ncubating chamber. He changed
from his laboratory coat to his outdoor coat, and made his way rapidly
towards the surgical home.

As he crossed the Wilhelmstrasse--gay with its alluring shops and its
crowd of well-dressed, leisured saunterers--a man came up with
outstretched hand to Riviere and then hesitated visibly.

"Excuse me, sir, but I thought for the moment you were a friend of mine,
a Mr Clifford Matheson. I see now that I was mistaken by a very striking
resemblance."

"My half-brother."

"Ah, that's it!" said the man, visibly relieved. "Well, remember me to
him when you see him. Warren is my name--Major Warren."

"I'll certainly do so."

"Thanks--good afternoon."

It was not the first proof Riviere had had of the safety of his new
identity. Though Larssen and Olive had penetrated the disguise, others
who knew him well, even his own clerks, had been perfectly satisfied
with the explanation of the "half-brother."

When he was ushered into the darkened room at the surgical home, Elaine
smiled greeting to him, and the smile stabbed him with self-reproach. He
had come to wound her. There must be no further delay. He must act the
surgeon _now_.

Elaine half-sat, half-lay in a _chaise longue_. His white lilac and
fuchsia--those were her favourite flowers he had discovered--were on a
small table by her side, scenting the room faintly but definitely. She
had a letter in her hands, which she asked him to open and read to her.

"The nurse doesn't read English well," she explained.

Riviere looked first at the signature. "It's from your friend Madge in
Paris."

"Then it will be good reading."

As he read it out to her, he kept glancing now and again at her face to
note the effect of the words. The letter was mostly a gay account of the
girl's doings in Paris--the amusements of the past week, little scraps
about mutual friends, theatrical gossip, and so on. It was meant to
cheer, but it did not cheer. Riviere could see that Elaine was reading
into every sentence the might-have-been of her own wrecked life. He
hurried through it as quickly as possible, and then they chatted for
some time of impersonal matters.

His words began to come from him with a curious husky abruptness.
Elaine felt the tension, and knew that he had something important to
tell her. She sought to help him to it.

"Your journey to London," she said. "Did it effect your purpose? You
haven't told me much."

"I had the hardest fight of m