'This is a wig,' said Wilfred. 'By Clarkson.' He shook a menacing finger at the baronet. 'You little thought, Sir Jasper ffinch-ffarrowmere, when you embarked on this dastardly scheme, that Wilfred Mulliner was watching your every move. I guessed your plans from the start. And now is the moment when I checkmate them. Give me that key, you Fiend.'
'ffiend,' corrected Sir Jasper, automatically.
'I am going to release my darling, to take her away from this dreadful house, to marry her by special licence as soon as it can legally be done.'
In spite of his sufferings, a ghastly laugh escaped Sir Jasper's lips.
'You are, are you?'
'I am.'
'Yes, you are!'
'Give me the key.'
'I haven't got it, you chump. It's in the door.'
'Ha, ha!'