Marcia’s eyes were wild. “I warn you, Marie! Don’t you dare! Let me go, you fool! My father will have you killed for this!”

Forcing her arms apart, thrusting her hands into the rings, standing against her, leaning on her so that she could not escape, the stranger planted his palms against her wrists and his strength, wiry and sinewy, prevented her from escaping. Her head flung from side to side, her body surged against him in desperate, sinuous attempts to regain her freedom.

Marie approached at the left and, making a slipknot of one end of the rope, encircled Marcia’s left wrist to the ring; then, curling the rope around her mistress’s neck, resumed its continuation to the right side, where she fastened the rest of the rope in a rigorous knot that imprisoned the beautiful debutante’s delicate right wrist to the ring.

Then and only then, did the stranger step quickly to one side and contemplate the handiwork of the lovely maid.

Marcia stood, a magnificent, svelte figure of feminine beauty, molded in the rich, lustrous black fabric which caressed her provocative hips, her long, firm thighs, sculpturally set into sensual relief the turrets of her breasts, heaving with shock and indignation.

Arms spread far apart, she was delineated in all the accentuated and enticing lines and curves of her pampered body; the running noose around her ivory neck prevented her from flinging her raven head about in futile efforts to escape; for each motion of her neck but tightened the cord and so constricted her delicate throat with menacing strangulation.

When she could control her trembling, almost hysterical nerves, she exclaimed, “I’ll kill you for this, Marie! And you, you beast, my father will have you thrown into prison for the rest of your life!”

“Still talkative, Marie,” observed the masked stranger, turning to the lovely blond, who made an entrancing portrait of feminine loveliness in her chemise, stockings and dainty sandals. “Well, she shan’t disturb our becoming good friends, shall she?”