shop now?" asked Ralph, when the two passed through the side gate of the Gardens at the back of the Palace, and speaking anything rather than his thoughts, for obvious reasons.
"Yes. She stayed there last night, so that Madame Coralie could decide if she would undertake to give her the necessary treatment. If she does, mamma will have to remain for a week or more. I am calling to ask what is to be done, as papa is in a bad temper because my mother stopped away. He insists that she shall return home."
"I wonder Lady Branwin doesn't get a separation," muttered the barrister, again reflecting on Sir Joseph's attentions to other women.
"If she dared to take legal proceedings papa would turn her into the street without a penny," said Audrey, calmly. "I am under no illusion as to his nature, my dear. But let us get on. I wish to be home as soon as possible to give papa his breakfast. If I am not there, since mamma is still absent, he will make himself so disagreeable."
"He invariably does," said Ralph, grimly; for a single interview with the millionaire had given him an astonishing insight into the man's brutal nature. "Where is this shop, Audrey?"
"Down this lane. Yonder it is, painted pink."
"What a glaring advertisement," remarked Shawe, as they walked quickly down the crooked by-way. "If Madame Coralie paints her customers as she has done her shop, they must all look like blowsy dairymaids. She seems to be doing a good trade this morning."
"There is a crowd," admitted Audrey, with an anxious glance; "but it's odd a crowd should be round the shop at this hour. Madame's clients usually come at night, and very privately."
"I don't think these are customers," said Shawe, as they reached the large assemblage of people which blocked the lane.
The individuals who composed the mob certainly were not the Society customers of Madame Coralie, as they comprised poor men and women of the lowest classes, with here and there a better-dressed person. Policemen were directing the throng and keeping order, but they could not prevent tongues clacking, and there was quite a babel of voices.
"What is the matter?" Audrey asked a red-faced female in rusty black.
"Murder!" said the woman, with relish. "One of them fine ladies who comes here to get painted has been done for."
Audrey grew white and started. "Do you know the name?"
"Ho yes, miss. I heard a policeman say as she was called Lady Branwin."
"Ralph, Ralph!" whispered the girl, and clutched her lover to keep herself from falling. "My mother! Murdered! Oh, Ralph!"
CHAPTER III
THE LOST BAG
Notwithstanding her delicate looks, Audrey possessed a strong spirit, fully capable of controlling emotions, even when markedly powerful. The tragic and unexpected news of the murder shattered her nerves for the moment; but after the first shock of surprise she pushed her way hastily through the crowd, fully bent upon discovering exactly what had happened. Ralph, not yet thoroughly acquainted with her self-control under trying circumstances, followed immediately behind, urging her in whispers to go home and wait developments. To his importunities she turned a deaf ear, and addressed herself anxiously to the officer who guarded the door of the Turkish Shop. He naturally refused to reply to her questions.
"But I am Lady Branwin's daughter," said Audrey, softly, so that the crowd might not hear, "and they say that Lady Branwin is dead."
"Very sorry, miss," said the constable, not answering directly, "but my orders are to admit no one."
Audrey's eyes began to glitter with ill-concealed anger, and Ralph hastily intervened.
"Who is in charge of this case, officer?"
"Inspector Lanton, sir."
"Then pass my card into him, and--"
"Are you a relative of the deceased, sir?"
"No. But I am engaged to Miss Branwin here, and she--"
"I'll send in the card," interrupted the policeman, quickly; then raised his voice to rebuke the crowd. "Keep back there; keep back!"
Audrey remained silent, holding her feelings well under, while Ralph rapidly scribbled her name on his card. The constable knocked at the door and gave the message to the policeman who opened it. Then the door was closed again, and the lovers remained on the step anxiously waiting to see what would come of their application. The mob of people whispered and pointed, and looked askance at the young couple, evidently wondering why they were there. The position was highly unpleasant, and Audrey felt a great sense of relief when she was permitted to enter with her lover. In a moment they passed through the jealously-guarded door, and it was closed again the minute they were inside.
"Wait here, please," said the constable who received them. "Inspector Lanton is upstairs with Madame Coralie, and will be down shortly."
Audrey laid a detaining hand on his sleeve as he moved away. "Can you tell me if Lady Branwin--"
"I am not allowed to answer any questions, miss," he replied, and went away in a stolid manner, as though the business in hand were an everyday occurrence.
"Won't you sit down, darling?" whispered Ralph, tenderly. "You must keep up your strength, as there is much to be done."
"My poor mother!" Audrey sank down on to a stool with a gasp. "Who could have killed her? How was she killed? When did the murder take place? Oh, it's too awful! Perhaps"--she looked pleadingly up into her lover's face--"perhaps it is not true."
"It is true, Miss Branwin," said a soft voice before Ralph could reply; and out of a near alcove came a pretty girl with red eyes and a tear-stained face. "It's quite true and very terrible."
"Who are you?" asked Audrey, lifting her white face. "How do you come to know my name?"
"I am Badoura, the forewoman of Madame Coralie," was the reply, "and I saw you yesterday when you came here with your mother. Poor Lady Branwin! It is awful to think that she should have been strangled in--"
"Strangled!" interrupted Audrey, with another gasp. "Who strangled her?"
"No one knows," said Badoura, shuddering. "Madame found her dead in her bed when she went at seven this morning to see how she had passed the night. I heard her say that Lady Branwin had been strangled, and then she sent for the police at once. It's really dreadful," added the girl, mournfully, "as everything is upset, and we don't know what is going to happen. See here!" and she swept aside the pink silk curtain which was draped over the Moorish arch of the alcove whence she had emerged.
Here Audrey beheld the other assistants huddled together on the divan, with tear-stained faces and terror-stricken looks. The catastrophe had disorganised the whole establishment, and the girls feared lest the scandal, which certainly would arise from the fact of the murder, might result in the closing of the shop. This was a very probable contingency indeed, and none of them could face with equanimity the dismal prospect of losing her employment. They had been driven like sheep into the alcove by the police, and waited developments with strained nerves. As yet not one of the three had been examined.
Badoura,
