At last footsteps shuffled over the stone-paved floor within. A small panel slid away from a grating and a voice of that peculiar unctuous hoarseness only heard in a prodigiously fat man or woman, inquired his name. "I want to see you, old Mother Mawhood." "Love o'maids!" said the fat voice, "'tis Fancy Vernon, or I'm not a fat old sinner." The bolts were pushed back, the latch clicked, the door swung open, and Mrs. Mawhood, whose bulk, but little reduced by Newgate fare, was soon to test severely the three-legged tenement, occupied the portal. Take a good look at Mrs. Mawhood, while with pursy greetings she makes Fancy Vernon welcome. She is like an idol in a cavernous East Indian temple, or a giant toadstool, or weight of unbaked dough, or in fact anything that is slow, sleepy, and horrible. Almost buried in folds of flesh is a pair of beady black eyes, as steady and wicked as those of a puff-adder or seaman's parroquet. She is dressed in black, and her nails are bitten to the quick. Mr. Vernon was probably less narrow-minded than the mob which howled at her infamy during the Tyburn journey. At any rate he chatted with her amicably enough on this grey February forenoon. "How's business, ma'am?" he asked. "Very bad," she wheezed. "Only three of 'em upstairs and none of 'em real quality. Still, the flowers in the garden vant fresh food, especially the blood-red toolips. Ah! it was two lips that was the undoin' of the hussies, and, 'tis fair they should profit by the harvest." This devilish joke was followed by a low rumbling chuckle echoed above by a thin wail. Mrs. Mawhood waddled to the foot of the stairs. "Keep that d----d brat quiet, you charity bastard," she wheezed angrily. "She'll hev to get up to-morrow," she continued, seating herself in a wide arm-chair beside the empty grate, "and a sickly puling jade she is. I suppose you've come for the Main?" "No," answered Vernon, "indeed, I did not know there was to be one. Good birds?" Mrs. Mawhood nodded. "Thirty-two cocks and a Velch main. 'Tis some of those baby gentlemen from the Vells as finks they's seeing life ven a dozen lousy chairmen sveats thesselves 'oarse over a pair of bleeding chickens. And ven they's 'ad their pockets picked, they goes 'ome 'appy." "Is Moll here?" asked Vernon. "No, Moll's keeping a gay house Catherine Street vay." "Egad, I've a pretty little job for Moll." "Now don't you go leading Moll astray. She ain't been in Bridewell not these two years, and she don't vant to neither." "This job won't take her there. I'm in need of a housewife for a month, and Moll's a nice homely woman." "'Oo's she to look after, eh?" "A pearl necklace," said Vernon. "And a pretty neck, eh?" "Tolerable," said Vernon. "When do you want her?" "Let me see--February. Shall we say the last week in March?" "I'll tell her: I shall be sending a hussy from here presently to a nice honest sitivation." Again the chuckle was heard.