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‘I am Benjamin Tite and I’m at your service.’
    ‘One particular print did whet my appetite,’ confessed Peter, ‘but I came here for another reason. I need to speak to Mrs Mandrake on a matter of urgency.’
    ‘May I know what it is, sir?’
    ‘Mrs Mandrake must be the judge of that. In the first instance, I’ll only speak to her. Is the lady available?’
    Irritated by the rebuff, Tite signified his disapproval with a loud sniff.
    ‘I’ll see if Mrs Mandrake is willing to receive you,’ he said. ‘May I know who is calling on her?’
    ‘My name is Peter Skillen.’
    ‘Have you come to buy or sell?’
    ‘I’ve come to tell Mrs Mandrake something of great importance,’ said Peter, sharply, ‘and I’ll thank you to stop delaying my conversation with her. Your employer, I do assure you, will be as displeased as I am.’
    After mumbling an excuse, Tite withdrew into the back room and closed the door after him. When it opened again, the commanding figure of Diane Mandrake came into view, filling the doorway and giving off the odour of an expensive perfume. Wearing a striking, high-waisted blue dress, she was a big, handsome woman with a surging bosom. She wore a diamond necklace, a gold brooch in the shape of a horse and a gold bangle studded with gemstones. Rings adorned most fingers on each hand. It was impossible to guess her age with any accuracy. Hands on her hips, she looked Peter up and down.
    ‘You wish to speak with me, sir?’ she asked, warily.
    ‘Yes, Mrs Mandrake, but it must be in private.’
    ‘There’s a distressing whiff of the law about you, Mr Skillen. I hope that you’ve not come to initiate a prosecution against me.’
    ‘Far from it,’ said Peter, indicating the window display. ‘Even on a short acquaintance with them, your prints have given me immense pleasure. I would cheerfully support your right to sell such excellent work’.
    She relaxed at once. ‘Come with me, sir.’
    As she stepped backwards and moved aside, Tite scurried back into the shop. Peter went through into the adjoining room. It was large, high-ceilinged and well proportioned. The furniture was tasteful and there was an abiding sense of comfort. A gilt-framed mirror stood over the marble fireplace. Almost every other inch of wall space was taken up by framed prints. After closing the door, she lowered herself into a chair and invited Peter to do likewise. He sat down opposite her.
    ‘Now, sir,’ she said, ‘why such a need for privacy?’
    ‘I’ve brought some news about Leonidas Paige.’
    She smiled wearily. ‘What kind of a mess has Leo got himself into this time? Does he need me to pay off a debt or has he been arrested yet again?’
    ‘It’s more serious than that, Mrs Mandrake.’
    ‘He’s not ill, I trust?’
    ‘Mr Paige is beyond the help of any physician, alas.’
    She rose to her feet in alarm. ‘Leo is dead ?’
    ‘My tidings are even more distressing,’ he cautioned. ‘Since he spoke so fondly of you, I felt that you should hear them as soon as possible. Earlier today,’ he went on, lowering his voice, ‘Mr Paige was murdered.’
    Diane Mandrake looked as if she’d been hit hard in the face by a mallet. Her cheeks reddened, her eyes bulged, her jaw dropped open and she emitted a gasp of sheer horror. Her legs turned to jelly and she swooned.
    Leaping out of his chair, Peter was just in time to catch her.

CHAPTER FOUR
    They were about to lock up the gallery when there was a thunderous knocking on the door. Gully Ackford opened it to find two glowering visitors outside. Micah Yeomans and Alfred Hale were standing there with stomachs pulled in and chests thrust out.
    ‘Have you come for instruction?’ teased Ackford.
    ‘They could certainly do with it,’ said Paul, sizing them up. ‘The least you should expect of Runners is that they can actually run. This pair can barely waddle. No wonder they catch so few villains.’
    ‘We’d like a word with you two,’ said Yeomans,