Mr. Gillett paused; obviously in his case egotism allied to enthusiasm made his duties a pleasure; he seemed now briefly commending himself in his own mind.  “Up to this time,” he resumed, “our friend, the ex-pugilist, had never actually killed any one, but soon after I engaged myself to look after him, word was brought to the department that a poor woman had been murdered, a cheap music-hall dancer.  She had seen better days, however.”

Lord Ronsdale, who had been looking away, yawned, as if finding the police agent “wordy,” then strolled to the rail.

“Suspicion pointed strongly in his direction; and we got him after a struggle.  It was a hard fight, without a referee, and maybe we used him a little rough, but we had to.  Then Dandy Joe was brought in.  Joe’s a plain, mean little gambler and race-track follower, with courage not big enough for broad operations.  But he had a wide knowledge of what we term the thieves’ catacombs, and, well, he ‘peached’ on the big fellow.  Gave testimony that was of great service to the prosecution.  The case seemed clear enough; there was some sort of contrary evidence put in, but it didn’t amount to anything.  His record was against him and he got a heavy sentence, with death as a penalty, if he ever sets foot in England again.”

“What,” asked Mr. Gillett’s youngest listener, “is ’peached’?”

“In school-girl parlance, it is, I believe, to ‘tell on’ some one.”

“You mean a tattle-tale?” scornfully.  “I hate them.”

“They have their uses,” he answered softly.  “And I’m rather partial to them, myself.  But if you are ready, m’lord—­m’lady—­”

“Quite!  Egad!  I’m curious to have a look at the fellow.  Used to like to see a good honest set-to myself occasionally, before I became—­ahem!—­governor!” And rising with alacrity, Sir Charles assisted his lady from her chair.  “Coming, Ronsdale?”

“Believe I won’t go down,” drawled the nobleman at the rail.  “Air better up here,” he explained.

Sir Charles laughed, got together the other members of his party and all followed Mr. Gillett to a narrow companion way.  There a strong iron door stopped their progress, but, taking a key from his pocket the police agent thrust it into a great padlock, gave it a turn, and swung back the barrier.  Before them stretched a long aisle; at each end stood a soldier, with musket; on one side were the cells, small, heavily-barred.  The closeness of the air was particularly and disagreeably noticeable; here sunlight never entered, and the sullen beating of the waves against the wooden shell was the only sound that disturbed the tomb-like stillness of the place.

One or two of the party looked soberer; the child’s eyes were large with awe and wonder; she regarded, not without dread, something moving, a shape, a human form in each terrible little coop.  But Mr. Gillett’s face shone with livelier emotions; he peered into the cells at his charges with a keen bright gaze that had in it something of the animal tamer’s zest for his part.