 What is Lanfierre's profession?
He was strolling along a quiet residential avenue: small private houses, one after another, a place of little traffic and minimum distractions. But he was thinking about weather, which was an unusual subject to begin with for a person living in a domed city. He was thinking about Optimum Dome Conditions (a crisp 59 degrees, a mildly dessicated 47%) when a bogus postman, who pretended to be reading a postal card, jostled him. In the ensuing contretemps they emptied his rear pants pockets, got his wristwatch and restored the contents of the handkerchief pocket. It was this rather than skill that enabled the police to maintain such a tight surveillance on him, a surveillance that went to the extent of getting his fingerprints off the postman's bag, and which photographed, X-rayed and chemically analyzed the contents of his pockets before returning them. Lanfierre's job was to ferret out aberration. Conformity had become more than a social force; it was a physical necessity. And, after years of working at it, Lanfierre had become an admirer of eccentricity. He came to see that genuine quirks were rare and, as time went on, due partly to his own small efforts, rarer. Lanfierre was almost proud of Humphrey Fownes. Lanfierre had held out on Fownes for months. "It's like this, MacBride. And if there was a house sitting on such a mountain and if winds did blow, it would shake exactly the way that one does. "I'll tell you something else," Lanfierre went on. "No, you don't need a rest," MacBride said. "You're starting to see flying houses, hear loud babbling voices. MacBride and Lanfierre both leaned forward, as if waiting for the ghostly babble of voices to commence. The house could have been preparing to take off and sail down the.... MacBride looked at Lanfierre and Lanfierre looked at MacBride and then they both looked back at the dancing house. It expressed his weariness and distaste for people who went off and got neurotic when they could be enjoying a happy, normal existence. "I can't wait to see what he's got in there," Lanfierre murmured, watching the house with a consuming interest. Fownes stopped on the porch to brush the plaster of paris off his shoes. He had a bootleg pipe connected into the dome blower system, and the high-pressure air caused some buffeting against the thin walls of the house. At least, he called it buffeting; he'd never thought to watch from outside.
 He reports instances of divergence from Dome policy
 He ensnares and imprisons rogue citizens in the Dome  He has no job -- he is a criminal from the Movement  He reports instances of divergence from Dome policy  He trafficks humans from the outside world into the Dome