ertness. He had
felled one of the two _apaches_ with his heavy gold-mounted stick; the
other one had sent through the fur-lined coat a knife-thrust which had
grazed his ribs. Matheson had beaten him off, and had then continued his
path to the Basilique.

But the attack had brought a vivid inspiration for the solution of his
personal problem.

He would slip off the personality of Clifford Matheson and take up
completely that of John Riviere. He would leave his overcoat and stick
by the riverside at Neuilly, and 'phone information about them to the
police or to a newspaper. That knife-slit in his overcoat would be taken
as evidence of murder. They would judge him murdered, with robbery as
motive. The courts would give leave for Olive to presume death. She
would be freed; she would come into her husband's fortune; she could
marry again if she chose to.

Surely that was the solution of his personal problem!

For his part he could live his life unshackled, and there was sufficient
money already standing in the name of Riviere at a Paris bank to give
him a modest income on which to keep himself and pay for the materials
of research.

No one would be the worse for his disappearance; his wife would be the
gainer; and mankind, he hoped, would be the gainer through the research
to which he could henceforth devote his life.

Yes, that was assuredly _the_ solution.

CHAPTER VII

A SEAT BY THE ARENA

Riviere had bought fresh clothes and other necessities at the suburban
shops of Neuilly. He had shaved off his moustache; arranged his hair
differently; put on a new shape of collar. It is curious how the shape
of a collar is associated in most minds with the impression of a man's
features. To change into another shape is to make a very noticeable
difference to one's appearance.

He had also bought travelling necessities. His intention was to wander
for a couple of months. It would help him to clear his brain from the
tangle of financial matters which still obsessed it against his will. He
wanted to sweep out the Hudson Bay scheme, Lars Larssen, Olive, and many
other matters from the living-room of his mind. He wanted a couple of
months in which to settle himself in the new personality; plan out his
future work in detail; set the mental fly-wheel turning, so as to
concentrate his energies undividedly on the work to come.

In the afternoon, old Mme Dromet entered the villa to scrub and clean.
She had a standing arr