smile, as the man orated about her wonderful and unique charms in the usual highly eulogistic manner. He hoped that nobody would be so foolish to be sorry for her, as Violetta would be most hurt and would not regard it as a compliment.
She was perfectly happy and contented. In fact he could let the audience into a little secret and tell them that Violetta did not think a great deal of limbs in general. She did not think them particularly attractive and, for her own part, thought she was better without them. (In which, by the way, though the audience thought it a good joke, there is more than a little truth, and Violetta is not the only one of her kind to have the same strange, but compensating outlook. And on this occasion Violetta, while the audience was laughing, nodded and smiled vigorously, obviously in full agreement with the lecturer).
He suggested that she would make an excellent and economic wife for any enterprising young man, as she could never run away from home, and would save him a fortune in shoes, stockings, gloves, etc. But he did not tell his laughing audience that Violetta, as I knew, had been happily married for some years, and that round her neck, along with the gleaming rows of necklaces, she always wore a thin, gold chain on which hung her engagement and wedding rings, which she could wear in no other way.
After the lecturer's introductory remarks, Violetta presented her act; and a very remarkable act it is, revealing to the astonished spectators who see her for the first time the surprising fact that a totally limbless girl may not necessarily be absolutely helpless.
She is attended to during the performance by a very pretty nurse (who is, in fact, her maid) clad in a stunning uniform of brief, little more than hip-length skirts and silk tights, that no ordinary nurse could possibly wear. The nurse comes forward and first of all places on the floor below Violetta's pedestal (which, by the way, is about two and a half feet high, bringing its occupant up to about normal height) a thick mat of brightcoloured, cushioned rubber, and round it the materials for the act.
She then releases a catch in the top of the pedestal on which Violetta rests, and allows it to tilt forward slightly. Violetta drops to the mat in a graceful, flexible swing, and manages miraculously to remain upright in a perfect balance. After that she looks after herself, though the nurse hovers round solicitously all the time to offer help if necessary.
The extraordinary thing is that she is able to move about the mat quite easily, jumping or hopping — however you would describe the action — rather like a man in a sack race, only much more gracefully and effortlessly, and keeping her balance most of the time. Sometimes, in fun, she rolls right over, head first, she is coming at the end of the roll to an easy upright position again.
Meanwhile, using only her lips and teeth, she places in position a small easel, and upon that a pad of drawing papers. Then, with a charcoal pencil in a long holder, held between her teeth, she sketches in rapid succession, cartoons of well-known people, the nurse tearing off each finished drawing in turn and tossing it into the audience, to be grabbed by eager hands. In the same way, using only her wonderfully flexible lips, teeth and tongue, she opens a cigarette box which stands on a low table, selects a cigarette, and shifts it expertly to the corner of her mouth. Then, with her tongue she pushes open a matchbox — which, of course, is a fixture in a small chromium stand — and picks out in some miraculous manner a match. The cigarette is now between her lips in one corner, and the match between her teeth in another. She strikes the match, brings the end of the cigarette and the lighted end of the match together, lights the cigarette, and blows out and spits out the match. The trick is one that you'd think impossible until you see it, and then it looks almost easy!
She also demonstrates, in pantomime, how she can, if necessary wash herself practically all over. Again she uses her teeth, holding a sponge between them; and by contorting her amazingly flexible limbless torso into every conceivable position, she keeps the sponge moving lightly over her body. At one time she had rolled herself into a compact ball, "showing," as the lecturer humorously remarks, "how easily Violetta manages to make both ends meet!"
You would imagine that the feat of threading a needle and sewing, using only the tongue, teeth and lips, would be an impossible one. But this Violetta demonstrates is also comparatively simple to an ingenious mind. She picks the needle up with her tongue and lips, and sticks it point downward into the wood of her table, using her closed teeth to drive it home. Then she uses her tongue to pick up the thread, and manipulates it easily and swiftly into position with her lips and, bending down, threads the needle expertly. The sewing seems a more difficult business, but the fact is that Violetta's lips have become almost as flexible as fingers, and she seems to find no trouble in the task.
At the end of the remarkable little show she hops easily to the end of her mat and bows and smiles to the tremendous applause Then, turning to the nurser who stoops towards her, she crouches lightly and hops upwards into the nurse's arms. The nurse, with the beautiful limbless body in her arms, now steps down from the stage and carries her mistress among the audience, with which she chats in a smiling, friendly manner. She answers all sorts of questions about herself, even the most impertinent, with a laugh, and allows anybody who wishes to touch and smooth her body, in order to prove to themselves that she is "real and not an illusion."
The only thing she bars is kissing — which, believe it or not, many young men, as well as some women, attempt at nearly everyone of her performances. She has a way of using a shoulder, as she rests in her nurse's arms, that a boxer might, and the unexpected jab to the chin of a too ardent admirer is sometimes calculated to bring tears to his eyes!
Finally, Violetta is borne back to her pedestal, where the nurse settles her comfortably, and she returns to her grave and aloof contemplation of whatever is she thinks about, until the time comes round again for her turn.
Above the next stage was the name "Rose" — and Rose, I must confess, gave me the surprise of my life. In the first place she was exhibited as British — her professional name is "Rose English" — and in the second she is a type I had never expected to see again on exhibition. I was surprised that I had never heard of her before nor seen her. But eventually I discovered that, though she had been born in England, she was really a Canadian and had come to the States some months before from Canada.
Rose was described as "The Beautiful British monolimb" — the latter word an Americanism which doesn't appear to me particularly attractive. But Rose herself is very attractive, and, as I have said, a type I had never expected to see in the flesh again. She is a genuine, though not congenital "monolimb." All she possess is her right leg, her arms being completely absent from the shoulders, and her left leg from the hip joint. She, too, has a beautifully rounded figure, which seems even taller and more slender than the normal because of the lack of arms and the presence of the single shapely leg.
Another curious point is that she seems more noticeable limbless than even her neighbour Violetta. I suppose it is because Violetta's torso, with its perfectly smooth line, is more compact and complete than Rose's equally shaped torso, with the long, slim, only limb emerging from it on the right side.
I have said that Rose is not congenitally armless and one-legged. It is a legend of the side-shows that all the limbless wonders on exhibition are born so. That is calculated to make them more interesting to the spectator. After all, anybody may lose a limb, but only the infinitesimal few are born without one or more of their limbs. But it is not always the case that the exhibit has born as he or she is now.
Of the ladies appearing in the present show, Christina, Sally Bauer and Violetta were all certainly and obviously born as they were. But Rose was not — though for show purposes she is announced as having been born with but a single limb. Actually she was a victim of a famous Canadian railway smash in which her mother and another sister were also badly hurt. She was then about seventeen — she is close to thirty now. Both arms were amputated at the shoulder joints immediately, and though efforts were made to save the shattered left leg, it was amputated well above the knee. Several operations followed the next few years, and eventually the stump was removed completely from the left hip joint.
Naturally, she has the unhappiest memories of all that dreadful time, but she has become a very happy and gay person since then. She has acquired an adoring husband and a little girl of five, both of whom think she is perfect. And she has come to adopt the prevailing side-show philosophy, that her unique one-limbed body stated to be the only one of its kind now on show in the world is something to be proud of than the contrary.
