"I want to see you very particularly. A strange thing has happened. Grotesque, in fact, and I want you to be prepared for—for anything."
"What?"
"I don't like telling you over the telephone. I'm tremendously upset. I can hardly speak collectedly."
"I think I know. It has to do with Anthony Riggleton and the Faversham estates, hasn't it?"
"How did you know? Yes; it has. It's terribly serious, I'm afraid. I'd better see you at once. Some arrangement, some compromise might be made."
"You mean that Riggleton is not dead? That you've seen him?"
He spoke quite calmly and naturally. Indeed, he was surprised at his command over himself.
"Yes; he's just left me. He's been here for two hours. Of course, I tried at first to take his visit as a joke, but——"
"You are convinced that it was Riggleton?"
"I can have no doubt about it—no possible doubt. He's deadly in earnest too, and his case is overwhelming—simply overwhelming. Never, outside the realms of the wildest romance, did I ever come across a case where a lawyer could be so completely mistaken. But I can't help it, and I'm afraid that—that your prospects for the future are materially altered. Of course you might——"