There were many interesting items of news in the newspapers when the Turkish Shop tragedy took place; for it was the middle of the London season, and social events succeeded one another rapidly. Nevertheless, the affair created a sensation, as Lady Branwin was the wife of a millionaire, and a well-known figure in Society. Especially did the female population of Mayfair and Belgravia comment on the murder, as, having taken place in their own particular pet shop, it concerned them nearly. It was dreadful to think that if any one of them passed the night under Madame Coralie's roof death might be the result. Many declared that they would never go near the place again. But this was when the news of the crime was fresh and startling. Later, these ladies saw reason to revise their opinion, since there was no one but Madame Coralie to perform miracles of rejuvenation¹.  
The immediate² result of the murder was to send Sir Joseph Branwin to bed. He was a burly, red-faced man, who ate and drank largely; so it was not surprising that the announcement of his wife's terrible death should cause him to have a fit. When he grasped the truth he dropped down straightway, and for quite two weeks he was unable to leave his bed or to attend to any necessary matters. He was neither at the inquest nor at the funeral, and his daughter, along with Ralph Shawe, had to look after everything. Sir Joseph was not grateful--he never was, being a singularly selfish man. It was quite a surprise to Audrey that he should have fallen ill when told the truth. "I daresay he was fonder of mamma than I thought," she said to Ralph, and blamed herself for having misjudged her father; "yet they always quarrelled, and did not seem to get on at all well together."
 
"The quarrelling may have been a matter of habit," said Shawe, doubtfully. "Married couples may be devoted³ to one another, and yet may be always bickering⁴. And I think, Audrey, that you told me your parents' marriage was a love-match of a romantic nature."
 
"So mamma said," replied the girl, nodding gravely. "She and papa were boy and girl together at Bleakleigh. He promised to marry her when he made his fortune, and years afterwards he returned to keep his promise. Both papa and mamma were the children of labourers."
 
"So I should think," remarked Ralph, caustically⁵, and remembering the excessively plebeian⁶ looks of the couple. "I can never understand how you come to be their daughter, Audrey. You are no more like them than a lily is like a cabbage-rose."
 
Audrey nodded her head absently as she was thinking of other things. "What will the verdict of the inquest be?" she demanded anxiously.
 
"In the absence of any proof likely to identify the assassin there can only be one verdict--wilful⁷ murder against some person or persons unknown."
 
"Oh! do you think, then, that there is more than one assassin?"
 
"No, dear. The inclusion of the plural⁸ is merely a matter of form. Undoubtedly⁹ poor Lady Branwin was murdered by one person only--the man who afterwards stole the jewels."
 
"You think it was a man, then?"
 
"In the absence of evidence I presume so. By the way, Audrey, how is it that your mother had a label attached to that red morocco bag? It is unusual."
 
"Oh, that was a peculiarity¹⁰ of mamma's nature. She attached labels to almost everything she took out of doors, as she always seemed to fancy that what she carried might be lost, and in this way--as she thought--provided against contingencies¹¹. Papa and I both used to laugh at her for the care with which she prepared those little pieces of parchment, and jokingly said that she must have been a baggage porter. Poor mamma!" Audrey sighed. "It is strange that her odd habit should be the means of tracing her murderer."
 
"It has not traced him, unfortunately," said Ralph, shaking his head; "but the finding of the label at the foot of the wall undoubtedly shows that he escaped in that way."
 
"It was strange that he should have left the key in the lock."
 
"Very strange," assented¹² Shawe, emphatically; "and it shows how deliberate he was in his behaviour. He must have known that he had plenty of time to escape, and even then a smarter man would have taken the key with him. This is one of the mistakes the cleverest criminal makes."
 
"How did he get the key from Madame Coralie?"
 
"He did not. Madame declares that she never had a key to the door in the court wall, as it was never used, and certainly has never been opened during her tenancy. The key used is what is known as a skeleton key, such as burglars carry."
 
"Then this assassin was a burglar?"
 
"I think so; one of the criminal classes, at all events, as no amateur could have managed so cleverly. The leaving of the key, however, was a mistake."
 
"Can he be traced by it?"
 
"I doubt if he can. The door opens on to an alley¹⁴ paved with stone, and no footmarks can be found. From the time the man left the court by the door he was safe. No, dear, if there is any chance of his being taken, it will be by means of the diamonds--and even that is doubtful. All he has to do is to unset the stones and sell them separately. I am anxious to hear what further evidence may be collected by Lanton for the inquest."
 
