Mrs. Vane, on leaving her brother's lodgings, drove straight to Camden Town. She had reasons for wishing to see Sabina Meldreth. The house was a little difficult to find, because the street had recently been renamed and renumbered, and Mrs. Vane was forced, to her great disgust, to descend from the cab and make inquiries in her own person of various frowsy-looking women standing at their own doors. "I wish I had brought Parker," she said to herself more than once; "she would have been useful in this kind of work. Surely Sabina has given me the right address!"

"There goes the gentleman that lodges at Mrs. Gunn's!" said one of the frowsy-looking women at last. "I've heard tell that he was there, though I didn't know the number. Will you tell this lady, please, sir, what number Mrs. Gunn's is?"

The white-bearded old man who was just then passing along the street turned to Mrs. Vane.

"I shall be very happy to show the lady the house," he said half raising his felt hat from his white head with something like foreign politeness. And then he and Flossy exchanged glances which were hard and keen as steel.

He knew her well by sight; but she did not recognise him. She had seen Westwood only once or twice in her life, and this apparently gentle old man with the silvery hair did not harmonise with Flossy's impressions of the Beechfield poacher. Nevertheless she was suspicious enough to remember that all things were possible; and she made a mental note of his dark eyes and eyebrows, the latter being a little out of keeping with his very white hair. As a matter of fact, Westwood had gone too far in selecting his disguise; a more ordinary slightly-grizzled wig would have suited his general appearance better. The perruquier—an artist in his way—to whom he had applied considered picturesque effect an object not to be overlooked; and Mr. Reuben Dare was accordingly a rather too strikingly picturesque individual to be anything but theatrical in air.

He showed Mrs. Vane the house, bowed politely, and then passed down the street.

"She's come to enquire about me—I am sure of that," he said. "I'd better change my lodgings as quick as possible. I'll leave them to-morrow—to-night would look suspicious, maybe: or should I leave them now, and never go back?"

He was half inclined to adopt this course; but he was deterred by the remembrance of a pocket-book containing money which he had left locked up in his portmanteau. He could not well dispense with it; and neither Mrs. Vane nor anybody else could do him any harm, he thought, if he stayed for twenty-four hours longer at Mrs. Gunn's. But he trusted a little too much to the uncertainties of fate.

"Well, Sabina," said Mrs. Vane coolly, as, with a general air of bewilderment, that young person appeared before her in Mrs. Gunn's best parlor, "I suppose that you hardly expected to see me here?"

"No, ma'am, I didn't. I thought you was quite too much of an invalid to leave home."

"It is rather an effort," said Flossy drily, "especially considering the neighborhood in which you live."

"It ain't country certainly," returned Sabina; "but it's respectable."

"Ah, like yourself!" said Mrs. Vane. "That was the reason you came to it, I suppose. Don't look angry, Sabina—I was only meaning to make a little joke. But jokes are a mistake with most people. I came to answer your letter in person and to have a talk with you."

"Won't you have anything to eat, ma'am? We've just finished dinner; but, if there's anything we can get"—Sabina was evidently inclined to be obsequious—"an egg, or a chop, or a cup of tea——"

"No, I don't want anything. Who is this Mr. Reuben Dare?"

"That's what I want to know, ma'am!"

"And who is this Miss West?"—Sabina shook her head.

"She calls him her father—I'm sure of that."

"Where does she come from? Where was she brought up?""Couldn't say, ma'am. Jenkins says that Miss West used to act at the Frivolity Theatre—he's seen her there about two years ago. Mr. Lepel took her up, as far as he can make out, about a year and a half ago—soon after he settled in London again."

"Do you think that the man Dare has any connection with Beechfield beside that of his recent visit?"

"Yes, I do. He caught himself up like once or twice when I began to talk of it; and once he put me right—accidental like—about the name of somebody at Beechfield."

"Whose name?"

"I'm not sure as I can remember. Yes, I do, though! It was Mr. Rumbold's first name. I called him 'The Reverend Edward,' and he says 'Alfred'—quick, as if he wasn't thinking. So he must have known the place in years gone by."