Rose's act is simple, but effective. She does not do the usual stunts, but relies for her effects upon charm and gradual revelation. The tiny stage is set as an attractive little drawing room, and Rose is revealed reclining gracefully on a couch. She is brilliantly made up, with elaborately waved hair and clad in a fluffy robe de chambre of clinging, pale peach silk, and frills and laces, girdled round the waste with a broad scarlet sash. A bell rings outside, and there enters a boy friend got up according to the American notion of an English "dude," in immaculate morning coat, striped trousers etc., with a monocle, cane and tall hat, which he carries in his hand.
Rose sits up with the languorous grace of a grande dame, and here come the first little surprise. The young admirer bows with exaggerated courtesy, and from the opening of Rose's robe there merge a slender, shapely limb in a skin-tight, flesh-coloured silk stocking, the little food clad in a dainty fur trimmed, velvet, heelless mule. Rose slips off the mule, revealing the fact that the long slender toes, fastidiously pedicured and with gleaming scarlet nails, are left attractively bare by the mittened stocking. With easy, flexible grace, she raises the leg, and the boy friend takes the little foot in his hand, bows over it and touches the bare toes with his lips.
There now enters, carrying a tea tray, a smart maid in the briefest of outspread skirts and long, slim limbs in transparent black silk stockings, and perilously high, stilt-heeled slippers. She deposits the tray on a low table by the couch, and the boy draws up a chair. Rose then proceeds to dispense tea, "handing" a cup to the boy and taking one for herself and conveying it with perfect ease to her lips — all with her clever, flexible toes.
She follows this by opening with her toes a silver cigarette box lying on the table and "handing" it to the boy, who takes a cigarette. Rose takes on herself and places it between her lips and, striking a match, lights both cigarettes, raising the match to her lips to blow it out.
Meanwhile, as if by accident, the flimsy clinging robe has gradually slipped from her shoulders and eventually reveals the intriguing fact that beneath she is clad only in the daintiest of wispy, diaphanous undies. The little "accident" also makes apparent for the first time that she is completely armless as the white shoulders, with their neatly rounded-off ends, are left alluringly bare. The boy comes gallantly to her rescue, jumps up and, after implanting a chaste kiss on each armless shoulder, replaces the robe.
Tea over, the boy is now ready to take his leave. He picks up his hat and cane and bows again. The little foot is presented again to him for his farewell caress. Then Rose slips her foot into her mule, rises easily to a perfect balance, and sees him to the door, hopping effortlessly at his side. The two kiss, and he goes out. Rose hops back agilely to her couch, flexions her leg gracefully and unfastens with her toes the sash about her waist. Then she raises again and stands facing the audience.
She yawns delicately, flutters her eyelids in sleepy fashion and, with a flexible movement of her shoulders lets the robe slip in a soft heap to the floor. She stands perfectly poised, clad only in a fluttering, diaphanous slip, brief, skin-tight panties, and a long, hip-length stocking, garter with frilled, jewelled satin circlet round the middle of the thigh. She is thus revealed for the first time in all the strange allure of her monolimbed beauty — an unfinished goddess, armless and one-legged. One could feel the thrill that passed through the pressing crowd, a thrill mixed with a kind of incredulous wonder.
The attractive maid enters again and, with her help, Rose goes through the pantomime of preparing to retire. The maid picks up the discarded robe, and sets out a tiny dressing table and stool. Meanwhile Rose is hopping blithely about here and there, humming a little song, ostensibly to see that everything is really, but really to demonstrate to the audience her perfect control and balance on her single leg.
She seats herself on the stool, the maid strips the long stocking from the white, shapely limb, and goes through the pretence of massaging the foot and pedicuring the toe-nails. Incidentally, as Rose is now seated facing the audience, one is able to note how complete is the absence of the missing left limb. The rounded armless shoulders, too, are perfectly symmetrical, with only a gentle protrusion of the neat shoulder ends. I know that there are slight indentations as a result of now practically faded scar tissue, but these have the effect only of largish dimples and do not mar the general smoothness of the contour.
However, Rose turns to the table and prepares her toilette, brushing her hair, making herself up, touching her lips with lipstick, etc., and powdering herself all over, including, with a little roguish smile at the audience, the rounded curve at the left hip joint where the leg is absent. This latter trick, by the way, is not meant as a "daring" or saucy touch, but actually to show how amazingly flexible her leg is, and how clever her toes.
Finally the maid wraps her in her robe, picks her up in her arms, and carries her out. Rose raising her leg and waving her bare little foot in farewell as she goes. This routine, by the way, is something entirely new and very much more fascinating and alluring than the usual "armless wonder" act. It was thought out by her clever husband, who has produced a number of plays and movies.
So we come to the last stage at the right end of the semicircle. Above this is the name "Lotus," and she proved to be something new and fascinating. She is a tiny little Chinese, very pretty in her slant-eyed Oriental way. She is billed, I am sure with perfect truth, as "The Only Living Tattooed Legless Beauty."
Lotus has no act. She is just a delightful picture gallery and poses calmly and inscrutably on her pedestal, which differs from Violetta's support only in that it is of highly ornate, Chinese design. Her slim little boyish figure is completely tattooed with an inter-linked, intricate design of beautifully coloured Chinese scroll work, writhing with dragons and snakes. Not an inch of flesh from the base of her throat to the curves of her legless hips remains uncovered. She wears only the absolute minimum of clothing, but quite without offence, as she is completely clothed in her own "coat of many colours" — her sole adornment being two tiny twin breastplates of some glittering metallic material, cupping the small breasts and tiny, triangular trunks of the same material.
The beauty of the little figure and the amazing intricacy of the tattooed design are therefore fully apparent, the latter even extending, as one is able to note, to the twin slight undulations at the hips, which are the only suggestions of lower limbs she possess. In many ways she proves to be one of the most fascinating little persons in the whole wonderful exhibition.
Finally, providing a sort of inter-note, there were the "Munro Sisters", one-legged acrobats, contortionists and dancers. They were a couple of attractive blondes, who were, of course not sisters. They had both been circus trapeze artistes, but with different circuses, and each had lost a leg as the result of a fall from the high trapeze. They had come together quite by accident, and decided to team up and build an act. One had lost the right leg, and the other the left, which helped the balance of the act.
In their very revealing, flesh-coloured silk tights they appeared in turn, outside the show, assisting the "barker" the man with the stentorian voice who invites you to "Walk up! Walk up!" And at intervals they presented their own act on the main platform inside, giving a really wonderful display of contortion and amazingly clever one-legged dancing. One of their "stunts" was to invite boys from the audience to dance ordinary ballroom fox-trots with them, and it was fascinating to see how ingeniously they fitted in their one-legged steps with their partners.
I was very interested to note — and, as you may guess, I saw this show several times — that neither of the girls used a crutch, nor was there ever a crutch of any kind ever in evidence. They just hopped about, when necessary, with astonishing nimbleness on their single legs, between their acts, wearing thin, absurdly inadequate silk wraps over their tights. They had a little side platform near the entrance to themselves when resting, and there they sat and talked and smoked interminable cigarettes. And they seemed to get an amused kick out of allowing their wraps to lay open in such a manner that their little silk-clad stumps were frankly displayed, and winking at each other when the boys halted and stood staring with open and absorbed interest — as is the way with American youth — at the intriguing display.
