Occasionally, however, visitors to Mr. Edward Moss came in at the large front-door, and afterwards made the best of their way to his sanctum. They were generally people who would not have been regarded with much favour by the greasy-shouldered clients in the court. This was one of them who entered Cursitor Street on a warm June afternoon, and made straight for the front-door blazing with the door-plate of "Moss and Moss." A middle-sized fattish man, ill-dressed in an ill-fitting blue frock-coat and gray trousers, and a very innocent-looking small hat with a black mourning-band; a sodden-faced sleepy-looking man with mild blue eyes and an undecided mouth; a man like a not very prosperous publican; a man, who, with a fresher complexion, and at another time of year, might have been taken for a visitor to the Cattle Show; who looked, in fact, anything but what he was--chief officer of the City detectives and the terror of all the evil-doers of the East-end. He walked through the hall, and, leaving the staircase leading to Mr. Marshall Moss's rooms on his right, passed to the end of the passage and tapped at a door on which was inscribed the word "Private" in large letters. It must have been a peculiar knock which he gave, for the door was immediately opened merely wide enough to admit him, and closed as he passed through. "Ah, ah!" said a little man in an enormous pair of spectacles; "ah, ah! 'ith you, inthpector! The governor'th been athkin' after you to-day. Let'th have a look," he continued, lifting a corner of a green-baize curtain; "ah! he'th jutht shakin' off that troublethome perjury. Now I'll give him your name." This was Mr. Amedroz, Edward Moss's right-hand man, who knew all his master's secrets, and who was so reticent that he never opened his mouth where he could convey as much by writing. So Mr. Amedroz inscribed "Stellfox" in large round-text on a slip of paper, laid it before his principal, and, receiving an affirmative nod, ushered the inspector into the presence. "Morning, Stellfox," said Mr. Edward, glancing up from a mass of papers in front of him; "report?" Inspector Stellfox, unbuttoning his blue frock-coat, produced from his breast-pocket a thick notebook, and commenced: "Sorry to say, nothing new about Captain Congreve, sir. We've tried--" "Now look here, Stellfox," interrupted Mr. Moss; "you've had that business in hand a fortnight. If you don't report by Wednesday, I'll give that to Scotland Yard. Your men are getting lazy, and I'll try what Sir Richard Mayne's people can do. What next?" Crestfallen, Inspector Stellfox continued,--"Slimy William, sir." "Well," said Mr. Moss keenly, "what of him?" "I think that's all right, sir. We've found out where his mother lives,--Shad's Row, Wapping, No. 3; bill up in the window, 'a room to let.' If you've no objection, one of my men shall take that room, sir, and try and work it that way."