"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."