"Unique and stupendous attraction" was, perhaps, after all, a not too exaggerated description of this wonderful show. At any rate, I found it one of the biggest thrills I have encountered in many years of looking for such things in the interesting world of side-show.
yours very sincerely
Wallace Stort
________________________________________
London Life January 27, 1940 pp. 27,28,29,30,47



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Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 34718Unread post Bazil
27 Oct 2018, 14:18

London Life
London Life | 1940
________________________________________
Confessions Of A Lover Of The Limbless
Memories of Paris Nights and Days.
by Wallace Stort
Dear Sir, — I was very interested in the recent letter from the lady who signed herself "One-legged Parisian." This for many reasons, but chiefly because of the fact that she is French and her references to her friends and experiences in Paris, where I lived for many years, and of which I have the happiest recollections. If she will forgive my impertinence, however, there were several errors in the letter which rather puzzled me.
Why, for instance, should she sign herself "One-legged Parisian?" I am sure she must have intended the correct and much more attractive "Parisienne." Then her references to what she calls "La Circlet de Moignon" were also a little astray. I don't wish to be dogmatic, but I do not think there is such a word as "circlet" in French. It is, I think, purely English. There are "cercle," "petit-cercle" and bracelet-cerclet"— all meaning bracelet or bangle; also, of course, the word "anneau," a ring.
But actually the French coin words for special purposes, just as we do; and for the particular ornament your correspondent refers to, the word would inevitably be "moignoniere." The nearest we could get in English would be "stumplet," just as the word "chevilliere" means anklet or "jarretiere" leglet, or, in other words, garter. You won't find the word in the dictionary, and the ordinary Frenchmen wouldn't know it, but this is the natural way the word would come into being — and, I feel quite certain, did come into being when I was a resident of Paris. The charming one-legged ladies I knew at that time, as matter of fact, called there stump garters "moignonieres," and the particular jeweller who supplied these little adornments in gold employed the same word.
Finally referring again to your correspondent's letter, I imagine the word "biguile" for crutch, near the end of the letter, was a misprint. The word should, of course, be "bequille."
Words created for special purposes are always stumbling blocks, I know. And ordinarily one cannot be expected to be aware of their existence. The word "monopede," for example, now well known to readers of "London Life," will not be found in any English dictionary. It was, if I may say so, coined by myself in my first stories and articles contributed to these pages, and has now become accepted by readers as a synonym for a one-legged girl.
In the same way the French have no generally known word corresponding to "monopede," but even over there a special word has been coined for the purpose, except that it applies to either s*ex. The word is "unijambiste," literally a "one-legged person."
I came across the word first of all when I was in Paris, on the placards outside a variety theatre. One of the turns announced was "Les Trois — something or other — Artistes Aeriennes Extraordinaiees au Haut Trapeze" (in other words, trapeze artistes) — with "La Belle Suzy, Unijambiste, Exquise, La Plus Merveilleuse du Monde!" — and a lot more on the same lines! I hadn't met the word before, but I guessed its meaning at once, and I was in that theatre that night — and in the front row "a paradis" — (in the "gods").
The act was a very ordinary trapeze act given by two men, both normal, two-legged individuals, and a girl. But it was the girl who made the show for me. She was a pretty blonde, and petite, and she was undoubtedly an "unijambiste," as her dainty flesh-pink silk tights fully and attractively revealed.
She had only one leg; a very shapely limb it was, too. But it was close up against her right hip that she had lost her other leg. She wore there what one could call a "moignoniere," in the shape of a dainty, frilled, satin garter. She used no crutches during the act, and was perfectly at home on her single leg, hopping about with the greatest ease and agility. And when the trio took their many bows at the end of the act, she hopped on and off with the other two with the same effortless ease and grace.
It may interest newer readers that I referred to this particular girl in an earlier series of mine in these columns, though I did not then attribute the experience to myself. However, I was actually the young man in the case, and it was I who played the impudent little trick of taking round, after the act, to deliver an imaginary parcel, which I "had orders" to Mlle. Suzy herself in her dressing room.
She roared with laughter when she discovered the trick, and immediately nearly gave me a nervous breakdown by pinning me in her arms and kissing me fondly. She was probably 27 or 28, and I was 17, and I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. But she knew everything there was to know about the "monopede complex," It was actually my first personal encounter with a one-legged girl.
She was still in her enchanting silk tights, drinking a glass of wine out of the bottle brought in by an attendant, and smoking a cigarette, and she sat beside me with her arm holding me close, and made me talk about myself.
The two men were meanwhile getting into their street clothes French artistes of both sexes, members of the same act, at any rate, have no qualms at using the same dressing room — and threw across a grinning, ribald remark every now and then. Eventually the girl, just amused as they were, though I wasn't aware of the fact, told them to "chuck it." "Shut your trap. The kid has taken a fancy to my little stump."
At last, when she had had enough of my boyish ardour, she saw me to the door of the dressing room — this time using a single, black pole crutch which stood in a corner — and kissed me. She promised to send me a special photo of herself in silk tights, and then pushed me into outer darkness.
I never saw her again, not even on the stage, but she was certainly considerate enough to send me, from the next town in which the act was appearing, a large photograph of herself. I treasured it for years — in fact until it fell to pieces. That was my very first experience of the kind, and obviously it left its very deeply engraved and permanent imprint on my mind and character.
To return, however, to the interesting question of the "moignoniere." I believe I was also the first to introduce this particularly intriguing and intimate adornment to these pages in one of my stories, and have used it in other stories since. I took the fashion from life — as I do most of my characters, and frequently even my plots. The fashion of wearing a dainty, frilled garter, or a circlet in flat, expanding gold mesh on the remaining portion of a missing limb was common among the one-legged ladies I knew in Paris in those days, and is, I know, quite as common now both in France and England.
Of course, the practice is not confined to one-legged ladies. Many chic French women at least wear a gold circlet on the thigh instead of a garter. But in at least one particular goldsmith's in the Quartier Latin, the circlet is known as "moignoniere," and it is understood that it is intended to adorn a shapely stump. In the same way silk stump socks are frequently specially made for one-legged lady customers, with either a satin garter or an expanding circlet in gold or platinum, attached to the mouth as part of the sock. My wife has several of the former — and the satin gartered sock — and one of the latter in her outfit, an expensive item, for very special occasions. I recommended both types to interested one-legged lady readers.
It is most interesting to learn that at least two of your lady readers have adopted the gold circlet fashion. And it is also very interesting to me to learn that your correspondent "One-legged Parisienne" was one of a circle of limbless ladies when she lived in Paris.
I don't suppose she encountered the little crowd I knew — in fact I realise she couldn't have done so, as she has only recently arrived from Paris, while my memories of that delightful city go back at least twenty years. She probably knows, at any rate by sight, the famous "pierette," however, the pretty and exotic "free lance" who flaunts her single shapely leg below an extremely short and narrow frock, her small, neat foot in an incredibly high, stilt-heeled slipper, as she swings provocatively on a pair of slim, expensive crutches about the boulevards and the night haunts of Paris. And also, perhaps, her rival, "Desire," a voluptuous blonde who manages a beautifully made and very expensive hip-length artificial leg so well that most people think she has only an attractive little limp. Desire frequents only the small, exclusive night clubs, corresponding to our more expensive "bottle parties" and clubs of that type. Her "stunt" is to arrive at the club, limping attractively, gather a string of admirers about her table, and then, making an excuse, leave them. She returns, having removed her leg and left in the dressing room, and hops back to her table without crutches — with which, by the way, she is never seen. She moves about, dances, etc., during the rest of the night, quite expertly on her single leg, revealing in her gyrations, to astonished newcomers, that the little limping lady has in fact no right leg at all. when at last she leaves and goes on to another club, she resumes her leg and goes expertly upon it.
