He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. "Otherwise you will not get your morning's sleep. I found him lying like this, the bleeding partly stopped by this scarf, else he had been dead by now. In addition to his customary arms, Jonathan carried a bludgeon with a large heavy knob, suspended from his wrist by a loop; a favourite weapon, which he always took with him on dangerous expeditions, and which, if any information had been requisite, would have told Sheppard that the present was one of them. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands.
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