Geoffrey, taking no notice of his brusque manner, passed into the back room; it was better lighted and better furnished than the clerk's den. Still, it was sordid enough, and so dirty that the young squire found it necessary to dust with his handkerchief the seat he had chosen. "Cleanliness and godliness are both absent from this establishment," thought Mr. Heron. He could hear Roper outside growling at Jerry, but could catch nothing of their conversation. He guessed that it had to do with himself, for shortly Mr. Roper entered the back room with what was meant to be an amiable smile on his mahogany face. In appearance he was the double of his clerk, as thin, as yellow, and even smaller in stature. "Ha! Hey!" he said; this being the way in which he was accustomed to begin a conversation. "Mr. Heron--ah, yes--Mr. Geoffrey Heron--quite so! I knew your father. A good man, Mr. Heron, but strong in his expressions." Geoffrey took this to mean--and very rightly too--that his father had expressed himself in no measured terms as to the moneylender's professional transactions. But he made no comment, merely remarking that he had come to see Mr. Roper on business. "Ha! Hey!" chuckled the old man, shuffling towards his desk with the aid of a heavy stick. "Quite so. Not like your father! Oh, dear, no! He never borrowed money." "I am not here for that purpose," retorted Mr. Heron, haughtily, and the old man, panting for breath, dropped into his chair. "And I can assure you that you are the last person to whom I should come in such circumstances. My business is quite of a different nature." "Ha! Then why do you come here, Mr. Heron? I have much to do; I am poor, and money is hard to make. If your business has nothing to do with money, why come at all?" "Because you are the only person who can assist me?" "I do nothing for nothing," croaked Mr. Roper, quickly. "If you want anything out of me, you must pay me--pay me--cash down, you understand! I have had enough of bills." "Mr. Frank Marshall's bill for five hundred included?" asked Geoffrey. The man started and plucked at his nether lip. "Ha! Hey! What do you know about Mr. Marshall, sir?" "Not so much as you can tell me," said Heron, significantly. "Marshall--Marshall," muttered Roper. "I don't know him--never heard of him." Geoffrey took a new tack and prepared to go. "In that case, I need not trouble you. My business has to do with Marshall and a forgery." "Wait. Come now, don't hurry!" screeched the old man, clawing at Heron's frock-coat. "I do begin to remember something of this. I am old--I can't remember as well as I did. Marshall--Frank Marshall--Cass and Marshall. Yes, yes, of course I know! A forgery--your father--quite so!" He stopped and looked up sharply. "Well, what is it?" he asked.