She was so perfectly groomed that she looked
as though her clothes were a mould into which she had literally
been poured.
"Professor and Madame Millefleur--otherwise Miller,"--whispered
O'Connor, noting Kennedy's questioning gaze and taking his arm to
hurry him down a long, softly carpeted corridor, flanked on either
side by little doors. "They run the shop. They say one of the
girls just opened the door and found her dead."
Near the end, one of the doors stood open, and before it Dr.
Leslie, who had preceded us, paused. He motioned to us to look in.
It was a little dressing-room, containing a single white-enamelled
bed, a dresser, and a mirror. But it was not the scant though
elegant furniture that caused us to start back.
There under the dull half-light of the corridor lay a woman, most
superbly formed. She was dark, and the thick masses of her hair,
ready for the hairdresser, fell in a tangle over her beautifully
chiselled features and full, rounded shoulders and neck. A scarlet
bathrobe, loosened at the throat, actually accentuated rather than
covered the voluptuous lines of her figure, down to the slender
ankle which had been the beginning of her fortune as a danseuse.
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