"Do, Mr. Roper. I should like to see you shewn up in court. How many of your transactions will bear the scrutiny of the law?"
"I have never broken the law," he roared, with an attempt at dignity which ill became him. "I am a poor man, but honest. Jenner? Oh, yes he was murdered, and he deserved to be murdered--the beast!"
"Who did it?" asked Geoffrey, abruptly.
For the second time Mr. Roper was visibly disconcerted. "How should I know any more than yourself?" he quavered. "His wife murdered him, of course; he treated her badly, and she served him out. Women always do."
"Come, Mr. Roper, you are evading my questions. But I have no time to play the fool. I have come to talk to you about that forged bill."
"Have you got it--have you got it?" he shrieked, making a dart with one claw at Geoffrey. "Oh, give it to me, if you can! I want to see that Marshall in gaol--with hard labour--hard labour!" he repeated, with evident relish. "My dear gentleman, if you can, help me to crush him!"
"Why?" asked the young man, drawing back.
"Because I hate him. I had a daughter; she loved him; but he would not marry her--oh, dear, no! Her father's reputation was too bad for so fine a gentleman. So she died--pined away. Mr. Heron, as I am a sinner! Oh how Jerry felt it! He admired Elsa, he loved her--so did Marshall." His eyes flashed. "But he would not marry her, for all that. She is dead and buried now--a most expensive tomb!" he added, vaguely. "All marble--most costly. But she was my daughter: I hate to spend good money; but Elsa was my daughter--a most expensive tomb!"
His listener took all this for the senile babble of age. Perhaps it was, for tears stood in the usurer's eyes--those hard eyes which had remained dry whilst looking upon much deliberately-created misery. He wiped them now with snuffy red bandana, and then looked fiercely at his client.
"Come," he said, roughly, with a growl as of a beast about to spring. "What about Marshall!"