In Paris, certain types always gravitate to certain rendezvous, and in my time it was the odd little "Cafe des Deux Pigeons Bleus," in Montparnasse, a discreet place of alcoves and shaded lights, that the queerest and most original characters were to be found. There was one corner sacred to the little crowd of "Amputee Jolies" and their admirers who frequented it. And as "one of us" — the term used among themselves of the exclusive band of queer people with the "limbless beauty" complex — I was a privileged member of the circle.
I was first taken there by Zelie, an attractive little one-legged blonde, with the slenderest black crutches and the highest heeled single slipper in Paris. Zelie, I am afraid, had no qualms about letting the world know she was one-legged — no more, in fact, than any pretty girl has in showing off what she regards as her principal attractions. Zelie herself had no doubts about what was her most alluring charm, — her very shapely single leg.
It was the day of ultra short skirts, and Zelie's were always so brief as to attract incredulous stares, wherever she swung saucily along on her slender crutches, with her slim, shapely leg very much in evidence. In fact it was a most embarrassing business to accompany her along the boulevards. Added to that, her frocks were made to fit her attractive curves with skin-fitting tightness.
I remember on that first occasion when Zelie took me to the "Two Blue Pigeons," that I met Fleurette and Julie. At the table in the discreet alcove, Fleurette, another very dainty little blonde, was seated in such a way that I saw at once that she, too, was attractively one-legged. Also, incidentally, her slipper was lying on the floor, where it had been kicked off, and her little silk-stockinged foot was softly caressing the ankle of the boy seated at the near-side edge of the table with his back to me.
Julie was seated at the other end of the table right inside the alcove, with a somewhat older, but still young and strikingly handsome young man. She was a dark, exotic, alluring type, plump, but only attractively so, with marvellous white teeth, which she showed a good deal of in wider generous smiles.
I wondered about Julie, and did so casually on and off until the somewhat scratch band began to play a dance tune. I was not surprised to see Fleurette and the boy get up to dance, as I knew that Zelie danced with marvellous ease and precision on her one leg, and I had no doubt that Fleurette did likewise, which, by the way, she did, clinging closely to her partner for support, but dancing quite naturally on her very slender, black silk-stockinged leg.
But I was surprised when Zelie, in an aside, told me to ask Julie to dance. That was not like Zelie, who was rather possessive, and somehow I suspected some subtle joke. However, I asked Julie and she laughingly consented. I went round the table and, as if with a kind of affectionate embrace, she put her arms about my neck; and, though I didn't realise it at the time, I must have actually lifted her into my arms.
Julie suddenly burst into peals of laughter, and I heard Zelie laughing behind me. By this time I had seen the "joke," but I must admit I was startled. The amazing truth was that the lovely and exotic Julie was entirely legless!
That was Julie's favourite joke with newcomers to the circle. She seemed to get a real kick out of luring unsuspecting boys into asking her to dance, and then watching their dismay when they discovered that the lovely charmer didn't exist below the hips! Sometimes, however, the boy turned the tables and went careering round the floor with the legless body in his arms, whirling madly round and round to the music. Poor Julie would cling desperately to her partner as her empty skirts floated away beneath her, imploring him not to drop her.
"Nom de nom!" I have heard her say, when she was at last restored to her chair. "I don't mind — only I am so deadly afraid of being dropped!"
Julie was by far the most interesting, psychologically, of all the "types" I met in Paris at that time. Her life story gave me the clue to her character and to what the normal individual would regard as her unusual outlook on life. She had not always regarded her leglessness as something interesting. She was a very beautiful girl of 17 (she was thirtyish at the time I knew her) in her native Lyons when she lost both her beautiful legs in a train smash. When she fully had realised the disaster that had befallen her she was in complete despair and made repeated efforts to commit suicide. She told me for instance, that she had once actually got out on the balcony of her parent's house, after dropping from her chair and swinging along by means of her hands, before she was caught.
The publicity attaching to the case, mainly because of her father's position and her own unusual beauty, had, however, brought her hundreds of letters of sympathy and affection from all over the country and even from other countries. One in particular came from the wealthy son of a millionaire Paris banker.
Without going into all the details of that extraordinary courtship — with Julie at first uncomprehending and dismayed that any man, not to mention a young, wealthy and particularly handsome man, should actually wish to marry an entirely legless girl who, as she put it, would make him only half a wife — the outcome of which was that Julie at last allowed herself to be persuaded. The wedding took place quietly in Lyons, and Georges, her husband, carried her (literally, at any rate, at intervals!) back with him to Paris!
That was the beginning of a beautiful and perfect romance in married life. Georges from the outset had made no secret of the fact that he found her leglessness one of the most attractive charms. And gradually she came to accept his peculiar but heady and insidious adoration and to adapt her own point view to it. Her husband was a rich man and could give her everything she desired. He was, in fact, her willing slave, and surrounded her with every luxury and comfort.
All this had its natural effect on Julie. She responded to his love and care like a beautiful flower opening to the warmth of the sun. So by the time I knew her she had so far forgotten the terror and despair of those early days as to have become as fervent a worshiper of her own and incomplete loveliness as her husband.
Though she was a member of our set at the "Two Pigeons" — in many respects a wild and irresponsible lot — she had no eyes for everybody but her beloved Georges, who, whenever possible, accompanied her to our little gatherings, carrying her tenderly and proudly in his arms to and from the big car. It was he who sat with her on the first evening when I was lured into asking her to dance.
A rather different and in its way as interesting case was that of Cecile's, whom I also met first of all at the "Two Pigeons." Cecile was an attractive one-legged brunette, charming and likable, but always a little sad and silent. This was not altogether surprising. She had lost her right leg, close to the hip, in a car smash, and her remaining leg had been so badly injured that it was saved only by a miracle. It gave her constant pain and trouble all the time I knew her, and she had now and then to undergo minor operations in connection with it.
It was no wonder, therefore, that she had periods of depression when she was completely fed up with life. She used to look across at the happy, laughing Julie with something very near envy, and, in a bitter aside to me, wondered why they hadn't taken off her other leg and saved her all this wretchedness. The sequel is interesting and curious — and incidentally, perfectly true.
I had left Paris about six years — returning for a day or two only at long intervals during that time. On one of my visits I was walking along the Rue de Rivoli on a sunny afternoon in May, when suddenly I heard my name called and saw Cecile beckoning me excitedly from a big car drawn up by the pavement, with an uniformed chauffeur at the wheel.
I went across, and at once noticed the difference in her. She was as gay and happy as she had previously been depressed. On her invitation I got into the car and sat down beside her to talk over old times. Immediately I saw light. Her thin, chiffon skirt hung slack and empty over the end of the deeply recessed seat. Cecile was as legless as Julie — even more so than Julie, as was very evident then and as I verified later. Both legs were now absent from near the hip. And she was happy at last!
Her story was simple. She had married a persistent admirer, much older than herself, a well-to-do business man who adored her, as elderly husbands usually do young and pretty wives. He was evidently also a man of plain, straightforward common sense. When the trouble in connection with Cecile's remaining leg appeared to show no signs of ever yielding to a treatment, he went straight to her surgeon and discussed the matter as man to man, the surgeon admitted that the only and logical cure was amputation. It would have been very much better if that had been done long ago. But he had never put such a drastic suggestion forward because of his hesitation to condemn a young and pretty woman to a life of almost complete helplessness.