But Shawe's anxiety was quite unnecessary, as very little evidence was forthcoming when the inquest was held. The inspector¹⁵ did what he could; but to trace the assassin was like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay. A great crowd collected outside the building wherein the inquest was held; but few people were admitted. Audrey came with her lover, as it was necessary that she should state how her mother had been in possession of the missing jewels, and Ralph came with her as a moral support. Sir Joseph, unfortunately, could not attend, owing to illness; but he sent his solicitor¹⁶ to watch the case on his behalf, and ordered that everything should be done to trace the assassin, even to offering a reward of one thousand pounds for the villain's apprehension¹⁷. This offer, being well known before the inquest took place, brought many people to hear what they could of the evidence, in the hope of being able to lay the murderer by the heels and claim the money. But, as has before been stated, Lanton did not allow the general public to crowd the room wherein the proceedings¹⁸ took place.
 
Inspector Lanton himself was the first witness, and gave a succinct¹⁹ account of how he had been called in when the fact of the murder became known. He detailed²⁰ all that he had learnt; produced a plan of the building wherein the crime had taken place; also the label, together with the key of the court door; and stated the names of the witnesses he proposed to call. Of these, the doctor who had examined the body of the unfortunate woman was the first to follow Lanton in giving evidence, and deposed²¹ that the deceased had been strangled--so far as he could judge from the condition of the body--at eight o'clock in the evening. He had made the examination at 7.30 the next morning, almost immediately the fact of the murder had been discovered. The doctor's evidence was short and dry, and provided no clue whereby to trace the assassin, as the creature had left behind him nothing by which he could be identified.
 
Madame Coralie came next, and appeared--perhaps for the purposes of advertisement--in her Turkish dress and wearing her yashmak. Before entering the court she had drawn²² Inspector Lanton aside to ask him not to request her to remove the yashmak, on the grounds that it would be detrimental²³ to her business. Lanton then saw--for she drew aside the veil to reveal the truth--that Madame Coralie had a disfiguring birthmark on cheek and mouth and chin, which made her look anything but attractive. Naturally, as she pointed²⁴ out, if her customers knew that she could not remove such a birthmark from her own face, she could scarcely--as they might think--do all she claimed towards beautifying them. Lanton pointed out that, as she had already made her reputation, the birthmark did not matter; but, as he quite saw the point and recognised the reason why the woman concealed²⁵ the lower part of her face, he passed round word to the Coroner and the jury that it was needless for the yashmak to be removed. Madame Coralie therefore gave her evidence holding the silken covering over her mouth, and, as only her black eyes were visible, she presented a weird²⁶ figure. Many of the illustrated²⁷ papers had pictures of her in the odd dress, and many were the comments thereon. All of which, as Madame Coralie knew and probably counted upon, was good for business.
 
The woman stated that she received Lady Branwin on the night of the murder for the purpose of diagnosing her case, that she might be treated as to complexion²⁸ and figure. Lady Branwin decided²⁹ to remain for the night, and Madame Coralie herself told this to Miss Branwin when the girl called at the shop--according to instructions from her mother--on her way to the theatre. Lady Branwin was then in bed, and Madame did not see her again until the next morning at seven when she went to rouse her and discovered that she was dead.
 
"The window looking into the court was open," said the witness, "although I had closed it on the previous night. I did not lock it, of course, as no one ever entered the court, and none of the windows of the ground-floor bedrooms were locked."
 
"Then the window could easily have been opened from the outside?" asked the Coroner, making notes.
 
"Oh, yes. It was not even snicked," replied the witness. "There was no necessity, as no one could enter the court save from the house, or by the door in the court wall."
 
It was proved very conclusively³⁰ that the court door had not been opened since Madame had taken the house. Also, the door leading into the court from the building had rarely been opened.
 
"No one wanted to go into the court," explained Madame again, and insisted upon this point. "I left Lady Branwin quite cheerful, in bed, at about ten minutes to eight o'clock, and came up, to the still-room about five minutes to eight. My assistant, Zobeide, was in the room, and so was my husband, Mr. Vail. Also I believe that two other girls of mine, Badoura and Parizade, were behind the curtain of the room attending to some hair and skin washes. My husband drew my attention to this fact."
 
"Are you sure it was five minutes to eight when you were in the room?" was the Coroner's question.
 
"I am positive," was the emphatic¹³ reply. "Eddy--my husband--mentioned as he went out that it was five minutes after eight, and I had been talking to him for ten minutes, more or less."
 
The result of this statement was that Edmund Vail was called, and he proved that what his wife had asserted was correct. He mentioned (by talking with his fingers) to Zobeide, who was deaf, that it was five minutes to eight o'clock immediately before his wife entered. He talked to her of business--private business--for some time, and left the house by the side door ten minutes later. Zobeide--who gave evidence through an interpreter of the deaf and dumb language--corroborated this evidence, and it was well established that Madame Coralie had been with the two witnesses from five minutes to eight until five minutes past eight. This being the case, since Lady Branwin was murdered at eight o'clock, Madame Coralie could not be guilty of the crime, yet before this evidence had been given several people had hinted at her complicity; but what was said by Vail and Zobeide, and indeed afterwards by Badoura and Parizade, provided her with an alibi³¹ beyond question.
 
