In the course of this inquiry Mr. Otranto made himself acquainted with the numerous ins and outs of Cedar House. ‘A house built especially for the accommodation of burglars, one would suppose,’ he said; ‘there must be hiding-places enough for half the cracksmen in London. However, I think if there is any one still on the premises—or if the visitor of last night pays any farther visits—we shall catch them. I shall put on two men to-night, Mr. Davoren, instead of one—one to keep guard in the room that contains the property, the other to watch the back premises. This business will cost money, remember—but, by Jove, we’ll succeed in trapping the scoundrel!’ ‘Your services shall be paid for,’ said Lucius, not without a pang, remembering the tenpound-note he had already given Mr. Otranto on account of the Rio inquiry, and of which there remained no balance in his favour—nay, there was more likely a balance against him. ‘You can go, Mr.—Mr. What’s-your-name,’ said the detective carelessly; and Jacob Wincher, thus dismissed, hobbled feebly forth to wend his way back to Cedar House; so rare a visitant to this outer world that the clamour of the City seemed to him like the howling of fiends in Pandemonium. ‘Well,’ said Lucius, directly the old servant had departed, ‘what do you think of that man?’ ‘He isn’t up to it,’ answered Mr. Otranto contemptuously. ‘Isn’t up to what?’ ‘To having act or part in that robbery. He isn’t up to it,’ repeated the detective, snapping his fingers with increasing contempt. ‘It isn’t in him. Lor bless you, Mr. Davoren, I know ’em when I see ’em. There’s a brightness about their eye, a firmness about their mouth, a nerve about ’em altogether, that there’s no mistaking.’ ‘About a thief, I suppose you mean?’ inquired Lucius. ‘Yes, sir. I know ’em fast enough when I see ’em. There’s the stamp of intellect upon ’em, sir—with very few exceptions there’s talent in ’em to back ’em up through everything. You don’t catch _them_ stammering and stuttering like that poor old chap just now. Not a bit of it. They’re as clear as crystal. They’ve got their story ready, and they tell it short and sharp and decisive, if they’re first-raters; a little too wordy, perhaps, if they’re new to their work.’ Mr. Otranto dwelt on the talent of the criminal classes with an evident satisfaction. ‘As for that poor old chap,’ he said decisively, ‘there isn’t genius enough or pluck enough in him even for the kinchin lay.’ Lucius did not pause to inquire about this particular branch of the art, whereof he was profoundly ignorant. ‘He might not have pluck enough to attempt the robbery unaided,’ he said, still persisting in the idea that Jacob Wincher must be guilty, ‘yet he might be capable of opening the door to an accomplice.’