Flossy sat thinking.

"Sabina," she said at length, in her smoothest tones, "I will take you into my confidence—I know you can be trusted. Of course it would be a great blow to me if my brother married an actress—a girl whom one knows nothing at all about; besides, he is almost engaged to my husband's niece, Miss Vane." She did not add that she had been subtly opposing this engagement by all the means in her power for the last few weeks. "We must try to break off the connection as soon as we can. The more we know about this Miss West's past life the better. I will go to the Frivolity myself, and see whether I can learn anything about it there. And, Sabina——"

"Yes, ma'am," said the woman, as Mrs. Vane paused.

"That mass of white hair, Sabina—do you think it looks quite natural?"

"Mr. Dare, you mean, ma'am? No, I don't; I believe it's a wig. I've seen it quite on one side."

"Couldn't you find out, Sabina?"

"Well, I don't see how," said Sabina slowly. "I've never seen him without it. One night there was an alarm of fire, and everybody rushed to their doors, and Mr. Dare came too; but his hair and his beard and everything was just the same as usual. Still I'm sure I've seen it a little on one side."

"You provide his food here, do you not? Do you ever help your aunt?""Sometimes, ma'am. I take in his tea and all that, you know. We're by way of being very friendly, Mr. Dare and me."

"Sabina, if you had the stuff, could you not quietly put something into his tea which would make him sleep for an hour or two? And, when he was asleep, could you not find out what I want to know?"

Sabina was silent for a moment.

"What should I get for it?" she said at last. "It's always a risk to run."

"Twenty pounds," said Flossy promptly. "There is very little risk."

"And where should I get the stuff?"

"I—I have it with me," said Mrs. Vane.

Sabina, who had been standing, suddenly sat down and burst out laughing.

"Well, you are a deep one," she said, when her laughter was ended, and she observed that Mrs. Vane was regarding her rather angrily; "if you'll excuse me for saying so, ma'am, but you are the very deepest one I ever came across! And you don't look it one bit!"

"I suppose you mean both of these assertions for compliments," said Flossy. "If so you need not trouble to make them again. This is a business matter. Will you undertake it, or will you not?"

"When?"

"To-night."

"To-night! When he comes in to tea? Well, is it safe?"

"You mean the drug? Perfectly safe. He will never know that he has had it. It will keep him sound asleep for a couple of hours at least. During that time I do not think that thunder itself would wake him."

"You've tried it before, I'll warrant?" said Sabina half questioningly, half admiringly.

"Yes," said Flossy placidly, "I have tried it before." She took a little bottle of greenish glass from the small morocco bag which she carried in her hand, and held it up to the light. "There are two doses in it," she said. "Don't use it all at once. A drop or two more or less does not matter; you need not be afraid of making it a little too strong. It is colorless and tasteless. Can you manage it?"

Sabina considered."If I put it into the tea-pot, it might be wasted; he might not drink all the tea. He never lets me pour it out for him. Would it alter the look of the milk?"

"Not at all."

"Then I could put it into his cream-jug, and give him so little that he's sure to use it all and ring for more. He likes a deal of milk in his tea."

"Then you will do it, Sabina?"

Again Sabina hesitated. Finally she said, with sudden decision—

"Give me that twenty pound, and then I will."

"Not until you have earned it."

"If I don't have it beforehand, I won't do it at all," said Sabina doggedly.

Mrs. Vane shrugged her shoulders slightly, opened her bag, and put the little bottle back into its place.

"You said you could trust me; show me that you can," said Sabina, unmoved by this pantomime. "One of us will have to trust the other. I may do it, and then—who knows?—you may back out of the bargain."

"Did I ever 'back out of a bargain,' as you coarsely express it? I think, Sabina, I have trusted you a good deal already."

"Well, split the difference," said Sabina roughly. "Give me ten down on the nail, and ten when I've done the work. I dare say I can manage it to-night. I can write to you when it's over."

"Very well. Here are ten pounds for you; I will give you the other when your work is done. But do not write to me; come to me at the Grosvenor Hotel to-morrow morning. I shall stay the night in town!"

