plate-glass, admirable for the tempting display of goods, made the shops on the opposite side look dingy and second-rate. Brassard's was like a slow-moving mass of lava, gradually engulfing everything that came in its way, and Lord Stranleigh's task was not made easier by the fact that John Bendale's cutlery shop had for months stopped the flow in one direction at least, and had therefore angered the determined Brassard.
The young man dismissed his cab at the corner and walked past John Bendale's premises to the much more magnificent establishment of Richard Brassard. He noticed the meagre display in the former, like the collection of a junk shop as compared with the bright, steely glitter of the wares behind the plate-glass window, and he admitted to himself that, if in search of a poniard, and knowing nothing of either man, his custom would have gone to Brassard.
Brassard was his own window-dresser, and anyone passing in the early morning might have seen this stout man, with close-clipped, bullet head, standing on the pavement outside without a hat and directing by manual signs those attendants behind the plate glass who were arranging material in its most attractive form. There was always a gaping crowd in front of Richard Brassard's windows, and many of those gathered there filtered into his various shops.
"Brassard is evidently a man who understands
