"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.