And Lanyard was human enough to be
almost as willing to have the first happen as the last, if it were not
given to him to be the prime factor in their restoration.
For the time being--if he must confess the truth--he was actually
rather enjoying himself, rather exhilarated than otherwise by the
swiftly shifting scenes and characters of his unfolding investigations
and by the brisk sword-play of wits in which he was called upon
constantly to engage; both essential ingredients of the wine of life
according to the one recipe he knew.
And then a review of recent events seemed to warrant the belief that,
all things considered, he had thus far made fair progress toward his
goal.
While it was true he did not as yet know what had become of the
Montalais jewels, he had gathered together an accumulation of evidence
which, however circumstantial and hypothetical, established acceptably
to his intelligence a number of interesting inferences, to wit:
That Dupont had not left the neighbourhood of the Chateau de Montalais,
after haunting it for upwards of a month, without definite knowledge
that he would gain nothing by staying on, or without an equally
definite objective, some motive more inspiring than such simple
sensuousness as he might find in assassinating inoffensive folk
indiscriminately.
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