"Have you any idea who the man is?" said Sabina, as she received the bottle and the ten-pound note from her visitor's hands.

"Yes, I have; but I may be wrong."

"That's not very likely, ma'am. You'd 'a' made a good detective, as I always did think—you're so sharp."

"And I don't look it, as you said before. Perhaps I will tell you to-morrow morning, Sabina. At present I am going to find out all that I can about Miss Cynthia West. You did not give me her address; give it to me now."

She wrote it down in a little pocket-book, and then rose to take her leave. Sabina, who followed her to the cab, heard her tell the man to drive to the box-office of the Frivolity Theatre.

It took Mrs. Vane three-quarters of an hour to reach the Frivolity. It was half-past three when she got there. She asked at once if it was possible to see the manager, Mr. Ferguson. A gold coin probably expedited her messenger and rendered her entrance to the great man possible; for Mrs. Vane was a very handsome and well-dressed woman, and the "important business" on which she sent word that she had come had possibly less influence on the manager's mind than the glowing account given by the man despatched from the box-office on her errand.

Flossy was lucky. Mr. Ferguson was in the building—a rather unusual fact; he was also willing to see her in his private room—another concession; and he received her with moderate civility—a variation from his usual manner, which Mrs. Vane must have owed to her own manner and appearance.

"I shall not detain you for more than a very few minutes, Mr. Ferguson," said Flossy, with the air of a duchess, as she accepted the chair which the manager offered her; "but I have a good reason for coming to you. I think that a young lady called Cynthia West was once acting at this theatre? To put my question in plain words—Do you know anything about her?"

The manager sneered a little.

"A good deal," he said. "Oh, yes—she was here! I don't know that I have anything to tell, however. I should think that Mr. Hubert Lepel, if you know him, could tell you more about her than any one."

"I happen to be Mr. Lepel's sister," said Flossy, with dignity.

"The deuce you are!" remarked the manager to himself. "That explains——" Aloud—"Well, madam, how can I assist you? Do you want to know Miss West's character? Well, that was—if I may use the word—notorious."

Flossy's eyes gleamed.

"So I expected to hear," she murmured. "I am afraid that my poor brother has some thought of—of marrying her."

"Oh, surely not!" said Mr. Ferguson. "Surely he wouldn't be such a fool!""Can you tell me anything definite about her?"

"Excuse me, madam, for asking; but you—naturally—wish to prevent the marriage, if possible?"

"I certainly do not wish my brother to ruin himself for life, as he would do if she were such a—such a person as you imply." Mrs. Vane's lips were evidently much too delicate to say in plain terms what she meant. "If she were as respectable as she seems to be talented, of course objections about birth and station might be overlooked. But my brother has expectations from relatives who take the old-fashioned views about a woman's position; and the mere fact of her being a singer or an actress might be against her in their eyes. It would be much better for him if the whole thing were broken off."

She was purposely vague and diplomatic.

"Mr. Lepel's his own master, of course," said the manager; "so perhaps he knows all we can tell him—and more. But you are welcome to use any information that I can give you." His little green eyes gleamed with malice, and a triumphant smile showed itself at the corners of his thick hanging lips. "Miss West's career is well known. Lalli, a member of our orchestra, picked her out of the streets when she was sixteen or seventeen, trained her a bit, and brought her here. We soon found out what sort of person she was, and I spoke my mind to Lalli about it; for, though we're not particular as to a girl's character, still now and then——Well, she was under his protection at the time, and there was nothing much to be done; so we let her alone. He died suddenly about a couple of years ago; and then, I believe, she accosted Mr. Lepel in the street, and went to his rooms and fastened herself upon him, as women of her sort sometimes do. He took her up, sent her to Italy for a bit, put her under the care of that woman della Scala—as a blind to the public, I suppose—and got her brought out as a singer; and she seems to have had a fair amount of success."

Mr. Ferguson's account of Cynthia's career had an intermixture of fact, but it was so artfully combined with falsehood that it was difficult to disentangle one from the other.

