LEON
For some time after Miss Plympton's departure Sir Lionel remained buried
in thought. At length he rang the bell.
A servant appeared.
“Is Captain Dudleigh here yet?” asked Sir Lionel.
“Yes, Sir Lionel.”
“Tell him that I want to see him.”
The servant departed, and in a short time the door opened and a young
man entered. He was tall, muscular, well-formed, and with sufficient
resemblance to Sir Lionel to indicate that he was his son. For some time
Sir Lionel took no notice of him, and Captain Dudleigh, throwing himself
in a lounging attitude upon a chair, leaned his head back, and stared at
the ceiling. At length he grew tired of this, and sitting erect, he
looked at Sir Lionel, who was leaning forward, with his elbow on the arm
of his chair, supporting his head in his hand, and evidently quite
oblivious of the presence of any one.
“Did you wish to see me, Sir?” said Captain Dudleigh at length.
Sir Lionel started and raised his head.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “Is that you, Leon? I believe I must have been
asleep. Have you been waiting long? Why didn't you wake me? I sent for
you, didn't I? Oh yes. Let me see. It is a business of the greatest
importance, and I'm deuced glad that you are here, for any delay would
be bad for all concerned.”
Sir Lionel paused for a few moments, and then began:
“You know about that--that melancholy story of--of poor Dalton.”
Leon nodded.
“Did you hear that he is dead?”
“Well, some paragraphs have been going the rounds of the papers to that
effect, though why they should drag the poor devil from his seclusion,
even to announce his death, is somewhat strange to me.”
“Well, he is dead, poor Dalton!” said Sir Lionel, “and--and so there's
an end of him and that melancholy business. By-the-way, I suppose you
haven't heard any particulars as to his death?”
“No,” said Leon, “nothing beyond the bare fact. Besides, what does it
matter? When a man's dead, under such circumstances, too, no one cares
whether he died of fever or gunshot.”
“True,” said Sir Lionel, with a sigh. “It isn't likely that any one
would trouble himself to find out how poor Dalton died. Well, that is
the first thing that I had to mention. And now there is another thing.
You know, of course, that he left a daughter, who has been growing up
all these years, and is now of age. She has been living under the care
of a Miss Plympton, from whom I had the pleasure of a call this morning,
and who appears to be a remarkably sensible and right-minded person.”
“A daughter?” said Leon. “Oh yes! Of course I remember. And of age!
Well, I never thought of that. Why, she must be heiress to the immense
Dalton property. Of age, and still at school! What's her name? I really
forget it, and it's odd too, for, after all, she's my own cousin, in
spite of the short-comings of her father and--and other people.”
“Yes, Leon,” said, Sir Lionel, “you're right. She is your own cousin. As
to her father, you must remember how I have always said that he was
innocent, and sinned against rather than sinning. Heaven forbid that we
should visit on this poor child the disgrace of her father, when he was
not guilty at all. I feel confident, Leon, that you will espouse her
cause as eagerly as I do; and since I am prevented from doing any thing
by this infernal gout, I look to you to represent me in this business,
and bring that infernal scoundrel to justice.”
“Infernal scoundrel! What infernal scoundrel?”
“Why, this Wiggins.”
“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.”
“Yes, and got about as little satisfaction as one could get.”
“He was not communicative.”
“Not at all. Every answer was an evasion. What little I did get out of
him had to be dragged out. The most important questions he positively
refused to answer.”
“Of course. I remember all that, for I was the one who wished to know,
and consequently his refusal to answer affected me most of all. I
wondered at the time, and thought that it might be some quiet plan of
his, but I really had no idea of the audacity of his plans.”
“How is that?”
“Wait a moment. Did you see anything in this man that could excite the
suspicion that he was at all flighty or insane?”
“Insane! Certainly not. He was, on the contrary, the sanest person I
ever met with.”
