Mrs. Pett was now absolutely appalled.  The conspiracy seemed to grow more complicated every moment.  Already its ramifications embraced this man before her, a trusted butler, and her husband’s late physical instructor.  Who could say where it would end?  She had never liked Jerry Mitchell, but she had never suspected him of being a conspirator.  Yet, if this man who called himself Jimmy Crocker was an old friend of his, how could he be anything else?

“Mitchell,” Jimmy went on, unconscious of the emotions which his every word was arousing in his hearer’s bosom, “told me about what happened yesterday.  He is very depressed.  He said he could not think how he happened to behave in such an abominable way.  He entreated me to put in a word for him with you.  He begged me to tell you how he regretted the brutal assault, and asked me to mention the fact that his record had hitherto been blameless.”  Jimmy paused.  He was getting no encouragement, and seemed to be making no impression whatever.  Mrs. Pett was sitting bolt upright in her chair in a stiffly defensive sort of way.  She had the appearance of being absolutely untouched by his eloquence.  “In fact,” he concluded lamely, “he is very sorry.”

There was silence for a moment.

“How do you come to know Mitchell?” asked Mrs. Pett.

“We knew each other when I was over here working on the Chronicle.  I saw him fight once or twice.  He is an excellent fellow, and used to have a right swing that was a pippin—­I should say extremely excellent.  Brought it up from the floor, you know.”

“I strongly object to prize-fighters,” said Mrs. Pett, “and I was opposed to Mitchell coming into the house from the first.”

“You wouldn’t let him come back, I suppose?” queried Jimmy tentatively.

“I would not.  I would not dream of such a thing.”

“He’s full of remorse, you know.”

“If he has a spark of humanity, I have no doubt of it.”

Jimmy paused.  This thing was not coming out as well as it might have done.  He feared that for once in her life Ann was about to be denied something on which she had set her heart.  The reflection that this would be extremely good for her competed for precedence in his mind with the reflection that she would probably blame him for the failure, which would be unpleasant.

“He is very fond of Ogden really.”

“H’m,” said Mrs. Pett.

“I think the heat must have made him irritable.  In his normal state he would not strike a lamb.  I’ve known him to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Not strike lambs.”

“Isch,” said Mrs. Pett—­the first time Jimmy had ever heard that remarkable monosyllable proceed from human lips.  He took it—­rightly—­to be intended to convey disapproval, scepticism, and annoyance.  He was convinced that this mission was going to be one of his failures.

“Then I may tell him,” he said, “that it’s all right?”