Flossy listened with keen attention; it struck her at once that Mr. Ferguson was blackening the girl's character out of spite."Do you know where she came from before your musician, Lalli, discovered her, Mr. Ferguson?"

"No, I do not, madam. But I have followed her course with interest ever since"—which was true.

"And do you know where she resided before he died?"

"No, madam—I really do not"—which was utterly false. "Perhaps I could ascertain for you, and let you know."

Flossy thanked him and rose. She had not attained her object precisely; but she had received information that might prove extremely valuable. The manager bowed her out of his room politely, and called to one of his subordinates to show her down-stairs.

This was a little mistake on Mr. Ferguson's part; he did not calculate on his visitor's questioning his subordinate, who happened to be a young man with a taste for the violin.

"Did you know a Mr. Lalli who was once in the orchestra here?" said Flossy graciously.

"Oh, yes, ma'am! He was here for a very long time."

"Do you know where he used to live?"

"Yes, ma'am, No.—, Euston Road; it's a boarding-house, kept by a Mrs. Wadsley. He died there."

Quite astonished by her own success, Flossy slipped a coin into his hand and made him call her a hansom cab. She was beginning to think of speed more than of the probability of being recognised in the London streets.

To Mrs. Wadsley's then in all haste. The dingily respectable air of the house and of the proprietress herself at once impressed Mrs. Vane with the idea that Mr. Ferguson had been largely drawing on his own imagination with respect to Cynthia West. Nothing certainly could be more idyllic than the story of Lalli's devotion to the girl, whom he had brought home one night with an assurance to Mrs. Wadsley that she was the daughter of an old friend, and that he would be responsible for the payment of her board and lodging until she began to earn her own living.

"He was just like a father to her," said Mrs. Wadsley confidentially; "and teach her he would, and scold her sometimes by the hour together. I assure you, Mrs. Vane, it was wonderful to see the pains that he took with her. I see in the papers that she has been singing at concerts lately; and I said to my friend Mrs. Doldrum, 'How pleased poor dear old Mr. Lalli would have been if he had known!'"

"He was quite an old man, I suppose?" said Mrs. Vane. "There was no talk of marriage between them—of an attachment of any kind?"

Mrs. Wadsley drew herself up in rather an offended manner.

"Certainly not, madam—save as father and daughter might be attached one to another. Mr. Lalli was old enough to be the girl's grandfather; and Cynthia—oh, she was quite a child! I hope you do not think that I should have chaperoned her if any such matter had seemed likely to occur; but there was nothing of the kind. Mr. Lalli was quite too serious-minded for anything of that sort—a deeply religious man, although an Italian, Mrs. Vane."

"Indeed, I am glad to hear it," said Flossy solemnly. "Miss West had no engagement—no love-affair, in short—going on when she was with you?"

"Certainly not, Mrs. Vane."

"Did you ever hear her say where she had lived—where she had been educated—before she came to London?"

"I did hear something of a school that she had been at," said Mrs. Wadsley, after a little reflection; "but where it was I could not exactly tell you. They were Sisters, I believe, who taught her—Roman Catholics, very probably. 'St. Elizabeth's'—that was the name of the school; but where it is to be found I am sure I cannot say."

"At St. Elizabeth's, East Winstead?" said Mrs. Vane quickly. She had heard the name from the Rumbolds.

"I am sure I cannot say, Mrs. Vane."

"Miss West was not a Roman Catholic, was she?"

"Not to my knowledge," said Mrs. Wadsley with great stiffness.

Flossy's questions had not impressed her favorably; but the words next uttered by her visitor did away to some extent with the bad impression.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Wadsley, for your kind information! The fact is that a relative of mine his fallen in love with Miss West, and I was asked to find out who she was and all about her. Everything I have heard is so entirely charming and satisfactory, that I shall be able to set everything right, and assure my friends that we shall be honored by an alliance with Miss West. I hope we shall see you at the wedding, Mrs. Wadsley, when it takes place."

"When it takes place," Flossy repeated to herself, when she stood once more in the noisy London street; "but I do not think it will ever take place. I wonder how far it is to East Winstead; and whether it is worth while going there or not?"