veritable
owner of the Anstruther jewels, and no mistake. Then--Madame de Lorgnes
guiding the conversation by secret signals which I intercept--somebody
recognises me as the Lone Wolf, in spite of the work of years and a
new-grown beard; and you are obliquely warned that, if your jewels
should happen to disappear it's more than likely the Lone Wolf will
prove to be the guilty party. At any rate, they will be ever so much
obliged if you'll believe he is, it'll save so much trouble all around.
Finally: when your ex-chauffeur--what's his name--?" "Albert Dupont."

"A name as unique in France as John Smith is in England ... When Albert
Dupont tries to take my life, as a simple and natural act of
vendetta--"

"You really think it was that?"

"I recognised the beast when he let off that pistol at my head. I was
in his way here, and he owed me one besides for my interference at
Montpellier that night.... When Dupont half murders me and I'm laid up
on your hands for nearly a month, our friends with designs on your
jewels thoughtfully wait before they strike till I am able to be up and
about, consequently in a position to be accused of a crime which no one
would put past the Lone Wolf. Oh, I think we can fairly count Mr. Monk
and his friends in on this coup!"

"I am sure of it," said Eve de Montalais. "But Albert: is he one of
them, their employee or confrere?"

"Dupont? I fancy not. I may be wrong, but I believe he is entirely on
his own--quite independent of the Monk party."

"But his attack on us at Montpellier, and later on you here, coming at
about the same time as their visit--"

"Coincidence, if you ask me. The weight of probability is against any
collusion between the two parties."

"Please explain..."

"Dupont is an Apache of Paris. The language he used to me when we
fought in that carriage at Montpellier was the slang of the lowest
order of Parisian criminal, used spontaneously, under stress of great
excitement, with no intent to mislead. These other people were--if
anything but poor misjudged lambs--swell mobsmen, the elite of the
criminal world. The two castes never work together because they can't
trust each other. The swell mobsman works with his head and only kills
when cornered. The Apache kills first, as a matter of instinct, and
then thinks--to the best of his ability. The Apache knows the swell
mobsman can outwit him. The swell mobsman knows the Apache will
assassinate him at the first hint of a su