“Yes; you remember him, my Lord, I dare say?”

“In common with many others,” shortly.

“Many of the gentry and titled classes did honor him with their attention, I believe.”

“Why,” asked Jocelyn, whose blue eyes were fastened very intently on the face of the police agent, “did they call him such a funny name, the ’Frisco Pet?”

“Because he’s a yankee bruiser, prize-fighter, or was, before the drink got him,” explained Mr. Gillett.  “And originally, I believe, he hailed from the land of the free.  Some one brought him to London, found out about his ‘talents’ and put him in training.  He was a low, ignorant sailor; could scarcely write his own name; but he had biceps and a thick head.  Didn’t know when he was whipped.  I can see him yet, as he used to look, with his giant shoulders and his swagger as he stepped into the ring.  There was no nonsense about him—­or his fist; could break a board with that.  And how the shouts used to go up; ‘the pet!’ ’a quid on the pet!’ ‘ten bob on the stars and stripes!’ meaning the costume he wore.  Oh, he was a favorite in Camden Town!  But one night he failed them; met some friends from the forecastle of a Yankee trader that had dropped down the Thames.  Went into the ring with a stagger added to the swagger.  Well, they took him out unconscious; never was a man worse punished.  He never got back to the sawdust, and the sporting gentlemen lost a bright and shining light.”

“Broke his heart, I suppose,” observed Sir Charles.

“How could that break his heart?” asked the child wonderingly.  “I thought when people had their hearts broken—­”

“Jocelyn, don’t interrupt!” said the wife of Sir Charles.  “Although,” to her husband, in a lower tone, “I must confess these details a little tiresome!”

“Not a bit!” Sir Charles’ voice rose in lively protest.  “I remember out in Australia reading about the fellow in the sporting papers from home, and wondering what had become of him.  So that was it?  Go on, Mr. Gillett!  With your permission, m’love!”

The police agent proceeded.  “After that it was a case of the rum and the toss-pots, and when he was three sheets in the wind, look out for squalls!  He got put in quad, broke out, overpowered and nearly killed two guards.  Took to various means of livelihood, until they got him again.  Trouble in prison; transferred to the solitary with a little punishment thrown in for a reminder.  When he got out of limbo again, he lived in bad company, in one of the tunnels near the Adelphi; hard place for the police to rout a cove from.  Then followed a series of rough bungling jobs he was supposed to have been mixed up in.  At any rate, he got the credit.  More hazards than loot!  He had too heavy fingers for anything fine; but he made it quite interesting for the police, quite interesting!  So much so, he attracted me, and I concluded to take a hand, to direct the campaign against him, as it were.”