"Nevens was the name, I think," said Weir. He made it out, painted upon a door in the darkest corner of an obscure passage. "If you don't mind," said he, "we shall go in for a moment. We may be of some assistance." Anthony readily followed him into a low-ceilinged room, where daylight crept through the dirty glass of a single window. Huddles of time-stained and dusty papers were upon shelves, and in cubbyholes, and impaled upon hooks. A crazy old desk was all but buried under them; a corner cupboard was so gorged that papers bulged from doors and drawers that could not have been closed for years. A little man with a short nose, a snuffy neck-cloth, and red-rimmed eyes was talking with Mademoiselle Lafargue. She turned a look upon Anthony that was surprised and grateful. "Good day to you, gentlemen," said the little man in a squeaky voice. "I will give you my best attention in a moment." To the girl he said: "Pay heed to what I tell you. Women are not fitted for the carrying of important words. Say to your father that he is the person I desire to see. And I must see him immediately." Weir stepped toward the usurer. "Might I ask why, Mr. Nevens?" said he. The man put his hand behind his ear, forming a sort of cup; he screwed his face into an expression of great interest and squeaked: "Hey? I am hard of hearing." "It happens," said Weir to the girl, "that I know something of the operations of this man, and I thought that Mr. Stevens and myself might be of some help to you." "The matter that brings Mademoiselle Lafargue here," said Anthony, "seems to be a paper of her father's." "I know its nature," said Weir. "After you had stepped out into the passage up-stairs, the Bulfinches talked quite openly of it." While they were speaking the broker kept his hand cupped behind his ear, while his eyes searched their faces like those of some sly little animal. "Eh?" said he. "What do you say? Speak up. My hearing is not of the best." "If you'll permit me," said Weir to the girl, "I can probably save your father a journey here and the exasperation he'd be sure to feel in dealing with a man like this." Without waiting for a reply he turned to Nevens. "Now, sir," he said, "a word with you." Nevens seemed to get Weir's purpose,--perhaps it was from his attitude,--and he began to gesticulate excitedly. "My business is with her father," he said. "It is a private matter, a transaction between us two, and has to do with a bit of commercial paper." "Quite so," said Weir. "Have the goodness to permit me to see that paper." "Eh?" Nevens seemed straining to hear. "What do you say?" "Show me the bill." "You must speak louder," said Nevens. "My hearing is not good. Once it was excellent; I heard everything; but it has grown quite bad. In dealing with me you must speak plainly; even then, sometimes," and he shook his head, "I scarce hear a word."