nd I should like to go and see
them."

The manager pointed to the stage-doorkeeper.

"This man will give it you," he announced, shortly. "It's quite close. I
shall look in myself after the show to know how the young lady is."

Tavernake procured the address and set out in the taxicab which he had
kept waiting. The driver listened to the direction doubtfully.

"It's a poor sort of neighborhood, sir," he remarked.

"We've got to go there," Tavernake told him.

They reached it in a few minutes, a miserable street indeed. Tavernake
knocked at the door of the house to which he was directed, with sinking
heart. A man, collarless and half dressed, in carpet slippers, opened
the door after a few moments' waiting.

"Well, what is it?" he asked, gruffly.

"Is Professor Franklin here?" Tavernake inquired.

The man seemed as though he were about to slam the door, but thought
better of it.

"If you're a friend of the professor's, as he calls himself," he said,
"and you've any money to shell out, why, you're welcome, but if you're
only asking out of curiosity, let me tell you that he used to lodge here
but he's gone, and if I'd had my way he'd have gone a week ago, him and
his daughter, too."

"I don't understand," Tavernake protested. "I thought the young lady was
ill."

"She may be ill or she may not," the man replied, sulkily. "All I know
is that they couldn't pay their rent, couldn't pay their food bill,
couldn't pay for the drinks the old man was always sending out for. So
tonight I spoke up and they've gone."

"At least you know where to!" Tavernake exclaimed.

"I ain't no sort of an idea," the man declared. "Take my word for it
straight, guvnor, I know no more about where they went to than the man
in the moon, except that I'm well shut of them, and there's a matter of
eighteen and sixpence, if you care to pay it."

"I'll give you a sovereign," Tavernake promised, "if you will tell me
where they are now."

"What's the good of making silly conditions like that!" the man
grumbled. "If I knew where they were, I'd earn the quid soon enough, but
I don't, and that's the long and the short of it! And if you ain't going
to pay the eighteen and six, well, I've answered all the questions I
feel inclined to."

"I'll make it two pounds," Tavernake promised. "I'm going to sail for
America to-morrow morning early, and I must see them first."

The man leaned forward.

"Look here," he said, "if I knew where they was, a