“Oh,” I says, “what sort?” for I'd seen a good many of that lot during six months I'd spent at a house in Fleet Street, and their get-up hadn't sumptuousness about it, so to speak. “Kipper's” rig-out must have totted up to a tidy little sum. He had a diamond pin in his tie that must have cost somebody fifty quid, if not him. “Well,” he answers, “I don't wind out the confidential advice to old Beaky, and that sort of thing. I do the tips, yer know. 'Cap'n Kit,' that's my name.” “What, the Captain Kit?” I says. O' course I'd heard of him. “Be'old!” he says. “Oh, it's easy enough,” he goes on. “Some of 'em's bound to come out right, and when one does, you take it from me, our paper mentions the fact. And when it is a wrong 'un--well, a man can't always be shouting about himself, can 'e?” He ordered a cup of coffee. He said he was waiting for someone, and we got to chatting about old times. “How's Carrots?” I asked. “Miss Caroline Trevelyan,” he answered, “is doing well.” “Oh,” I says, “you've found out her fam'ly name, then?” “We've found out one or two things about that lidy,” he replies. “D'yer remember 'er dancing?” “I have seen her flinging her petticoats about outside the shop, when the copper wasn't by, if that's what you mean,” I says. “That's what I mean,” he answers. “That's all the rage now, 'skirt-dancing' they calls it. She's a-coming out at the Oxford to-morrow. It's 'er I'm waiting for. She's a-coming on, I tell you she is,” he says. “Shouldn't wonder,” says I; “that was her disposition.” “And there's another thing we've found out about 'er,” he says. He leant over the table, and whispered it, as if he was afraid that anybody else might hear: “she's got a voice.” “Yes,” I says, “some women have.” “Ah,” he says, “but 'er voice is the sort of voice yer want to listen to.” “Oh,” I says, “that's its speciality, is it?” “That's it, sonny,” he replies. She came in a little later. I'd a' known her anywhere for her eyes, and her red hair, in spite of her being that clean you might have eaten your dinner out of her hand. And as for her clothes! Well, I've mixed a good deal with the toffs in my time, and I've seen duchesses dressed more showily and maybe more expensively, but her clothes seemed to be just a framework to show her up. She was a beauty, you can take it from me; and it's not to be wondered that the La-De-Das were round her when they did see her, like flies round an open jam tart.