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