The husband returned and in just the same straightforward manner discussed the matter with Cecile. But, she asked, a little incredulously, wouldn't he mind having a completely legless wife? He had shaken his head stolidly. He wanted a happy, healthy and contented wife. He had found her fascinating with only one leg. He was prepared to find her just as attractive without legs at all!
Cecile was frightened — but impressed and hopeful. Eventually she agreed; arrangements were made and the offending limb removed from the hip. All that had taken place over two years before. The operation had been a complete success; all the troublesome symptoms vanished. And so, there was Cecile, now indeed completely legless, but radiant and happy, and prettier than she had ever been, with an adoring and indulgent husband she had learnt to love as well as respect, and who, she told me with a happy laugh, seemed to find his legless wife even more adorable than he had found a one-legged one! Which was true, for I met him later, and it was very evident that he had doted on the pretty and vivacious half-woman who, when he came in the evening I was there and sat down beside her on her couch, swung herself lithely on to his knees and hugged him fondly and unashamedly.
We never had the pleasure of including in our little crowd at the "Two Pigeons" an armless girl, though there was such a girl frequently seen in public in the Paris of that time. I knew her well by sight, and often about the boulevards, and one or two occasions in one or other of the more exclusive resorts. She was an unusually pretty, Titian-haired girl; in fact she was always referred to in the gossip columns of the newspapers as the "Venus Sans Bras" ("Armless Venus").
Seeing her in the street, you would never guess that she was armless, as her outdoor frocks and suits were all fitted with neat, hip-length capes that attractively hid her deficiency. But that didn't mean that she was concerned about her armlessness or embarrassed at its display. One of the best-known stories about her — and there were many — was that she was seen on a bright June morning in the Rue de le Paix of all places, crowded with fashionable shoppers at the time, calmly paying off a taxi outside one of the big shops.
One little high-heeled slipper lay on the pavement where she had kicked it off and, balanced easily on one leg, she calmly opened her bag — which hung from a girdle at her waist — with the dainty, flexible, bare toes of the other foot, took out the necessary francs and paid them over to the grinning taxi driver. Her very short, barely knee-length skirts were neatly pleated so that they spread to the necessary fullness when she used a leg. And, as she performed her effortless and fascinating bit of contortion, the interested onlookers were treated to a vision of quite a lot of her upraised, very shapely right leg, in a hip length, beautifully fitting wide mesh silk stocking, daintily mittened to leave her long, slender toes bare. At the end of the transaction she calmly resumed her slipper and walked into the shop, where no doubt she again used her toes when examining and choosing the materials she had come to buy.
I saw her on two occasions in a discreet corner of the big cocktail lounge of the Cafe Strasbourg, which was once a very exclusive resort in the Champs Elysees. She was on each occasion with one of the rich young men of the town, and her very effective evening frock, moulded to her very perfect figure, was fitted with tiny lace epaulets hanging emptily over the rounded off ends of her beautiful armless shoulders.
There was a good deal of undisguised staring from all parts of the lounge — much more than there would have been in a place of the same standing in London; but habitues for the most part took her for granted. In any case, she wasn't at all disturbed. It was interesting to observe that her evening frocks — at that time not so long as they have since become — were slit from the hips at various points, so that when she wanted to use a leg and foot she slipped the limb through one of the slits and so employed it unhampered by clinging drapery.
When I saw her at the Strasbourg, a long, shapely leg, clad, not in a silk stocking, but in silk tights of filmily diaphanous black chiffon and delicately mittened at her toes was well in evidence. Naturally so as she had constantly to use her bare, beautifully kept toes, as supple as fingers, to carry her cocktail to her lips or to manage her cigarette in its long jade holder. Through the transparent chiffon of her tights, a flat, gold anklet, worn as a permanent adornment, could be seen on her right ankle; and on the slender toes of both feet she wore several miniature jewelled rings.
We never learnt whether she was born armless or had lost both her arms in an accident; nor did we learn where she had come from. But she was for some years one of the interesting and intriguing phenomena of the gay life of the Paris of that time, and she had obviously very early on decided to make her armlessness a charming asset rather than a handicap. She left Paris suddenly, and the legend had it that a young Indian prince had fallen for her armless charms and carried her off to India with him.
There is, by the way, another "Venus Sans Bras" in Paris at the present moment, a young, slim and pretty girl, born entirely without arms. But she is a variety artiste and cabaret attraction, and has appeared many times in variety and revue at one or other of the vaudeville theatres. She puts on a clever show, including drawing and painting with her toes in the usual highly trained manner. And a handsome armless woman, now nearing 60, runs a small cafe off the Boulevard St. Michel on the south side of the river. She, of course, has no tricks and is never seen to use her toes in public, though she sometimes pencils in an "addition" with the pencil held in her teeth.
(To be continued in our March treble issue.)
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London Life February 24, 1940 pp. 47, 48, 65, 66
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London Life | 1940


London Life
London Life | 1940
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Confessions Of A Lover Of The Limbless
Being Memories of Paris Nights and Days.
by Wallace Stort
In our treble number published on February 24 the author of this remarkable story told us of the many limbless beauties he had met with in his travels. One of the many excellent stories Mr. Stort relates is of a trapeze act he saw in Paris. The artistes consisted of two beautifully developed athletic men and a charming blonde girl. The girl had only one leg. The other had been amputated above the knee as the result of some unfortunate accident. This was covered with a special tight and a dainty frilled garter. The girl used no crutches during her act and hopped about the stage with marvellous grace and celerity. On the trapeze unhampered by the loss of her leg she performed the usual somersaults and catches.
There is an amazing story related of two one-legged beauties, Pierette and Desire. The story of their rivalry is both romantic and surprising.
Mr. Stort has accumulated a number of anecdotes of the limbless ladies who, despite their misfortunes, cultivate the art of attraction, earn their living unchecked by the loss of one or more limbs, and are living examples of the world of courage and enterprise.
Mr. Stort's story which we now publish is a continuation of his many adventures with the limbless fair.
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La Belle Annette.
The armless and one-legged girl I knew in Paris about this time, and to whom I have also referred in earlier articles, was also not a member of our set at the Two Pigeons. She was, as may perhaps be recalled by more long-memoried readers, a star sideshow attraction and was, at the time I knew her, a very wealthy woman, making a small fortune in salary and percentages during the time she toured the shows of the world.
I saw her first at one of the big annual fairs at Neuilly, in the Paris environs, were she was billed as "La Belle Annette Phenomene Extraordinaire et Epatant, Sans Bras et a Une Jambe." And I got to know her (as, in fact, I got to know most of my side-show friends) by the simple expedient of seeing her after one of her shows, expressing my interest in her and getting her to talk about herself.
We became very friendly and corresponded with each other for years after that meeting. She wrote me letters from all over the world — incidentally giving me a lot of information about other "limbless beauties" on show. She wrote all the letters herself, and nearly always put at the end of her letters, "written with the toes of her only foot" — a joking echo of her show procedure, that phrase always accompanying her signature on the photo postcards of herself she distributed to members of her audience.
And another engaging little habit of hers when writing to me was to sign herself "Votre Annette devauee, sans bras et a une jambe." ("Your affectionate armless and one-legged Annette.")
