and a cheap print-seller's on the other. In the windows of the shop were pyramids of perfume bottles, with scintillating facet stoppers tied with coloured ribbons. We stepped out of the hansom and went indoors.
Inside the shop were a couple of steps, which led to a door of solid mahogany.
"This is the entrance to her private house," said Edith, and she pointed to a small brass plate, on which was engraved the name--"Madame Sara, Parfumeuse".
Edith touched an electric bell and the door was immediately opened by a smartly-dressed page-boy. He looked at Miss Dallas as if he knew her very well, and said:
"Madame is within, and is expecting you, miss."
He ushered us both into a quiet-looking room, soberly but handsomely furnished. He left us, closing the door. Edith turned to me.
"Do you know where we are?" she asked.
"We are standing at present in a small room just behind Madame Sara's shop," I answered. "Why are you so excited, Miss Dallas? What is the matter wit
Perfectly readable but otherwise ordinary inheritance mystery with a Holmesian feel.