Madame Coralie was afterwards recalled and questioned about the diamonds. She denied all knowledge of these, saying that Lady Branwin brought in a red morocco bag with a label attached, of which she took the greatest care. "She did not mention to me what was in the bag," said Madame, emphatically; "but when I tucked her in for the night she placed it under her pillow. I never thought of asking any questions."
 
The witness also stated that she had never possessed³² any key to the court wall door, and did not recognise the one produced to the jury. The house door leading into the court was locked, and the key had been left, with others, on a nail in the still-room. "No one could have got into the court by that door on that night," stated Madame Coralie. "As to the remaining door, out of which my husband went when he left me, it is at the end of the long passage on the ground floor, and leads into a right-of-way which can be approached from Walpole Lane. I locked this myself after I had seen Miss Branwin at the street door, and took the key to my room. No one could have entered the house after that, as both this side door and the street door were locked when I and my assistants retired³³ to bed."
 
Audrey's evidence was confined to the fact that her mother had taken the two thousand pounds' worth of diamonds to get certain of them reset³⁴. She had intended to take them straight to the jeweller, but having arranged to consult with Madame Coralie, and subsequently to remain for the night, she had taken the bag out of the motorcar and into the house. The label produced was in her mother's handwriting, and Audrey stated Lady Branwin's fancy for labelling anything she took out of doors.
 
On the whole, as the Coroner remarked, the evidence was satisfactory. If it did not prove who had committed the murder, it certainly exonerated³⁵ all who were in the house. It had been proved that Madame Coralie and her four assistants slept in two rooms which opened into one another, and also that Madame herself had been with other people at the very time when the crime--according to the medical evidence--had been committed. Undoubtedly, robbery was the motive³⁶ for the committal of the crime, and probably the strangling had been unpremeditated. Lady Branwin--this was the Coroner's reading of what had happened--had gone to sleep with the diamonds under her pillow, as Madame Coralie had stated. It was only reasonable to believe that she had awakened³⁷ to find the robber removing the jewels. Her natural outcry was prevented immediately by the strangulation, since the assassin--as the man had become--could silence her in no other way. Then the criminal had escaped by the window through which he had entered, and through the door of the court wall. The dropping of the label, which possibly had been loosely tied to the bag, was a positive clue to the way in which the man had got away, and the presence of the skeleton key in the door was further evidence. These things being taken into consideration, it was apparent that no blame could be attached to Madame Coralie or to her assistants, and there was not the slightest breath of suspicion against them in any way. "The jury," added the Coroner, "would be well advised to return an open verdict."
 
The result of this speech, and a recollection of the meagre evidence placed before them, was the verdict which Ralph Shawe had predicted. "Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown," was the statement of the foreman, and the inquest ended with the belief in many minds that the murder of Lady Branwin would have to be added to the already long list of undiscovered crimes. Chattering³⁸ and arguing, and greatly disappointed that nothing more tangible³⁹ had resulted from the proceedings, everyone went his or her way, and the reporters hastened to their several papers with details, more or less veracious⁴⁰, of all that had taken place. But one fact was certain--that the murder, so far, was a mystery.
 
Lady Branwin was duly buried at Kensal Green, amidst a large concourse of people, and many were the letters and telegrams of condolence which Sir Joseph received. For a week or so paragraphs appeared in the papers suggesting possible clues, and the offer of one thousand pounds reward prompted many people to keep the matter of the crime in their minds. Also some busybody wrote to the journals insisting that the Turkish Shop should be closed; but it was pointed out that Madame Coralie had always conducted her business respectably, and that neither she nor her assistants were to blame in any way for what had taken place. It was, therefore, scarcely fair that the woman should lose her means of livelihood⁴¹ for not preventing what was beyond her power to prevent. Finally, after a nine days' wonder, the matter of the crime was permitted to drop into oblivion, so far as the general public were concerned. Lady Branwin, as someone observed, was dead and buried, and the secret of her murder was buried with her. Within a month the wretched woman and her sensational⁴² death were forgotten, and the Turkish Shop continued to open its doors.
 
"But there is a falling-off," sighed Madame Coralie. "Some women won't come--just as if I could help that miserable⁴³ Lady Branwin dying in the way she did. I wish she had died anywhere but in my house. But it's all over, and I am ruined."
 
However, Madame Coralie was not ruined, for business speedily picked up again; also it was not "all over," for in the dark at least one person was trying to trace the assassin. This was Ralph Shawe, and he attended to the matter because of Audrey's wish and for the sake of his own happiness.
 
"I shall never marry you," Audrey stated, when returning from the funeral, "until the truth about my mother's death is made public."
 
"It seems impossible to discover the truth," said Ralph, gloomily.
 
"Then we shall never become husband and wife," was Audrey's reply; and to this decision she firmly adhered.