She was a very attractive girl in a dark, Southern way, about 27 at this time — three years older than myself, in fact — and she was as strong and active as a perfectly trained athlete which, indeed, she was. She was entirely without arms from the shoulders, having been born so, and had only her left leg.
It may seem an extraordinary thing that an already armless girl should later lose a leg; but that was what had happened to Annette. And, more unusual still, that a lion, of all things, should have been responsible for the loss.
She was about 17 at the time, and had already appeared since the age of 10 or so, as an armless wonder girl. One of her acts was to go into the lions' den as the "beautiful one and only armless girl lion tamer." This was, of course, only a stunt, as a qualified male tamer was always in the cage with her. But it ended in disaster, for one night a lion turned on her and so mauled her right leg that it had to be amputated.
She was out of show life for some years, recovering from her injuries but she had notion of retiring, and spent a good deal of the latter part of her enforced leisure preparing for her return to the shows. She had, for instance, to train herself to balance and move easily and naturally on her remaining leg — a feat made more difficult in her case because of her lack of arms. And she had also to train the toes of her left foot to do everything that had normally been done by those of her right. That was not so difficult, as she had, of course, used her left foot as one uses a left hand, from childhood.
But with the strange philosophy of side-show folk, she came later to regard the accident as a sort of queer blessing in disguise. She was now "La Belle Annette — Extraordinary and Amazing Phenomenon — Armless and One-legged!" to quote her billing again; probably the only example of her type in the world. She was a side-show queen, getting a fee for her services that other attractions regarded with envy, as colossal and unprecedented.
She told me all this herself in a sort of self-congratulatory and triumphant manner, without the slightest idea that I should find the slightest idea unusual in her point of view. The fact that she was only a beautiful fragment, just one limb removed from being a completely limbless and helpless torso, didn't seem to occur to her, and certainly did not worry her, in fact her only worry was lest there should be another armless and one-legged girl on show anywhere in the world. And it was instructive as well as amusing to find constantly in her letters to me — from Germany, Spain, Italy, and other Continental countries, as well as North and South America, and even China and Japan — the phrase "Still the one and only," by which she meant that so far she had not come across a hated rival.
I have said she was strong and active. For a girl with only a single limb, she was phenomenal. During her act on the stage of her special booth, clad in her very attractive and form-fitting tights, she moved about most of the time on her single foot in its neat, acrobatic heelless slipper, with perfect control and without the slightest suggestion of awkwardness.
(One has to see a professional and practised one-legged girl hopping, by the way, to discover, with surprise, how easy and natural the action is. As easy and graceful in its way as the effortless balancing and dancing on one leg of a prima ballerina.)
But Annette did not confine her virtuosity to her public appearance. She behaved in exactly the same way at home — in the charming flat near the Bois, which she kept permanently in Paris, and to which she retired for at least three months every year. The only occasions on which she was carried, usually by her personal maid, but on many privileged occasions by myself in fact, was in the street, and that only to and from her big, chauffeur-driven motor-car. Otherwise she moved about at home just as any normal person does. Her indoor frocks were all made with very brief skirts, in some cases only a few inches above the knee, and with them she wore a series of little coatees made without sleeves but closed at the shoulders.
Now and then she would leave her leg and foot bare for use, but usually she wore one of her favourite long, hip-length stockings, mittened as usual at the toe.
(This "mittening," I may explain, was not just a simple business of cutting off the tip of the stocking foot and binding the cut silk with stitches. The stockings and her tights were specially made in their mittened form, with a series of five delicately fashioned slots, instead of the usual closed end of the stocking foot, through which the long, bare toes emerged. I always found these toe-revealing stockings very attractive in use.)
Her evening frocks were, however, made on ordinary normal lines, and left her really beautiful, perfectly rounded armless shoulders, of which she was actually very vain, attractively bare. Her show-tights were also made with very low-cut, revealing corsages, displaying to full advantage the alluring curves of her magnificent bust and perfect shoulders.
She had a large collection of attractive little single slippers, all of the low-cut, close-fitting "acrobat" type, made entirely without a heel. This latter feature was, of course, a necessity, as hopping about on a heeled shoe is a difficult and very dangerous business. All the same, she was as fond of ultra high heels as any other pretty woman, and had a number of dainty evening slippers with 3 inches or 4 inches heels. These she usually wore only when entertaining and, of course, only when seated. If she wanted to move about, as she was always sure to do, as she was a most restless person, she just kicked off her slipper and hopped gaily around on her silk-stockinged foot.
One of the interesting features of the flat was that all the tables likely to be use by her, including the dining table, were very much lower than usual, though the chairs were of normal height. This enabled her to use her leg and foot much more comfortably when eating and drinking a cocktail, or taking cigarettes from the many ornate boxes scattered about the flat on as many little tables.
And another unusual and most intriguing feature was the presence in every room of a curious "gadget" that piqued one's curiosity until one saw it in use. It was a sort of stand or pedestal, a little over 2 feet in height, consisting of a slender, oxidised metal stem on a broad, spreading, circular base and topped by a short, narrow, spoon-like or scoop-like affair, tilted slightly downwards and heavily upholstered in dark red velvet. There were two of these mysterious gadgets in the salon alone, one running on tiny wheels concealed beneath the broad base.
It was only when one saw Annette settle herself comfortably in the scoop-like top that one realised the ingenious and useful contrivances they were.
Seated in this way and perfectly supported, she could talk with one at a normal height and at the same time lift her leg to use her toes to smoke a cigarette or have a drink.
It will be obvious to readers of my stories that I modelled the character of Tina, the armless and one-legged beauty who has played a leading part in more than one of my yarns, upon Annette. Only, for obvious reasons, I gave Tina a right leg — one uses a right limb more naturally than a left.
Annette had all the little tricks I have given to Tina. She obviously loved to hop about in her effortless and graceful way to impress her virtuosity mainly on myself, but also on all her guests. For the same reason she liked to dispense tea, doing everything necessary with the shapely toes of her only foot. And that little trick of taking a cigarette from a box, placing it on one's lips and lighting it, all with her toes, was one of Annette's.
She had one little trick that, when first seen, was really startling. She could conceal her leg so as to give the disconcerting impression that she was entirely legless as well as armless. As a matter of fact, the trick is one that most contortionists do quite easily, and usually include in their routine.
In her case, the trick was done, as she sat on her couch, by raising her leg upwards and sideways, which of course she did as easily and naturally as a normal person raises an arm. Then, bending the limb at the knee, she slipped it flexibly and without effort behind her back, sliding it lower and lower until the bent knee was hidden behind the right shoulder blade and the foot somewhere near the base of the spine.
In that position she lay back on the soft, yielding cushions behind her, which not only allowed her to sit comfortably, but also helped by their enveloping softness, to cover the leg behind the back. The effect, as I have said, was startling. Looked at slightly obliquely, she appeared quite legless. And, with a little clever draping of a silk scarf or something of the kind, she appeared so from any angle.
I remember she worked the trick on me one afternoon when I was expected for tea.
Louise, her attractive maid, let me into the flat and ushered me, with a demure smile, into the salon. Annette sat, apparently as usual, in a corner of the big couch, laying back lazily on a heap of comfortably arranged cushions. The first thing that struck me as unusual was the fact that she did not jump up, as she always did, and hop blithely across the room to kiss me.
Then I saw her fully and must have stopped dead. She was wearing one of her usual little sleeveless coatees, a colourful affair in some sort of Chinese embroidered silk, and one of her very brief frocks. Ordinarily, with such a frock, when seated, not only was her leg fully revealed, but also the little shapely silk-clad stump.
