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."

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."