“Wiggins?”
“Yes. The madman that is trying to shut up Edith, and keep her under lock and key.”
“Edith! Who's Edith? What, Dalton's daughter? Oh, is that her name? But what do you mean? What madman? what lock and key?”
“You know Wiggins, don't you?” asked Sir Lionel.
“Which Wiggins? There are several that I know—Wiggins the sausage man, Wiggins the rat-catcher, Wig—”
“I mean John Wiggins, of John Wiggins and Company, solicitors, Liverpool. You know them perfectly well. I sent you there once.”
“Yes,” said Leon, slowly, “I remember.”
“What sort of a man was this John Wiggins himself when you saw him?”
“Oh, an ordinary-looking person—grave, quiet, sensible, cool as a clock, and very reticent. I told you all about him.”
“Yes, but I didn't know but that you might remember something that would throw light on his present actions. You went there to ask some questions in my name with reference to poor Dalton, and the disposal of his property.”