“Well, then, he must have become insane since. I've no doubt that he has
for years been planning to get control of the Dalton property; and now,
when he has become insane, he is still animated by this ruling passion,
and has gone to work to gratify it in this mad way.”
“Mad way? What mad way? I don't understand.”
“Well, I'll tell you all about it. I merely wished to get your unbiased
opinion of the man first;” and upon this Sir Lionel told him the whole
story which Miss Plympton had narrated to him. To all this Leon listened
with the deepest interest and the most profound astonishment,
interrupting his father by frequent questions and exclamations.
“What can be his design?” said Leon. “He must have some plan in his
head.”
“Plan? a mad plan enough!” exclaimed Sir Lionel. “It is clearly nothing
else than an attempt to get control of the property by a _coup de
main_.”
“Well, the opinion that I formed of Wiggins is that he is altogether too
shrewd and deep a man to undertake any thing without seeing his way
clear to success!”
“The man's mad!” cried Sir Lionel. “How can any sane man hope to succeed
in this? Why, no one can set up a private prison-house in that style.
If the law allowed that, I know of one person who could set up a
private jail, and keep it pretty well filled, too.”
“An idea strikes me,” said Leon, “which may explain this on other
grounds than madness, and which is quite in accordance with Wiggins's
character. He has been the agent of the estates for these ten years, and
though he was very close and uncommunicative about the extent of his
powers and the nature of his connection with Dalton, yet it is evident
that he has had Dalton's confidence to the highest degree; and I think
that before Dalton's unfortunate business, he must have had some
influence over him. Perhaps he has persuaded Dalton to make him the
guardian of his daughter.”
“Well, what good would that do?” asked Sir Lionel.
“Do you know any thing about the law of guardianship?”
“Not much.”
“Well, it seems to me, from what I have heard, that a guardian has a
great many very peculiar rights. He stands in a father's place. He can
choose such society for his ward as he likes, and can shut her up, just
as a father might. In this instance Wiggins may be standing on his
rights, and the knowledge of this may be the reason why he defied you so
insolently.”
Sir Lionel looked annoyed, and was silent for a few moments.
“I don't believe it,” said he; “I don't believe any thing of the kind. I
don't believe any law will allow a man to exercise such control over
another just because he or she is a minor. Besides, even if it were so,
Edith is of age, and this restraint can not be kept up. What good would
it do, then, for him to imprison her for three or four months? At the
end of that time she must escape from his control. Besides, even on the
ground that he is _in loco parentis_, you must remember that there
are limits even to a father's authority. I doubt whether even a father
would be allowed to imprison, a daughter without cause.”
“But this imprisonment may only be a restriction within the grounds. The
law can not prevent that. Oh, the fact is, this guardianship law is a
very queer thing, and we shall find that Wiggins has as much right over
her as if he were her father. So we must go to work carefully; and my
idea is that it would be best to see him first of all, before we do any
thing, so as to see how it is.”
“At any rate,” said Sir Lionel, “we can force him to show by what right
he controls her liberty. The law of guardianship can not override the
_habeas corpus_ act, and the liberty of the subject is provided
for, after all. If we once get Edith out of his control, it will be
difficult for him to get her back again, even if the law did decide in
his favor. Still I think there is a good deal in what you say, and it
certainly is best not to be too hasty about it. An interview with him,
first of all, will be decidedly the best thing. I think, before going
there, you had better see my solicitors in London. You see I intrust the
management of this affair to you, Leon, for this infernal gout ties me
up here closer than poor Edith at Dalton Hall. You had better set about
it at once. Go first to London, see my solicitors, find out about the
law of guardianship, and also see what we had better do. Then, if they
approve of it, go to Dalton Hall and see Wiggins. I don't think that you
are the sort of man who can be turned back at the gates by that ruffian
porter. You must also write me what the solicitors say, for I think I
had better keep Miss Plympton informed about the progress of affairs,
partly to satisfy her anxiety, and partly to present her from taking any
independent action which may embarrass our course of conduct.”
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