Now, I goggled with sheer amazement; and Annette, unable to suppress it, suddenly broke into a little gurgling laugh. But where on earth was her leg? There she lay, now smiling a little wistfully, apparently quite legless — and not so apparently, either. The illusion was perfect.
She shook her head with a little sorrowful smile.
"Yes, cherie," she said, "it's gone! I don't know how it happened. I just looked down, and presto! — it had vanished." She made a twittering little noise with her lips. "Just like that! What are you going to do with your poor Annette? Une demi-femme sans bras et sans jambe! Helas! Je pleur — je pleur..." And she burst into a remarkably good imitation of a flood of tears.
Of course, as soon as I had recovered from my first surprise I knew it was a trick, and a very effective trick, too.
"All right", I said sternly, "Belle Annette is no earthly use to me now. We can't have the place littered with armless and legless torsos. Let's just chuck her out of the window!"
But as I reached her she shot up like something released by a spring and, flinging the newly found "lost single leg" around me, she hugged me close.
She played exactly the same trick on a girl friend she had not seen for several years — a very attractive German acrobat, who had toured with one or two big circuses with her. The girl accepted the situation as absolutely the fact it seemed, and commiserated with her on the loss of her only limb. But with a thoroughly German lack of humour she did not see the joke when at last the leg was "found" again. Probably that was why Annette, who had a freakish sense of humour, played the joke upon her.
She was altogether a marvellous sort of person, such as I don't suppose I shall ever meet, at any rate on the same terms, again. We became very fond of each other, but in the end we very sensibly agreed that marriage, which we discussed many times, was not really in the realm of practical politics for us. Finally, we agreed not to see each other again, and went our ways. And though perhaps, working in a little fiction in a previous article, I may have said that she married well, actually I never heard that she did, though she left the fairs some time after we parted.
But for years I treasured many intimate little souvenirs of her — her letters, "written with the toes of her only foot," a host of photographs in all kinds of costume, but mainly in her attractive silk tights, a long, hip-length, diaphanous, chiffon stocking with its delicately mittened toe, a little, soft, heelless slipper, and a little wisp of filmy silk.
To return to the Two Pigeons. We naturally discussed many topics connected with our interests, some of which I see are still exercising the minds of readers to-day. For example, there has recently been an exchange of opinions in these pages, on which is the more useful — a single crutch or a pair. We often discussed that interesting point. Personally, I am on the side of the single crutch — but not, I am afraid, on account of its usefulness.
If I may say so, I do not think the lady who recently and eloquently put forward her reasons for adopting a single crutch quite made out her case. As a fact, it is generally agreed upon by doctors, surgeons, orthopaedists, and other experts, that the use of a single crutch, save in exceptional circumstances, is to be strongly discouraged.
It puts a tremendous and unnatural strain on the armpit in use, and is therefore a fruitful cause of what is known as "crutch palsy" — in other words, paralysis of the nerve centres under the arm. In any case, it tends to induce great fatigue. It throws the whole balance of the body out of line, may cause greater or lesser deformity of the spine and, in fact, is thoroughly bad for the whole system. Its use by a heavily built person is considered definitely dangerous. The one advantage the practice possess is that it leaves one hand free to use — and that, of course, weighs considerably with the user.
I know that constant practice, and the fact that the armpit usually, though not always, becomes hardened to pressure, often results in the user being quite comfortable on a single crutch. But even then damage may be caused without the user being aware of the fact. Sometimes, of course, only a single crutch will serve. My wife once met at the orthopaedist's (where, incidentally, she has become acquainted with many charming one-legged and otherwise limbless women) an attractive but unfortunate young girl who had lost the left arm at the shoulder and the left leg near the hip. (She had been crushed while riding pillion on a motor-cycle, by the way.) The use of an artificial leg was found to be impracticable and she was accordingly fitted with a single crutch, with some special supporting gadgets, the whole concealed beneath a cape. She learnt to walk tolerably well, but as the crutch was on the wrong side she had to acquire an entirely new method of balance which must have had a definitely harmful effect on the system generally. That, however, is an exceptional case, and the expert in charge had to make the best job he could.
The use of a pair of crutches doesn't eliminate all the dangers mentioned above. Some unfortunate people never get used to the pressure of the crutch heads on the armpits. And until the "elbow" type of crutch was introduced, they had a very uncomfortable time. But a pair of crutches does help to distribute the weight of the body evenly, maintains the natural balance of the body, and is definitely very much more comfortable in use than a single support.
There is no doubt that at all the "elbow" type of crutch is very much superior to all others. In this type, the crutches are merely kept in position by either a grip round the elbow, or by a ring round the arm just above the elbow. The weight of the body is taken by the hands, and accordingly the armpits are never brought into play. The only objection to them is that a pair must always be used together. A single crutch of this type is of no more use than a walking stick.
As to why in these circumstances, a girl uses a single crutch (except that she prefers to put up with the discomfort in order to have a hand free), my own opinion, for what it is worth, is just this: It is the man friend of the one-legged girl who prefers her to use a single crutch; and it is often simply because of this preference that she consents to adopt the practice. At any rate, that has been my experience.
Another curious result is that the girl appears to be more "one-legged" than if she is more evenly balanced on a pair of crutches. I don't know why this is so, either; but, as far as I am concerned, it is an interesting fact.
This reason of mine will not, of course, account for the use of a single crutch in every case. The girl may herself find something attractive in the slow, flexible swing of the body, or she may know that it is found attractive by others. But in my own experience it has usually been the man who has influenced the girl.
My wife definitely does not like the single crutch. She prefers the "elbow" type, though she has several pairs of the armpit variety. But when out of doors with me she often uses a single crutch, simply because she knows I prefer it. She manages it very gracefully, but she always finds it very fatiguing. In the house, of course, as I have mentioned before in these columns, she rarely, if ever, uses a crutch at all.
There was very little doubt about what was the focal point of attraction for the boys and older men, or at any rate the "regulars," of my set in Paris. They were all drawn into the net by the attractive single legs, or the lack of legs at all, of the girl members of the circle. All the girls I knew had their own special boys as well as other admirers, and all of them married well eventually.
Curiously enough, I did not choose a wife from the set. If I may say it, without appearing piggish, I could very easily have made a match of it with the very alluring Zelie, who regarded me as her own special property. Zelie had many attractions for me but one in particular. She had lost her leg when only a child of three or four, and had grown up on a single leg and crutches as, for her, the natural order of things. That fact, and her own many and varied experiences of the attraction her dainty one-legged figure exercised, had influenced her whole outlook. Of all the girls I knew, she was the most definitely convinced that being one-legged was as desirable for its own sake as beauty of face and figure, or glorious hair, or any other typically feminine charm.
It may have been a pose — I don't deny the possibility — but if it was, it was a very consistent and unshakeable one. I know that if anybody had dared to call her a cripple she would have become a fighting fury, as she could very easily do on occasions. She merely regarded herself as "different" — and very wonderfully and attractively different. I have actually heard her say of a very pretty and charming girl friend of hers, whose obvious attractions I had been tactless enough to refer to approvingly:
"Yes, she is a darling, and terribly sweet. But you know, cherie, she's just 'one of them' after all. The poor child has two legs!"
And on one or two other occasions when we discussed the usefulness or otherwise of artificial legs, she witheringly dismissed such supports as unnecessary, crippling (!) and very unsightly.
She added:
"If you offered me a flesh-and-blood leg, I shouldn't dream of having it. It would make me just like others — ordinary. Terribly, my dear!"
No doubt, all part of her odd sense of humour. But, pose or not, it all appealed to what I suppose would be called my own twisted outlook. I was otherwise attracted to Zelie, who was a really dazzling blonde, dainty and petite, and by far the most daring dresser of all the girls of our crowd. But matters were complicated by my friendship with Annette, about whom Zelie knew absolutely nothing — nor did Annette know anything of her. I did not dare bring the two girls together!
So, in the end, I married neither. In fact, as I revealed years ago in these columns, I married the pretty and charming English girl whom I met after I had left Paris and settled down in England, and who remains my very attractive and understanding consort to-day. Fortunately, she is very human and broad-minded. She knows all about my earlier adventures and of my peculiar outlook on life. But as she is herself a perfectly happy "monopede," with something of Zelie's way of looking at the matter, she is as much an interested reader of my stories and revelations is these columns as anybody.
Zelie married a popular cabaret entertainer some years after I left Paris — not a member of our gang at the Two Pigeons. And characteristically, she caused something of a sensation by having a most elaborate wedding — "fully choral," I suppose we'd call it over here. In full bridal attire, she swung up the aisle at her bridegroom's side on beautiful white lacquered crutches with silver fittings, accompanied by no fewer than four attractive one-legged bridesmaids on crutches of similar design.
I have referred to the discussions that took place at the Two Pigeons. Naturally, in the odd, unusual circumstances, we discussed some very bizarre topics and an extremely bizarre aspect of the "complex" that cropped up every now and then and intrigued us all very much was the possibility of a girl submitting to amputation at the wish of an admirer.
I suppose it really started through the agency of a very pretty, but — well, potty and irresponsible girl in our set whom we shall call Jacqueline. Jacqueline, like most of our girl members, of course, was one-legged, her right leg having been amputated at the hip joint.
Her story, when she was feeling more than usually romantic and exhibitionist, took this extraordinary form:
When she was 17 — she was now about 22 or 23 — and before she lost her leg, a very wealthy man had fallen desperately in love with her. He was at least twenty years her senior, and a widower; but, from Jacqueline's description of him, he was a young girl's dream come true.
The curious point was that his first wife, a very beautiful woman, had been one-legged; and, in consequence, only one-legged women appealed to him now. h. Psychologists agree .
(That, by the way, was a realistic touch. Psychologists agree that from such a jumping-off place many a "complex" has been formed. Nearly all our men members traced their "kink" back to a first love affair with a one-legged or otherwise limbless girl.)
Jacqueline (so Jacqueline said) was, in his eyes, the most perfect and adorable girl he had ever met — except just for that one flaw! If she were only one-legged, she would be the ideal of all the world! Then gradually he began to cajole her gently but persistently into qualifying for absolute perfection in his eyes. If only she would consent to have her leg removed — preferably her right, as that was the leg his wife had lost — he would marry her, and lay his fortune at her feet — or, rather, her single foot.
Well, according to Jacqueline, she at last consented. Her beautiful right leg was amputated in one of the most exclusive nursing homes in Paris, by a famous, but anonymous, surgeon at enormous cost. The trouble was that the dirty pig didn't marry her, and forgot to lay his fortune at the single foot she now possessed!
Fleurette, who was her friend and had introduced her to our set, laughed at the whole story and told us that, as far as she knew, Jacqueline had lost her leg in a street accident as a child. But the fact that there was a doubt about it made the yarn intriguing, and more than one of the men liked to believe it and found Jacqueline highly romantic in consequence.
My own theory was that there was possibly a grain of truth in the story. Jacqueline, one-legged, of course, may have met a wealthy old man who tried to persuade her to have the remaining leg removed — not by any means as incredible a possibility as it sounds. Jacqueline scouted the notion, but her fertile brain turned the adventure into the romantic story she liked to tell. One the other hand, the whole thing made have been an elaborate fiction.
There were, however, one or two stories of a similar bizarre nature floating round Paris at that time. The most persistent, and the one generally accepted by our crowd, concerned a beautiful Folies Bergere dancer who had left the stage and had married an elderly but extremely wealthy "boulevardier" (man-about-town). The story was that she had consented, in consideration of his marrying her and settling a large fortune on her, to agree to the extreme and amazing step of having both arms amputated at the shoulders and both legs at the hips.
(I am not the only one to tell this story, by the way. It found its way into a prominent and highly reputable British medical journal only a year or so ago. As I had referred to it previously some years before that, I can't be accused of taking the story from that source.)
About the actual facts — that the girl and the man existed there was no dispute. The girl had been a Folies dancer, and the marriage had actually taken place. We all knew both of them by sight, as did most habitual theatre-goers at that time. There was no doubt at all that the lovely young bride of the elderly roue was merely a beautiful limbless torso, entirely without either arms or legs. Nor that the amputation of all her limbs had taken place over the period of a year or so after she had left the stage. The marriage, so we understood, had taken place quietly somewhere outside Paris about a year after her convalescence from her final operation.
The girl was not generally seen in public nor in any of the usual resorts or night haunts — though the husband was an assiduous patron of all of them. But the pair were — or perhaps it was the girl herself — devoted to the theatre, and they attended practically every "premiere" and were looked for by the audience among the other celebrities attending.
I saw her many times carried tenderly into the theatre by her obviously adoring husband, swathed in her luxurious, all-enveloping evening wrap, which floated with filmy emptiness over his arms below the slender, legless body. There was no hint of unhappiness in her attractive, piquant face as she sat, her limbless contour still concealed beneath her wrap, in her fauteuil by her husband's side. She chatted gaily, thoroughly enjoyed the show, and smoked interminable cigarettes placed in her lips and lighted by her husband.
And I have watched her interestedly in the foyer afterwards when, comfortably settled in her husband's arms, she gossiped in the gayest manner with a circle of friends and accepted kisses from women intimates.
Only one photograph ever appeared in the Paris papers smuggled out, it was said, from a large collection in the husband's possession through the agency of a maid. It appeared before it could be suppressed, in one of the illustrated weeklies specialising in photographs, and showed her reclining in the cushioned corner of a beautiful period couch. She was clad only in a diaphanous, skin-tight, black silk "maillot" revealing her as a slim but voluptuously curved torso.
It was also said that several portraits in oils by well-known artists hung on the walls of the big mansion outside Paris. And the final tid-bit — though that remained an uncorroborated story, but one we liked to believe — was that all the very attractive maids in the house were one-legged and swung about their duties on slim, single crutches — a piquant touch which I have adopted in more than one of my own stories.
Well, there was the legend. The story the general public believed was that the unfortunate girl had developed a progressive necrosis of some kind that forced her to leave the stage and eventually resulted in the successive amputation of all her limbs. And that her elderly admirer had gallantly stuck by her and married her in spite of her completely maimed condition.
That, of course, may have been the truth. But, on the other hand, there were many odd and bizarre aspects of the case which were significant only to a crowd like ours at the Two Pigeons. And they inclined us to believe the legend. But then, naturally, we should!
I leave the problem there and with it conclude this record of odd but, I hope, entertaining experiences culled from my life as a young man in Paris.
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London Life March 30, 1940 p. 27 — 31, 43



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